Permission to Pause

Reflection Without Resolution

Finding rest in the heart of winter.

The days are cold and the nights are long.

We are past the solstice, and I take some small comfort in knowing the light is, incrementally, returning.

But here in the great north, the calendar’s promise of a warmer sun is a distant truth. The immediate reality is the cold.

For as long as I’ve lived here, January has always held the year’s coldest days, a deep and biting chill that seeps into the bones. One winter this was -27º(F).

In response, I feel an undeniable pull inward.

My body wants to bundle up, to retreat, to rest. There is something ancient that lives in me, a primal memory that whispers of hibernation and stillness.

This whisper makes the consumer-driven demands of life feel jarring. The pressure to write, to create content, to post and share, feels like a tremendous effort.

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In prior iterations of myself, I might have labeled this feeling as resistance or misalignment. Or, a high-control religious form would have called this sloth and sin.

I have lived what feels like many lives with my values and actions out of sync, and this is not that.

This quiet retreat doesn’t feel like a problem to be solved. It feels like the answer. It is the rhythm of rest this season demands.

There are no flowers blooming. The farm ponds are covered in ice. The song birds are gone.

Do I need to try to be more than the natural world around me?

This time of year has often invited me into self-criticism, but in the past, that criticism always came with an agenda.

It was a tool, a means to an end. It was about identifying flaws, setting goals, and spurring myself to action.

• What needs to change?

• What can be better?

• How can I optimize?

This year, something is different.

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Compassionate Self-Reflection

I find myself asking a deeper question: What if self-reflection isn’t about redirection?

What if, instead, it can be a meta-level analysis of my being for the simple purpose of observation?

What if it’s about taking inventory without the pressure to perform?

To simply notice, to note, and to nod in acknowledgment. “Ah, there you are. I see you.”

I’m beginning to realize how much of the constant, anxious need for change was learned, adopted, and embedded in my psyche from years spent in high-control religious contexts.

In that world, staying “as you are” was a sin.

You were either growing closer to god or falling away; there was no middle ground for simply being.

The self was a project under constant, critical renovation.

Often times there were scriptures misquoted about the supposed dangers of being “luke warm.” Now I know that tactic was control, attempting to push my nervous system into hypervigilence instead of following rhythms of rest.

I think the grip of that old programming is finally starting to loosen.

The endless cycle of self-critique and forced “growth” is being replaced with a compassionate self-reflection that invites me into the goodness of my humanity.

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A Practice in Compassionate Self-Reflection

Here is a gentle embodiment practice for practicing self-reflection in a era of self-critique. I invite you to take what works for you and disregard what doesn’t feel helpful.

As always, consent is key.

• Settle into Warmth: Find a comfortable seat. If you can, wrap yourself in a blanket or grab a warm cup of tea or coffee to hold. Feel the weight of the blanket on your shoulders or the heat of the mug in your hands. Take one deep, slow breath in, and let it all the way out.

• Begin with Gentle Awareness: Close your eyes, or soften your gaze toward the floor, wall, or window. Bring your awareness to your feet. Just notice them. Are they cold? Warm? Tense? Relaxed? You don’t need to change anything you find. Simply greet whatever is there with a mental, “I see you.”

• Move with Compassion: Slowly, allow your awareness to drift upward through your body. Notice your legs, your hips, the weight of your body in the chair. Notice your stomach, your chest, and the rise and fall of your breath. As sensations, anxieties, or thoughts arise, just observe them as you would observe clouds passing in the sky. There is no need to judge them, analyze them, or fix them.

• Arrive at Acceptance: Continue this gentle scan up through your shoulders, your arms, your neck, and your face. Notice any tension in your jaw or forehead, and just meet it with your awareness. Your only task is to notice what is already here, with kindness.

• A Final Breath of Being: Take one more deep breath, and as you exhale, let go of the focused attention. For just a moment, allow yourself to sit in the simple, whole state of being.

This physical act of noticing, without the mandate to change, is the very essence of compassionate reflection.

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The revolutionary feeling that is replacing the old anxiety is one of quiet contentment. There is a profound peace in the stillness of winter, in the tree that is not striving to bud, in the frozen earth that is not hurrying toward the thaw. It is simply resting, gathering strength in the quiet dark.

Perhaps we can offer ourselves the same grace. To reflect not for the sake of radical change, but for the sake of radical acceptance. To look inward and find that, for today, in this season, nothing needs to be fixed.

I am content simply being me. And that, I think, is the deepest rest of all.

Your dignity matters—always.