Yearly Words: A Reflection on the last Five Years
As a follow-up to my last post about why I hate new year’s resolutions and the practice I’ve adopted instead, I want to take time to reflect on each of the words I’ve set as an intention over the years, and also about the things that nudged me toward my word for 2023.
Trust (2018)
Post high school graduation, I needed to start practicing trust. As someone who likes to be in control, the prospect of college, making new friends, being away from my family, and managing a long-distance relationship required me to trust people more than I ever had. I also had to learn to trust myself in navigating new friendships, handling my worsening anxiety, and eating disorder recovery management. All of this required me to listen to my intuition and my body. What a doozy. It was certainly one of the most difficult years, but man, did I learn to trust.
Lessons in Trust
Life keeps going whether or not I’m ready. Let the process be the process.
Trust that the people who love you aren’t trying to hurt you. People make mistakes but usually they have good intentions.
Patience (2019)
Within my year of trust, I noticed that something I was not lacking was patience. I had a clear expectation of “right” and “wrong” with very little room for greyness or a long process of decision making. I needed to learn how to pump the brakes, slow down, and not see this pause as a failure. The universe gave me a lot of opportunities to practice patience. The tension and transition of being an adult living in short stints with my parents was, and is, a unique space to navigate, and a great place to practice conflict resolution. I was losing friendships with people I thought were life-longers, making new ones, and figuring out where I belonged. Furthermore, I continued to struggle with anorexia nervosa and anxiety, both requiring regular appointments.
Lessons in Patience
Grounded friendships are built; it might take more time than you expect.
Taking time to think things over, feel things out, and try on new hats is a worthy cause to take a pause.
Not knowing something isn’t a sign of weakness or failure. It’s a sign of openness and curiosity.
Trying new therapists and medications is a process. It’s worth waiting for the right fit.
Release (2020)
In addition to expanding my tolerance of life’s grey spaces, I still needed to let go of my desire for control. found myself getting angry and frustrated over things I couldn’t control. I could put on a patient and trusting façade, and internally still get upset when something didn’t go “right” by my account. I began to feel stunted in my romantic relationship, adopting a “if it’s meant to be it will be” mindset. I travelled to Costa Rica and lived on a permaculture farm for the month of January, dancing for a few hours each day, swimming nude in the ocean, engaging in open conversations about plant medicine, farming, spirituality, politics, freedom, and love. I learned so much about relinquishing big-C Control in that month and came back a little different. I released tension and trauma in my body, I released emotions I’d bottled up, and I released barriers I built around myself. I opened. Upon returning home I released any idea of staying the same which included my romantic relationship. Then there was the Covid-19 pandemic.
Obviously, the pandemic was out of my control. I had to release perfectionistic standards of myself to make it through the rest of the school year and any expectations of how I’d perform going back in the fall. I let go, of course after grieving, what I thought should and could have been.
Lessons in Release
You’re allowed to change your mind and pivot your plan.
People who want you to stay the same aren’t for you. Let them leave.
Laugh hard and cry harder without apology. Both are necessary.
Center (2021)
I’d be graduating from college in the spring, and anticipating all the changes that come after, I felt a word like “center” was the grounding reminder I’d need. I was right. It was during this year that I explored my sexuality and allowed myself to practice it as a kind of meditation. I was also lucky enough to live with friends who encouraged me to hang out with more people, not that I was hiding in my room all the time, but I certainly had a difficult time being in large groups where I didn’t know most individuals. I was growing increasingly confident in myself. I danced nearly 12 hours each week, and found myself painting, writing, and singing more frequently. I was tuned into my needs and desires. Which is why I told my graduate program I would actually not be attending.
When I found out I would be having a nibling come summer, I felt like my family’s world was turned sideways. The experience would become centering, uniting us as one force of love for this tiny human entering the world. My nibling reminded me then, and continues to remind me now, that life is curious and joyful just as much as anything else. My center may have shifted but it still existed as a deep knowing and longing for the people, places, and experiences I wanted.
Lessons in Center
I can have time for work and time for play. I don’t have to exist in any one thing, both-ness is real.
Family matters, whether its chosen or blood. Something primal in their presence brings me back to life.
I know what feels right and wrong to me, just as everyone around me knows what is right or wrong for them. To communicate clearly and kindly, you must keep this in mind.
Growth (2022)
***TW! This section will discuss suicidal ideation***
One of my favorite things about this practice is that I never actually know how my word is going to show up, and every year I am surprised. With this in mind, I’m going to start this part with HAHAHA!!!! This year pushed, stretched, and uprooted me. Then transplanted me into better soil. More than once.
