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.