I am intimately acquainted with pressure. I have been ever since I can remember. Over the last several years I’ve learned to embrace self-compassion and I’ve grown less concerned with other people’s opinions. And even though I know the true refuge of God’s love—pressure can be sneaky. Like a ninja.
For about ten years I’ve kept a December/January tradition of reflection and planning. As I worked through a booklet of questions a few weeks ago, I noticed resistance any time I approached the section aimed at the new year. That’s when I realized how much more I enjoy looking back on my year than I do attempting to make plans for the unformed months ahead.
When the year is over, what’s done is done. There are no new decisions or new mistakes to be made. Scrolling through photos and journal entries and the newsletters I’ve written is more like simple data collection–how many trips did we take, how many books did I read? There’s not much risk involved with reflection. And I usually end up with a new perspective on the year and a greater sense of gratitude.
When I looked back on 2023, I mostly liked what I saw. Don’t get me wrong, there were plenty of challenges and hard moments last year. December found us burying another beloved pet, counting down to Christmas with a house full of Covid, and navigating the weird rhythm of our holiday traditions with only one child (instead of four) still living at home.
But I also saw a year of making things. I found evidence of my courage in new relationships and creative ventures. Our daughter returned home after nine months of living in France and went to Maine as a family for the first time. My husband and I bought kayaks to celebrate our twenty-fourth anniversary. I could clearly see the roots we’d established in our faith community, two and half years after switching churches mid-pandemic.
The greatest shift was how much my chronic pain improved throughout 2023.
A few months ago I noticed the pain was showing up in intervals instead of every moment of every day. I began needing less medicine to function. Weeks went by when I didn’t take any medicine at all. Suddenly the new year had more potential than I’d seen since my chronic health issues crashed into my life seven years ago.
I started to entertain the idea that if recovery continued at the same rate, my pain would soon become part of my past. Without fully realizing it, I was dreaming up a new year unhindered and unmarked by physical pain.
With a wide open year in front of me, ideas of what I wanted from the year began pushing their way to the surface. I didn’t call them resolutions because I don’t make resolutions. In my mind, they were just “things I’d like to see happen”.
I’d like to invest deeper in my marriage of almost twenty-five years.
I’d like to start a career now that my homeschool life has ended.
I’d like to finally make peace with my body after forty-six years.
And I’d like to do it all within the confines of this year and without any physical pain.
Just some light, gentle thoughts (ahem), not resolutions, about the year ahead.
As I said, pressure is like a ninja. It’s skilled in the art of deception and pressure knows how to camouflage its presence.
By December my pain returned in full force.
The return of the pain brought uncertainty back into every aspect of my life. With the shifting symptoms, I can’t easily make commitments because I don’t know how I’ll be feeling on any given day (or hour). It puts limitations on daily activities and it affects the possibility of travel plans. Carrying invisible pain takes an emotional and mental toll as well. I watched as the Big Year ahead shrunk back to the size of my room.
I’m not sharing this with you because I want your sympathy, I’m sharing it because I know I’m not the only one who has entered this new year with uncertainty and a lack of control over their daily life. My day to day variable is chronic pain but yours might be taking care of young children, caring for aging parents with health issues, or dealing with your own health situation.
I thought I was entering 2024 gently but I was actually building up an expectation of what the next twelve months should hold. When I entered the new year in pain, I was already disappointed by the entire year and with myself. And there was only one day crossed off on the calendar.
It took a wise person in my life to point out the pressure I’d quietly put on the new year as well as the pressure that I’d put on myself and my body.
The same wise person also reminded me that I had the choice to look ahead one month at a time. Or even a few hours. Or even just this moment right now.
How am I doing right now? How are you doing right now? I can wrap my head around a moment so much better than 365 days.
During my morning reading this week, I read The Kingfisher by Mary Oliver. I encourage you to read the entire poem, but here’s an excerpt:
Religiously he swallows the silver leaf
with its broken red river, and with a rough and easy cry
I couldn’t rouse out of my thoughtful body
if my life depended on it, he swings back
over the bright sea to do the same thing, to do it
(as I long to do something, anything) perfectly.
After reading the poem, I thought about that kingfisher, a beautiful bird that has always fascinated me. I tried to imagine a kingfisher putting pressure on himself to impress the other birds or to catch a fish a certain way. Just the idea made me laugh. He simply does what he was made to do. And he doesn’t overthink any of it.
As much as I’d like to have a bird’s perspective, I only know the human experience. As a human, becoming aware of the internal pressure gave me choices. After naming the pressure I’d put on my body, myself and the year ahead, it immediately lost some of its power. And I could easily see the grace in looking ahead just a week or maybe a month.
Coincidence or not, when I made those mental shifts, my pain settled down again and it’s been quiet for the last three days. Maybe this break is “merely a moment in a sea of unpredictability”, as my friend said, but I’m paying attention to the movement (pain can be like a ninja, too).
Maybe within our limitations there’s an invitation to live moment to moment, day by day, without the pressure—just a little more like the kingfisher each day.
Words to Remember
Another excerpt from The Kingfisher:
I think this is
the prettiest world--so long as you don't mind
a little dying, how could there be a day in your whole life
that doesn't have its splash of happiness?
Mary Oliver knows how to name a difficult truth but to carve it with soft edges and an invitation.
The invitation: If we can accept the hard parts of this life we can more easily pay attention to the beauty that also surrounds us each day.
Now It’s Your Turn
I would love to hear about your entry into the new year. How do you battle the pressure that sneaks into your life? Join me in the conversation by clicking the comment button below.
Blessings from the Guest Nest,
Aimee
P.P.S.—This section of my newsletter that arrived in your inbox is called Good and Beautiful Things. I send out another edition every few weeks called Creative Possibilities. You can learn about the two different sections here and you can manage your subscription to either section here.
My goodness this was stunning with all the kingfishers! I was reading with my 3 year old nestled in against me and he LOVED them! Sorry to hear about the pain. I'm a fellow Type A who loves planners and schemes, so I can only imagine the pain must be so frustrating, especially if you don't know if or when it will improve.
I am so familiar with this pain dance. It's such a tricky messenger, because sometimes I begin to feel like if I'm listening to what it's trying to tell me, it's my fault when the pain still appears. I didn't listen well enough. And I don't know what the answer is. Sometimes suffering is just suffering. But sometimes it's wisdom our body delivers in ways we couldn't hear otherwise. I wonder if there's a particular message associated with expectations and a part of you is just over it? I've noticed that as I live more congruently there's also more vehement kickback when I return to old patterns. Regardless, I love the poem, and I hope for many pain AND pressure free days in this year for you!