Being open and vulnerable can heal both ourselves and those around us.
Brené Brown wisely states, “We cannot selectively numb emotions, when we numb the painful emotions, we also numb the positive emotions.”
A few years ago, I was diagnosed with Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD)—a silent struggle that many people face as the days grow shorter and the changing seasons bring waves of gloominess.
I often wondered why, as autumn’s stunning array of colors faded and the trees released their withered leaves, I felt like one of those falling leaves—desperate to regain my vibrant colors and reconnect with the beauty I had once experienced.
I'd tell myself to “snap out of it,” dismissing my feelings as just another “bad day” or a case of the “winter blahs.” Yet the discarded leaf of my emotions would land in an ocean of despair, tattered and broken, as the tide pulled me out to sea and submerged me into a low tide season.
In nature, we cannot help but be inspired by how the low tide unveils the hidden beauty of the ocean floor and the breathtaking, expansive beaches.
However, during an internal period of low tide, many of us may identify with the ocean's creatures stranded out of the water—some trapped in pools, others hiding under the shade of kelp draped over rocks, or buried in the sand, laying low until the tide rises and sets them free again.
While our low tide seasons vary, we can all relate to our struggles in life's ocean as we strive to return to brighter days and calmer waters.
Nothing brightens my soul more than being in nature. Even as a child growing up in Newfoundland, the outdoors—especially the ocean—was my playground, a treasure I took for granted. Some of my fondest memories involve carefree moments spent with my siblings. We were always together, swimming in the salty waves, building rafts to venture out and explore the shoreline, or skating on its icy sheet.
Although I'm no longer that carefree child, it's no wonder the sea has drawn me back. My life here in New Brunswick for the last five years feels like a full-circle moment. Yet, as an adult, I view the ocean in a different light. I’m attuned to the rhythm of its surroundings and aware of its constant motion: the sea is timeless; it’s the same ancient water, whether angry or calm, rising or falling.
Similarly, the internal workings of our minds and bodies are also in constant motion. A storm that rages and crashes against our inner shoreline can alter its landscape. We navigate through the tides of change, experience highs and lows, endure rough seas, and anticipate the storms' passing. Despite this, though, we remain the same unique body.
So how do we maintain balance in an ocean that seems intent on tipping us over and damaging the shoreline of our emotions?
The answer lies within each individual, of course.
Learning to stay connected to my emotions instead of ignoring them was a significant step.
Another significant step was seeking ways to bring more light into my life through physical and mental engagement.
More importantly, no matter how dire my situation or how rough my waters are, the buoy of Christ is always present for me to hold onto.
I’ll admit that this is a challenging time in our country's history. Many of us feel like we're being swept out to sea by the tides of political change and uncertainty. Anxiety and strong emotions are washing over us as we try to understand why our neighbors' leaders have turned against us.
But I’m inspired by the resilience Canadian history teaches us: "God keep our land glorious and free." Ultimately, God controls the outcome, and we must not lose faith in Him.
As we enter spring, the season of new life, may we drown out the noise of negativity and embrace the beauty of renewal.
Blessings!