If you have been stopping by the studio blog wondering where I’ve been, the answer is: I’ve been taking my commitment to ‘mimicking nature’ a little too literally.
Just as the clocks went back and the ‘Big Dark’ descended over the Lancashire coast, my body decided to join the movement. The days have drawn in, the rain has lashed against the windows with that particular persistent rhythm we know so well up here, and I have been conducting a very thorough, weeks-long study of the ceiling.
I am currently navigating a diagnosis of ‘Dysautonomia’. In plain English? My internal autopilot—the bit that regulates energy, heart rate, blood pressure and temperature—is on the blink. It’s a strange, untethered feeling, like being a boat bobbing on a choppy sea without an anchor. While the trees were shedding their leaves to conserve energy for the deep winter, I found myself having to do exactly the same (though with fewer leaves and more cups of tea).
In my quiet moments on the sofa, enveloped in a blanket and hugging a hot water bottle, I found myself wondering about where my usual companions had scarpered to. The garden seems to go silent so quickly. The butterflies and the bumblebees vanished into the damp air. I felt a bit abandoned by the life I usually chronicle.
But then, in a moment of clarity, I remember: The wheel keeps turning. The season always creeps forwards.
The Bumblebee Queens are currently sleeping just beneath the soil in little earthen bunkers. The Peacocks and Tortoiseshells have folded their wings to look like dead leaves and are likely tucked up in the corners of my shed, indistinguishable from the cobwebs. They aren’t worrying about productivity stats, or ‘hustle’, or their visibility algorithm. They are overwintering. They are in deep rest.
And so, I am learning to do the same. This gap in my journal isn’t an emptiness; it’s a pause. A necessary dormancy.
When your internal rhythm is out of sync, you find yourself craving external rhythm like a lifeline. That is why I am clinging to the cycles of nature more than ever. If I cannot rely on my own body clock right now, I will rely on the sun, the moon, and the tides to help ground me.
This coming Sunday marks the beginning of Advent. Since X arrived, I’ve loved the Waldorf tradition of marking the four weeks of Advent by honouring the four kingdoms of nature: Stones, Plants, Animals, and Humankind. It feels like the perfect, gentle structure to hold me as I navigate the darkest days ahead.
Over the next month, I’m going to use this structure to gently pull myself back into the studio. It’s a way to acknowledge the darkness while slowly lighting a path toward Yule (and lighter easier days ahead!). I hope you’ll join me for this slower, quieter, and perhaps more honest approach to the festive season.
If you are also feeling the weight of the ‘Big Dark’ or navigating your own wintering season, I invite you to do one thing this week:
Stop. Just for five or ten minutes.
Watch a cloud move. A bird fly past. Drink a coffee while it’s actually hot. The emails will still be there and your to do list is waiting. But that moment of rest is yours.
Selina x
