Hold On Tight

Well, well, well, if it isn’t February already. People have always said that time speeds up as you get older, but I didn’t really believe them. It’s still a New Year, I reckon, and I’m trying to get used to it since January lasted about four months. It’s dark out there, in more ways than one: winter winds, unwelcome change and big bullies ruling the roost. I don’t like it.

Penny the cat recently squeezed into a tiny cardboard box and slept all evening. I felt jealous. The thought of climbing into a cave, curling up and switching off the world was very attractive. But there was more to it than that. It was the thought of being enclosed and tightly wrapped, as if being held. A feeling of safety and security. I wanted that.

Even my clothing, I’ve noticed, is tight these days. Base layers of thermals and clingy polo necks are the thing. Skinny jeans have had their day, I know, and I don’t miss them (my knobbly knees are also relieved) but there’s something about the cosseting sensation that we surely all need these days. Therapist-speak calls it ‘emotional containment’. 

There will come a time to let it all hang out again, a time to feel free and safe as we move through the world. But for now, I’m wearing those vests and putting extra blankets on the bed and even asking for hugs when I need them.