Inner winter in winter
It’s been a week. Inner winter in winter, let’s go. Full moon rising over the ocean, pumping myself full of vitamins as everybody around me seems to be coughing sneezing fevering all over the place. Going into the office and literally being the only one who isn’t sniffling under a pile of tissues. Yet that glass of wine last night hit me harder than usual and coffee does not seem to have any effect. Welcome, inner winter! Big bags under my eyes, hiding from the light, getting home means slipping on comfy sweatpants instantly, tea brewing, plans cancelling. This is nesting time.
I don’t know about you but when I’m bleeding I only want to be social to my books and chocolates. Humans, no. I don’t do well with them during these days. I misunderstand, misinterpret, take everything very personally. Knowing that and working with the different phases of my cycle has been so helpful in understanding myself and my reactions.
In the past, this time of the month always got me confused. I thought I was a social butterfly but I don’t feel like talking to anyone? Communication usually comes easily, why is it all of a sudden so hard? I have grown to love myself and my body, but I feel like a bitchy whale. What’s up with that? Hormones, baby! Get to know them and work with them rather than letting them mess you up. I’m telling myself this every month.
Yes, the strangest things will make me sad. My neighbour hanging up her laundry by colour. A song I have heard a million times but all of a sudden I really HEAR it. New baby leeks growing out of old leeks. You get the point, I am an emotional pile of hormones. Yet, I can’t cry. Interesting! I actually have to force myself into situations that make me shed my tears like a local storm cloud which passes from one second to the next and is then gone again for another month or so.
Things that always do the trick:
I will go to the cinema, watch a biography and howl like a wolf in the dark.
I run a hot shower and make crying sounds until the tears follow. Like an absolute maniac, indeed.
The last scene of Call Me By Your name.
Cutting onions and crying in my soup like the girl in Like Water For Chocolate.