I like to take some time in December and January to reflect on the year that has passed and to use that reflection to think about how I want the next year to go. This is my third time going through that reflection process as a widow. I haven’t changed the process I use in those three years, but I have noticed that the kinds of planning I’ve done for the year ahead has changed in response to my grief.
I end every year with a review of my journal, calendar, and camera roll to identify the key events, challenges, and developments of the year and start planning the next year intentionally. The two times I’ve done this since my husband died have been really helpful in allowing me to realize that I am moving forward even when I feel like I’m not. This year, for example, I was able to appreciate all the work I did to clear out the garage in the spring and become a better steward of my husband’s vines over the summer.
I find the process cathartic—it’s emotionally exhausting and gives me an intense feeling of lightness at the same time. It helps me lay bare the joys and challenges of the last year and gives me a sense of a trajectory for the year ahead.
After I reflect on the past year, I think about how I want the next year to be similar and different, or I what I want to bring forward from the last year and what I want to leave behind.
Before my husband died, I made resolutions that hinged on things I wanted to accomplish in the next year, such as articles to write and fitness goals to hit. Since his death, I’ve been moving toward a different kind of resolution that focuses more on practices than goals. For example, instead of aiming to write and publish a certain number of essays this year (a goal), I am planning to spend one day each month identifying submission deadlines in the next 30 days that I can write toward (a practice).
The concept behind many New Year’s Resolutions is basically, “I suck but I’m going to change that in the new year.” I prefer the attitude described in this beautiful Buddhist story: we can accept ourselves and our imperfections and our resolution can simply be to enjoy our imperfect lives. By committing to the practice of spending a day each month looking for submission deadlines, I’m aiming to shift my writing practice. What I’m not doing is setting a productivity goal that will stress me out and suck the joy out of writing for me.
Here are five practices from the past year I am taking with me into 2024 that I think could be helpful for anyone grieving:
- Give yourself amnesty. For email and all the other things that didn’t get done. For all the times you didn’t show up the way you wish. If you’re grieving, some of the time and energy you might normally put into keeping up with daily tasks or being social has gone into grieving, whether that means attending memorial events, dealing with your loved one’s estate or belongings, curing up on the couch and crying, or something else. That’s normal—and allowing yourself the time and space to do those things is more important than keeping up with email or mail or social events or whatever. Feeling bad about letting that stuff go for a while doesn’t do anyone any good, so I say, give yourself amnesty, release the guilt, and move forward. (If the idea of email amnesty is new to you, check this out for inspiration.)
- Give everyone else amnesty. If you’re holding onto a grudge because someone else didn’t behave the way you wanted, consider letting it go. That doesn’t mean you are saying their behavior is ok, it just means you are releasing the anger about it. In the year before he died, my husband and I worked hard on forgiveness. We were both holding onto anger that wasn’t serving us. We both found that letting go of the anger allowed us to feel peace that holding onto the anger had kept us from feeling.
- Make commitments to yourself for the new year. I suggest gentle ones that will make you feel more at peace. Make commitments grounded in kindness toward yourself and others. In 2023, I committed to talking to myself with the same kindness I talk to others, which meant no calling myself names. It was hard at first, but now it feels natural.
- Honor your loss with some time to go down the grief rabbit hole. Near the end of last year, I gave myself a weekend to wallow in grief. I plan to do that again in 2024. I don’t know exactly when, but I’m certain that at some point, my heart will tell me it’s time to take a weekend off. I’ll cancel whatever plans I have and have a guilt-free weekend to cry, look at photos of my husband, and miss him.
- Look at the year ahead and block off the days that might be difficult for you. Your loved one’s birthday, your anniversary, whatever it might be. Based on the last few years, I seem to have a pattern of being a mess in the days leading up to special days and then feeling much better afterwards, so I’ll block out the day before each special day and the day itself.