Happy New Year!

I had one of the best Christmases of my adulthood. I have struggled with delivering the Christmas magic I remembered for my children. I have fought against feelings of failure.

This year, I thought more carefully about the aspects of the festive season that were important to me and came up with several wins.

My lovely husband took charge of filling my magical sweetie jar, just like my mum used to do, so even now I still caught sight of a magically filled sweetie jar, magic intact.

Our new car arrived in December and the thing we were all most excited about about that was that we could drive around to admire the Christmas lights. The girls, with Gabby that much older now loved it, taking turns to be the “light alerter” whenever we turned into a new street.

I missed the deadline for sending Santa letters to Royal Mail. My two didn’t write their Santa letters until the Christmas holidays were in full swing. But I idn’t spend a fortune trying to get a personalised letter on-line, as I have previously. I invoked the tooth fairy and got them to put their letters under their pillows. The next morning, I had decided to steal the letters and put some chocolate under their pillows in its place a la Santa’s elves. But they’d already checked once.

“How many times would Santa check his list?” I asked with a smile when the switch was done.

“Twice!” Squidge beamed, racing up the stairs again. “Mummy, look what I found!”

And later, as she munched her way through the chocolate:

“Mummy, I love sending letters this way, can we do it every year?”

It was one of my proudest moments as a mum, a tradition of my own being born. “Of course!”

I got time to watch all my favourite Christmas films and specials. I’ve eaten everything I wanted to, played the games I wanted to play. It was absolutely lovely.

But then comes that in-betweeny bit when nobody knows what day it is and loses track of how much cheese they’ve eaten. The weather here has been awful and I’ve quickly gotten cabin fever and been tearful.

I have feared that my mental health is slipping backwards after such a lovely year. And it shouldn’t, because Kev is currently off work so we have the chance to enjoy time together, with the kids and alone.

But my brain at least, always gets through Christmas and then expects the return of routine and space for positive change. Also known, in my opinion as setting yourself up to fail, as people do with the pressure of New Year’s resolutions.

So, this year, I have had the sense not to do that. I mean only to continue with my intentions as they were in 2023, because it was, thankfully a sucessful and well lived year.

However, the girls aren’t back at school til the 8th and the weather is rubbish, so I’m not going to be walking anywhere and I’m not going to be losing weight either. So, rather than sinking into feelings of defeat so soon, I have instead given myself the gift of 2023 as was continuing for another week. No judgement, because routines are not live again yet. That is not my fault and pressure will only create failure I may not recover from.

Last year, I journalled every day for the first time ever. It is a record of how hard I have worked to change, to live. So, in my journal this year I have written a list of things I want to do this year. Not just achievements, because aside from the addition of driving, they will all stay as was, but actual people I want to spend time with. And I have made plans already, heading home to see my sister and my closest friend while our girls bombed around a soft play together.

So whilst I may not be outside covering miles just yet, I am able to climb back from those familiar feelings of failure by giving myself the gift of time and freedom.

Whatever your intentions for this year, don’t forget to give yourself a gift too. We don’t grow by making ourselves smaller. January is grey and long. Take care of yourself.