Lynden's blog: When January Changed Shape

Growing up in Australia, January was the month that shimmered.

It was sun‑bleached days, bare feet on hot pavement, long holidays, and the delicious feeling that the year hadn’t quite begun yet. January was freedom. It was beaches, mangoes, late nights, and the kind of laughter that only comes when you’re young and the world feels wide open.

For most of my life, January meant summer — uncomplicated, golden, expansive and filled with friends to celebrate my birthday.

But now I live in the UK, and January looks very different. The days are short. The air is sharp. The world feels quieter, wrapped in winter’s stillness. It’s a month that naturally invites reflection.

And somewhere along the way, January changed shape for another reason too.

It became the month I lost both of my parents 5 years apart.

Grief has a way of rearranging the calendar. Dates that once meant nothing suddenly carry weight. Months that once felt carefree become markers of before and after.

But even as January carries the weight of loss, I’ve learned something gentle and grounding:

We can lose people physically, but they are never truly gone.

Grief changes the relationship, but it doesn’t end it. Their voices still echo in the small moments. Their wisdom still rises when we need it. Their love still threads itself through our choices, our memories, our becoming.

The people we lose don’t disappear — they shift. They move from presence to imprint. From daily life to lifelong influence. From being beside us to being within us.

And somehow, that makes January feel less like an ending and more like a quiet reunion.

I don’t dread January. But I don’t celebrate it the way I once did either. Instead, I now try to meet it gently.

I let it be a month of remembrance. A month of gratitude. A month where I allow myself to feel everything — the sunshine of childhood and the winter of grief.

Because grief doesn’t erase the warmth. And winter doesn’t erase the love. They coexist, like two seasons layered over each other.

Maybe that’s what January is for me now: A reminder that life is both. Joy and loss. Light and shadow. Beginnings and endings intertwined.

And in that quiet, cool, reflective space, I find a different kind of peace. Now to learn to enjoy a less sunny birthday!

Lynden works in investment banking but outside of the corporate world she’s a meditation coach, mum to two fur babies, a lover of crystals, sound therapy & sparkling wine. Currently writing her next book and being inspired by living on the coast.

Tags:
• Wellbeing