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Winter in Virginia can be a fickle gal. 68 degrees one day, 37 the next. A thunderstorm watch came in this evening…strange for January.

I don’t actually want to write about the “season” as it pertains to the tilt of the earth or length of our days, even though the thunder I am hearing outside makes me smile from ear to ear and brings me some sort of peace. My husband knows, late evening thunderstorms have always been my favorite. Always.

I do want to talk about what I call “The Season” as it pertains to our life; the times that seem to be so difficult, where we may feel so cold or alone, or that we can’t see that it will end anytime soon. Like a really cold Winter…one that seems to drag on, keeping the fresh smells and sounds of Spring at bay. That is what I mean by The Season.

Maybe it’s not that I want to talk about it, maybe I just need to. Maybe you do, too? If so, I’ll listen. I promise.

It goes without saying that I haven’t really written in quite a while. The Season is to blame, perhaps? I feel compelled to write now, in this new year, as I feel like I am FINALLY starting to emerge from some form of hibernation. I can breathe a little deeper, stretch my arms and feel the warmth of normalcy starting to creep back into my inner self. No, not a sleepy hibernation like the bears in our mountains take to survive a cold and dark winter. Mine was like a mental hibernation, where I was certainly alive, but mostly just doing what it took to survive each day. Can you relate to that, at least?

Many, many folks in my world will likely read this and be confused. Like, WTH is she even talking about? She shows up, does work (and does it well, I hope), still manages to make it to volunteer activities, church (promise I’m trying to be more consistent, Jesus), and still gets the kids to and from wherever they needed to be. And most all of that still wearing a smile. Still doing “all the things” as we like to say around here.

But I look back at the last 12ish months of my life and much of it is like looking down from an out-of-body experience. Like much of it happened in a fog…like the late autumn fog that lays in the valley and over our New River early in the morning. The kind of fog that is so thick you struggle to see just a few meters ahead, and you keep wondering…will the sun peak through? Is there a beautiful blue sky just ahead? You know, where you make it through but once your through it you’re just so thankful you didn’t crash or lose control?

Have you ever felt like you are in the fog of life? I genuinely want to know.

For me, it was a perfect storm made up of sleep deprivation, stressful work situations, 2 very demanding 2 year old toddlers AND a teenager, and almost crippling perfectionism that triggered a long dormant but very self-destructive anxiety. Like, the kind of anxiety that makes you think about really terrible things. The kind that makes you worry that the panic attacks won’t stop, that you will never be good enough, or even that you will never be just ENOUGH, let alone good.

Oh momma, as much as I hope you have never felt like that, I am willing to bet that you have. Am I right?

And I am QUITE confident that none of those are foreign for many of you who might read this post. These are factors that are a part of EVERY SINGLE PERSON I KNOW. If not exactly, then in some equal and comparative way. I do not feel at all special or that The Season is unique to my experience. I DO, however, feel that we aren’t talking about it nearly enough. That we are taught by social norms or standards to not complain, not ask for help, and for the love of all things Holy, do not let people think you don’t have it all together. As though we were taught to ALWAYS present a sunny, summer smile…even if we are deep in the fog and can’t see the steps ahead of us.

Well, I admit that I was struggling in my difficult season for a while before I finally began to just tell folks “Hanging in there” or “Struggling but surviving” or “Well, my nose is above the water but that’s about it”, when they would ask “How are you?”. Not to self-deprecate but to just be real with myself so that I could then consciously think about how to clear the fog.

So, in recent weeks, I have started to get up most days and think to myself, “ah, the fog is lifting!” (Breaks into song in my mind “I can see clearly now, the rain is gone. I can see all obstacles in my way”.) The Season is finally changing for me. There are a whole host of reasons why, not excluding a new focus on mindfulness, gratitude (which is directly correlated to happiness), and the fact that toddlers eventually get out of their really difficult stages eventually, and a super supportive circle (albeit small, it’s my circle). There are other reasons, but these are certainly worth mentioning.

I wanted to start writing about The Season, and maybe there will be other things I have to say about it as I continue to find my way out of the fog and back into the blue sky…like the kind of crystal blue sky we often find around here right as we near the top of our Brushy Mountain and out of the valley of our precious county on those terribly foggy Spring mornings. I’m coming up out of a valley. It’s been a tough year, some days harder than others. But just like the seasons that pertain to the tilt of Earth and the length of our days, The Season I have been is finite, and just like the first early mornings of Spring when you hear the birds starting to sing, I am so thankful for the next season to arrive.