Summary of the Story
“The Pause: A Journey Between Years” follows Helen, a woman in her late 30s navigating the unique emotional terrain of the week between December 24 and 31. Through her therapy session, Helen explores the weight of unresolved grief, the pressure to sum up the year, and the anxiety of planning for the future. Instead of focusing on resolutions, she learns to embrace this liminal space as a time for rest, reflection, and honoring her journey. With small but meaningful rituals, Helen transforms the week into a sacred pause, allowing herself to let go of the past and welcome the new year with intention and purpose.
Why I Wrote It
This story was inspired by the universal experience of the quiet, reflective period between Christmas and New Year’s—a time often overlooked but rich with potential for self-awareness and renewal. In therapy, we often explore how to navigate transitions, and this week is a perfect metaphor for the space between endings and beginnings.
I wanted to share Helen’s journey as a reminder that we don’t have to rush to fix, plan, or define everything during this time. Instead, we can honor the pause, finding meaning in stillness and giving ourselves permission to simply be. Whether you’re celebrating with loved ones or sitting in solitude, this week offers a powerful opportunity to reflect on where you’ve been and realign with where you’re going.
When Helen walked into my office just a few days before Christmas, her face carried the weariness of someone who had been running on empty. She sat down, her scarf still loosely wrapped around her neck, and glanced at the small tree in the corner of my office, decorated with modest, warm lights.
“I almost canceled,” she admitted, her voice soft. “But I thought, if not now, when?”
Helen, in her late 30s, had been in therapy with me for six months, navigating the layers of grief, burnout, and a sense of lost identity. December was particularly heavy for her—a time when memories of her late mother intertwined with the pressure of holiday cheer, leaving her feeling unmoored.
This session, however, felt different. Helen wasn’t here to talk about the past, nor was she focused on immediate problems. Instead, she was here to explore something more profound: the strange and sacred week that was about to begin, from December 24 to 31.
The Liminal Space
“I’ve always felt like this week is… odd,” she said, searching for the right words. “It’s like the year isn’t over, but it’s not quite the new one either. Everything slows down, and I feel this strange mix of relief and anxiety.”
I nodded, recognizing the sentiment. The week between Christmas and New Year’s often feels like a liminal space—a pause between what was and what will be. For many, it’s a time of reflection, hope, and intention-setting. But for others, it can amplify feelings of loneliness or unresolved emotions.
“For me,” Helen continued, “it’s this overwhelming pressure to make sense of everything. To sum up the whole year and somehow plan for the next, as if one week can hold all that weight.”
Looking Back
I asked Helen to think about the year that was ending. What moments stood out? What lessons had emerged, even from the struggles?
She hesitated at first but then began to speak.
“This year was… chaotic,” she said. “I lost my job in February, and I thought that was the end of everything stable in my life. But then I realized it wasn’t just the job I was mourning—it was who I thought I was. Without that title, I felt… invisible.”
Helen had spent much of the year grappling with her identity beyond work, a process that led her to rediscover old passions—painting, gardening, even writing poetry.
“And then there was Mum’s anniversary,” she added, her voice catching. “It’s been five years, but this year it hit me differently. I realized I wasn’t just grieving her death; I was grieving the relationship we didn’t have.”
These realizations, painful as they were, had also brought Helen closer to herself. She had started to see that growth often comes disguised as loss, and healing isn’t a linear process but a spiral—one that revisits old wounds with new understanding.
Sitting in the Pause
As we talked, I encouraged Helen to approach the coming week not as a time to “fix” everything but as a chance to sit with the pause—to honor both the endings and the beginnings it represents.
“Think of it as a clearing,” I suggested. “A space where you can simply be, without rushing to define what comes next.”
She nodded, but her brow furrowed. “It’s hard, though. Everyone around me is so busy with family gatherings, resolutions, plans for the future. And I feel… disconnected, like I’m watching it all from the outside.”
This brought us to the topic of solitude, which can feel amplified during this time of year. We talked about how being alone doesn’t have to mean being lonely and how solitude can offer a rare opportunity for deep reflection and self-connection.
“Maybe,” I said, “this week isn’t about doing more. Maybe it’s about letting yourself rest in the in-between, trusting that clarity will come when it’s ready.”
Letting Go, Letting In
By the time our session ended, Helen had a plan—not for resolutions or grand gestures, but for simple rituals to honor the pause.
She decided to write a letter to her mother, not to send but to express what had been left unsaid. She also planned to revisit her journal from the past year, not to judge her progress but to acknowledge her journey. And she made a promise to herself: to spend New Year’s Eve alone, lighting a candle for what she was ready to let go of and another for what she hoped to let in.
“I think,” she said as she stood to leave, “this week could actually be… sacred, in a way. Not because of what I do, but because of how I allow myself to be.”
An Invitation
Helen’s story reminds us of the unique opportunity this week offers—a chance to pause, reflect, and realign. It’s a reminder that growth doesn’t come from rushing toward the future or clinging to the past, but from sitting in the stillness of the present moment.
Whether you spend this time surrounded by loved ones or in the quiet company of yourself, consider what it means to honor the space between endings and beginnings. In that pause, you might just find the clarity and courage to step into the new year—not with pressure, but with purpose.
By Ari Sotiriou