In the past, after my initial infatuation with the first snow and the magic of the holiday season, I’ve always viewed winter as something to endure or escape. I’ve planned a warm winter getaway during most years of my adult life, telling myself that if I could just be somewhere warm and sunny for a week in January or February that I’d be able to survive the remaining winter, to get through it, to carry on until the hopeful, warmer days of spring.
One year ago, we were in St. Petersburg, Florida. The photos keep popping up on my iPhone to remind me.
That first night in St. Petersburg, after a two-hour drive to Detroit, 4 hours of entertaining an infant and a two-year-old on the airplane, after waiting for our luggage to appear and taking the shuttle to the rental car facility, installing two car seats and loading the boys into the vehicle, they finally crashed on our 45 minute drive from the Tampa Airport to our Airbnb. It was an exhausting day, but it felt so good to be there.
We dumped our luggage in the condo, threw on our swimsuits, and ran to the beach where we played for hours. We collected seashells and built sandcastles. We chased seagulls and let the waves sift handfuls of pebbles from our palms. We watched the sunset from the shoreline and splashed in the frothing waves as the sky turned from orange to pink, pink to violet, and violet to navy before our eyes.
This year, when I was finally able to accept the reality that a family getaway wasn’t happening, something inside of me shifted. I became enthralled with each snow fall, especially on the days the snow fell with urgency, immersing me in a dizzying snow globe. I noticed how bright the house was with a blanket of snow on the ground, even without any sun. I marveled at the animal tracks on fresh, untouched snow in the backyard each morning. I realized I could enjoy winter without escaping it.
For the first time in my adult life, I’m not trying to skip over the winter season just because it’s uncomfortable and challenging. And cold. So f*cking cold.
In her book Wintering: The Power of Rest and Retreat in Difficult Times, Katherine May defines “wintering” as any difficult or challenging season in our life. Perhaps it’s an illness, a breakup, a piece of bad news, the loss of a loved one, a move, or a transition. For many of us, it’s parenting.
While I think there is some truth to the well-intentioned admonishment to “enjoy every moment with your kids before it’s too late,” this statement unfairly erases the day-to-day struggle of many parents. Yes, some moments with our little ones are absolutely precious, but some of them are also f*cking hard.
The thing about “wintering” is that it’s uncomfortable for outsiders to experience too. We attempt to give comfort by offering certain phrases in order to reduce the severity of a problem. We say, “It’s going to be okay,” and “It’s going to get better.” We say, “Look on the bright side,” and “Keep your chin up.” The list goes on and on, but none of these phrases, while well-intentioned, give someone permission to rest or hibernate in the difficulty they are experiencing. None of it helps us be present with our suffering, our struggle, or our pain. These phrases are dismissive, futuristic, hopeful. They’re problematic. When we’re struggling, it’s important to feel seen, heard, and validated.
Parenting is hard! There are so many challenges. So much overstimulation. So many people trying to tell us what we’re doing wrong or should be doing right.
At this stage of my parenting journey, my kids are into daily all-out screaming matches that leave both of them (and sometimes Mommy) in tears. Most days contain full-fledged tantrums, multiple pairs of poopy underwear that require cleaning, and a toddler who’s afraid to poop on the potty despite bribery with his favorite chocolate candies. There are tumbles and ouchies, tears that need wiping, and moments of play that require constant mediation. There’s food on the floor, handprints on the walls, marker on the stairs, and kinetic sand everywhere.
I’m learning that the only way through a season is to be fully in that season. To not turn away from it, but instead to turn towards it. To not waste energy trying to escape it, avoid it, or ignore it, but to embrace it, acknowledge it, and stay with it. To stay in it.
So, I find myself here. In Michigan. In Winter. In Parenting. Fully aware that these seasons will pass in their own time. And when they do, I want to be able to say that I lived them. I want to be able to say that I didn’t wish them away.