Like I mentioned above, I decided I would not be going to grad school, whose requirements guided all my undergraduate studies. I didn’t know what the hell I was going to do, but I knew I needed a change—growth checkpoint no. 1. I started a job working with kiddos who had an autism diagnosis. While I loved the work, I felt myself sinking further into what I can only call despair. My depression was worsening, I was experiencing panic attacks for the first time in years, and I couldn’t shake it. The last time I felt low was when Covid-19 hit in 2020, but this was even worse than what I felt then. This whole timeline is a blur, but essentially from February to May, I wanted to die.
I don’t say this lightly, it’s just the truth. I didn’t have a plan (suicidal behaviors), but I was experiencing suicidal ideation. I would wake up and be disappointed that I had to make it through another day. I would cry until I couldn’t breathe. I’d hang out with people I loved most and think about how nice it would be to not exist anymore. The idea of nothingness became comforting me. Death was no longer scary or threatening, just a fact of life that I was grateful for. Yes, I was emphatically thanking the universe that I wasn’t going to live forever, praising mortality’s rule over this planet.
Yet, amidst feeling complete hopelessness, I worked on publishing a book, maintained a relationship with my girlfriend, kept up with friends, hung out with family, took care of my niece, and continued my job until June. Then I slammed the brakes—growth checkpoint no.2.
I had been waiting for a spot in depression recovery treatment for over a month. Frankly, too long. If I didn’t go to the hospital my depression would surely end my life. Two days after the program called to tell me they had an opening, I began my leave of absence. My full-time job caring for other humans changed out for 30 hours each week I now had to spend taking care of myself. Halfway through my seven weeks in treatment I hopped on a call with my employer to let them know I would, in fact, not be coming back—growth checkpoint no. 3. I hadn’t expected myself to come to this conclusion, but it was the right thing, and I needed to put myself first. My priorities were shifting.
I wrapped up my last few weeks in treatment, forced back into the world that ground me down to a shell of myself, and sought out new work. I titivated my resume, because even though my degree wasn’t in Communications or Journalism or English, I was a writer. I am a writer. I got hired for two jobs, one for content marketing and blog writing, another for social media management and hosting at a nearby restaurant. I proved to myself I was a trustworthy source of truth and value—growth checkpoint no. 4. After my blogging job was terminated due to the company’s budget cuts (ouch), I decided I wouldn’t be replacing that job with another. I wanted to give myself more time to exist outside of assigned work or obligation—growth checkpoint no. 5. I didn’t know exactly how this would work, but my other job paid enough, and I could spend my money more wisely.
So now, I am here. In the present. I’m learning to relax, let myself do things without an apparent goal or purpose. I added a new medication to my cocktail and found a new therapist recently—growth checkpoint no. 6. I accepted the help I needed with little resistance. I am becoming kinder to myself, which brings me to the word I’ve chosen, or more so was given, for 2023.
Lessons in Growth
You don’t have to have a whole new plan to know that you need a change.
Standing up for yourself and your well-being isn’t selfish, its necessary.
I am what I am whether my degree says so or not. People can’t be defined by one aspect of their interests.
I can trust myself.
Accepting help is more of a strength than a weakness.
Gentleness (2023)
As I have learned to change direction and let go of total control, I have also uncovered I need a lot more gentleness within these things. In many ways what I am moving toward is self-compassion, but I think the word gentleness is more aligned with what I want within the umbrella of the self-compassionate ideal. Wrapped up in gentleness I see better communication and deeper listening. Less criticism and more acceptance. Intellectually I know what to tell myself (or not), but what would be different if I cared about myself in the way I care for other people, seeking to listen without judgement? It would be gentler.
According to Oxford Dictionaries, gentleness is defined as:
The quality of being kind, tender, or mild mannered
Softness of action of effect; lightness
While it is built in my bones to be spunky, not so often mild mannered, it is well within my nature to be soft, kind, and tender... to things that aren’t myself. I say “things” because I am a person who feels bad for even inanimate objects. The mugs in the back of my cupboard? I moved them to the front yesterday so they could have a chance at experiencing the warmth of coffee. My intention for this next year is to be both the person who moves the mug to the front of the shelf, as well as the mug itself. I deserve to give myself opportunity to be held. I want not only to want myself to exist in the place of my purpose, but to practice it even when it’s messy or nothing like I planned for. The way I cherish my mugs or the soft kisses of snowflakes on my cheeks is the way I want to hold myself this year. With a gentleness so powerful it becomes the way I am when everything else tells me I should feel unworthy.
