An act of restoring or the condition of being restored: such as
a) bringing back to a former position or condition: the restoration of peace
b) restoring to an unimpaired or improved condition
I don’t make new year’s resolutions. They have never made sense to me, and have always felt like creating an opportunity to let myself down.
Part of my thinking is that in the cycle of the pagan year, January is not the beginning; it is rounding the corner of winter. Our bodies are not made to be busy in the dark. Winter is a time to nestle in, reflect, and rest. Just as you would not try to sow a seed in the frozen ground, it is not the best time to undertake fresh efforts.
Spring is when the world awakens. When the daylight returns and nourishes both body and mind. In that time, it feels less challenging to begin something new; the energetic momentum is geared toward forward motion.
Apart from the timing of the Gregorian year, I also prefer to focus on manifesting things into my life in less explicit ways. It allows the universe to deliver lessons and bounty in ways it might not occur to me I need.
Recently, I encountered someone referring to a “word of the year” that they had chosen, instead of resolutions. This notion appealed to me and the word leapt to mind almost immediately: restoration.
2025 was an exceptionally difficult year in a variety of ways. There was significant upheaval cognitively, physically, emotionally, and spiritually. I didn’t always weather these upsets with skill or grace, but I came to each with the intent to learn and grow beyond the reflexive patterns so heavily influenced by my CPTSD.
I ended an important relationship. Twice. We were not a good fit in a number of ways, but we both had a strong sense of having been fated to come together and usher in a deeper understanding of ourselves by experiencing each other. Despite knowing without a doubt it was the right thing to do (both times) it was still painful and difficult.
I was prompted to move about a year earlier than I had planned. This unfolded in a way that most people would simply adapt to new information and proceed accordingly. In my case it induced a panic that gripped me body and soul. From the time I knew I had to move until I had the keys to my new place was almost exactly a month, but that month was excruciating. Anxiety around housing insecurity is one of my most potent sources of pain. I knew in real time I was overreacting. That everything would be fine. No amount of that intellectual awareness could soothe my body or mind by realizing it fully.
I also made the decision to sue the Department of Education over my student loans. My balance exceeds 6 figures after the current administration back-dated interest accrual. It is also over $30k higher than the original borrowed amount, and they sent me notice that my new calculated payment is over $3k per month. I am only 14 payments away from forgiveness on about 75% of my balance, but the new payment is untenable. After speaking to an attorney, they indicated I have a good case for an undue burden discharge. This had some challenging financial implications and remains unresolved.
In the midst of all of these things, my mother died. We had a complicated relationship and had been estranged – at her behest – for 9 years. The year before, when a friend lost his dad unexpectedly, I wondered to myself how I would even find out if she passed. I had cut off my entire family of origin over ten years ago, nor did she speak to any of them anymore. Through a series of connections, my cousin called my niece, who called her aunt – my sister – who then put her in touch with me. At the time, her condition was such that she was being transferred to hospice. I canceled a planned vacation and prepared to drive to Spokane where she had lived for over 20 years, only to have her die the next morning.
Obviously, of all the difficult things that came up in 2025, this was the hardest. Prior to her, I had never lost anyone a loved. The mechanics and vagaries of grief were known to me, but only in the abstract. Along with that I had begun therapy to address my CPTSD. This work by itself can be grueling. Adding the loss of my mother to the mix created an additional dynamic I wasn’t expecting; I could finally be angry at her.
It has been revelatory, to acknowledge that truth. Some part of me knew that if I ever hoped to reconcile with her – which I always did – I couldn’t bring any anger toward her with me. The reason she stopped talking to me in the first place was a minor confrontation over her communicating personal things to members of the family I had excluded from my life. Any attempt to hold her to account for more significant things would only lead to disaster.
These events, paired with my work in therapy, resulted in a process of excavation. Of uncovering and bringing into the light, things that I had chosen to bury when I didn’t have the time or resources to address them. It was always enlightening and frequently painful. At times it was excruciating. Yet I knew and know that being present with this process of encountering my hurt was the only way I could hope to heal some of the most potent harm I had experienced.
So, now. I am unearthed.
This is not to say there are no more discoveries, or that I may not find the need to delve deeply again at some point. It is to acknowledge that along with uncovering and reckoning with the wounds, there must also be a process of integration and – meaningful here – restoration.
And so I am remembering me to myself. I am dwelling in the parts of me I had discarded or suppressed to please others. I am recalling joys both profound and simple that I denied myself at the behest of those who did not fully see or understand me. I am embracing the whole of myself and nurturing her gently and courageously all at once.
I am creating – with careful intention – the life I want for myself. One where I am authentically present and open-hearted. I am finding the parts of me that need healing, and rebuilding them stronger than they were. I am learning and recalling the wisdom already inside me and harnessing both toward my own restoration.
As I speak, so I create.
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