In January, I hibernate.  I do the self-care thing and the rest thing.

 

The gym is spilling over with over-enthusiastic Christmas over-indulgers, so I steer clear.  They will have all given up by February.  And the snow has had my trainers hanging up by their laces for most of the month.  Historically, I would have been totally stressed out. But I am weirdly not so much.

 

I haven’t really felt the need for a drink since getting poorly on holiday.  In a month when I have typically gone tee-total, I find myself enjoying a simple glass of red, if I fancy it.  But that is enough. And I don’t feel bad.  At all.  No regret.  No guilt.

 

The same goes for chocolate.

 

I have changed.

 

I have learnt to let go.

 

Perhaps, I have even learnt the art of not giving a f*ck.  (at least I still have that book!)

Perhaps, I am more comfortable in my own skin than I have been in a long time.