February is the worst month on the calendar.
My dislike began in third grade when someone thought it would be a good idea to teach rural Kentucky children to spell phonetically. As a result I still misspell February as I do not hear nor pronounce the “r”.
I find the second month of the year to be the dark hole into which all of January’s hope disappears. It is cold and wet, there is nothing to look forward to in the short term and, in the time of COVID, it is very isolating as the weather is not conducive to being outside with my elderly parents or my closest friends. My get-up-and-go wants to stay in bed with the blankets pulled over my head and the dog cuddled up next to me.
For me, February is proof that the yoga and meditation path is not always “love and light.” Forget the “Good Vibes Only” t-shirt mantra. Not so good vibes are real. Chipper blindness to emotions is denial.
On the “all I want to do is go back to bed” days, I admit my feelings and show up for the day the best I can. If I oversleep and miss my meditation and yoga, I don’t quit forever. I do shortened practice or return that night or the next day because I know I feel better when I show up for myself. I don’t bully or shame myself. Judgement magnifies the discord.
Acknowledging the slog, the sad, the anger or the desire to cry while making oatmeal before going to work is the the first step to dissolving the emotions. Judgement or self-flagellation are unnecessary. Admitting the truth to myself releases both my attachment to and shame from my feelings.
There is a bright spot. February is the shortest month on the calendar.