Most of this month I’ve spent under a blanket. It’s been cold—the kind of cold that’ll sting the back of your throat and cut up your lips. But that’s only part of it. I’m not sure when the tiredness set in, but for weeks now heavy waves keep pulling me under at all hours of the day. I could be mid-coffee, mid-sentence, and next thing I know I’m sinking. I need to lay down, and when I do, it’s as if my heart is an anchor, dragging everything with it—legs, skull, eyelids—until I succumb to a sleep so deep I could almost mistake it for rest.
As far as I can surmise, there are a few possible physiological explanations for this. Apparently, weaning causes a huge hormonal shift that can have months-long side effects. (Does anyone else have experience with this?) It could also be chronic Lyme—(a tick got me good last June)—a primary symptom of which is extreme fatigue.
Of course, there are other obvious reasons. Fires are burning all over the world. Meanwhile at home, we huddle around a flame of our own making, rubbing our hands together with worry. The warmer it gets by the wood stove, the heavier my body becomes, until it feels like there’s nothing left to do but give in to the weight.
So in some ways, I guess you could still say the cold’s to blame.
Typically, though, winter doesn’t faze me. In fact, I secretly welcome the quieter days, the collective long breath we take while we wait for earth’s reopening. It’s a time for turning inward, of gathering kindling and tending the hearth. I curl up in a cozy chair, sip soup, flip through forgotten books or pick up an embroidery hoop. I sit with my feelings, taking gentle note. I am blissfully, utterly alone.
Summer, in turn, overwhelms me with its invitations. I desperately want to take part in community—to tear and share loaves with my neighbors, to pick berries and tell stories and to savor every sticky drop of nectar. “Yes, yes!” I say to all of it, showing up with bubbly spirits and a homemade bouquet. “I wouldn’t miss it!” And that’s true, but as much as I need interconnection, even the simplest social interaction leaves me feeling depleted. Keeping pace with a conversation, holding up a smile, nodding along knowingly—every bit of it’s a well-practiced performance. Stick a drink in my hand, and I can almost pass for an extrovert. Back in the safety of my home, though, it takes days to replenish my energy before I can do it all over again.
No, give me my winter, let me withdraw to my cave and its comforts. Since we moved to relative isolation upstate, that’s been my secret to “surviving” the cold. If I’m honest, I’d have it no other way.
Recently though, my usual season of self-reflection has been waylaid by my own exhaustion. I struggle to stay awake through a horrifying news cycle, while all around me I hear echoes of “don’t let this early barrage of executive orders immobilize you!” I realize I might be dealing with an actual health issue, but in between spontaneous sleeps I can’t help but wonder, even on a “good” day, what’s an introvert to do?
What I mean to say—what I see so clearly lately—is that retreating is a privilege. Even if, for some of us, just getting out of bed can be overwhelming at times, showing up is still our responsibility. Us introverts may need to take more breaks, or find creative ways of engaging that make use of our quieter talents. But there are always actions we can take.
I’ve been inspired by the words of activist Brittany Packnett Cunningham (here and here) as well as sociologist Jennifer Walter (here). Essentially, the immediate takeaway is to focus the energy you do have. Ask yourself, how can you make a practical, positive impact on your direct community? Look for ways to support local initiatives and mutual-aid groups who are already working hard on the ground to take care of your most vulnerable neighbors.
A few Delaware County do-gooders come to mind who are going to need our sustained help:
The Catskills Agrarian Alliance, who do vital food sovereignty work in our region, protecting the right of all people to healthy, culturally appropriate food produced through sustainable means. (Donate or volunteer!)
Open Catskills, who support refugees and asylum seekers through advocacy and resettlement assistance in Delaware County. (Come to the Mutual Aid Mixer at Bushel this Sunday, 2/2!)
Catskill Mountainkeepers, whose programs protect and promote our region's extraordinary natural heritage, while promoting smart development that supports local communities and grows our economy in a sustainable way. (Donate or volunteer!)
If you have any other ideas, I hope you’ll share. For now, I don’t have much else to say. Apologies if this has been a little bit scatterbrained—I fell asleep at least six times over three days trying to write it. I hope the message still resonates.