Lately I noticed something.
I think I’ve been hibernating.
Not consciously, not dramatically. I still go out for groceries and errands. Life is still happening. But outside of that, I’ve been a homebody.
I’m sure some of it is down to the absolutely horrendous weather we’ve been suffering through this past month. Toss in the fact that I’ve been going gangbusters professionally and by the end of the day I am wiped. But even on weekends I tend to prefer staying home instead of heading out.
It reminded me a little of the pandemic days when the world shrank whether we wanted it to or not.
This time it wasn’t imposed.
My nervous system chose it.
Between the welcome influx of work and some challenging physical issues, I just did not want to go out. So I isolated. And I mean isolated. Texts and emails were left unanswered. It was as if I was avoiding people as a whole.
Again, not consciously. More out of protection. I wasn’t quite sure what I was protecting, but that’s how it felt.
When I finally noticed it, it felt a little odd putting a name to it.
Hibernating.
That word carries a different tone than isolating. Isolation can feel heavy, like something is wrong. Hibernation feels more instinctive. Something the body does when it needs to conserve energy.
Speaking of bodies, like a hibernating bear I’ve put on some winter pounds, which I sorely needed.
Then the weather started getting nicer. The snow banks were disappearing and sunshine replaced the February gloom. The other day was what my Scottish relatives would refer to as a “taps aff” day.
I went outside without a coat.
That’s when, like the sap starting to run in the trees, my mood lifted.
Ahh… I could feel the difference in my attitude.
With business picking up, my finances easing greatly, and my physical health improving, I pivoted from what was likely a bout of seasonal gloom into a little springtime optimism.
But the weather and work weren’t the only things happening in the background.
With the calendar flipping to March I have entered a period of intense introspection. More so than usual.
It was 40 years ago this month that I took the first real steps toward healing when I attended my first AA meeting and started on the road to recovery.
It was also in March, eight years ago, that I started Phase 1 at The Gatehouse.
March has become a significant month for me whether I plan it that way or not.
This month alone I’ll be speaking at a recovery event, recording a transformation podcast at The Gatehouse, and moderating another Man Enough to Heal panel.
When I step back and look at it that way, maybe the hibernation makes a little more sense.
Sometimes before something meaningful happens I pull inward for a while.
I slow down.
I get quiet.
I reflect.
Looking back, the last few weeks weren’t just hiding from winter or being tired from work. They were also a period of gathering myself.
Like the natural world outside, I seem to move through seasons too.
Periods of growth.
Periods of reflection.
And sometimes periods where things get quiet and my world gets a little smaller.
But as the days get longer and the snow starts to melt, I can feel something shifting again.
Not dramatically.
Just enough to notice.
Forty years ago this month I walked into my first AA meeting without having any idea what was ahead of me. Eight years ago this month I started another stage of healing at The Gatehouse.
Looking back, maybe those were springs too.
Spring has a way of doing that.
