Part of any "check in with your body" practice should include checking in with your mental and emotional state, as well as your fatigue levels.
My wife and I celebrate the Yule Solstice, rather than Christmas, so we're done and dusted for "out of the ordinary" days - and our focus is on reflection and preparation for the coming year, rather than noise and crowds. We do exchange and accept gifts, but they're not the focal point - they're part of a wider day of making time and space to truly "be" in companionship with one another.
For the day before and the day of Solstice, we don't buy anything (no, not even online!) and we are intentional with tech - I turn off my laptop and phone entirely, while my wife does keep hers on, but mainly for connecting with friends who also celebrate Solstice, rather than Christmas.
I'm working until Christmas Eve, in a light-touch way (checking in on email and social media at the beginning and end of each working day; my role involves liaising with organisations, businesses, and individuals, and it's never clear who's actually about in the run up to Christmas. This year will also be the first time in 8yrs that I've actually taken the period between Christmas and New Year off - from this morning's check in, I very much need that.)
I felt exceptionally achy and tired, checking in, in a way I haven't over the past two days. Sad, too, in a soft, unfocused way. I don't want to be back online, back staring at a screen. Even typing this, I'm conscious of my jaw clenching, my stomach aching.
It's not that I think the internet is "evil" or "screens are killing us!" - I recognise the practicality they offer, but I also think they're losing that utility, as they become just another outlet for hyper-capitalism.
One of the ways I like to establish value is to ask "If I won the lottery, would I pay for...?"
Apply that to the internet: If I won the lottery/had a reliably constant income that was sufficient, would I pay for an ad-free, influencer-scrubbed social media? If it could be guaranteed influencer and ad-free, I might; up to a fiver a month. But I'd be cancelling the minute a single ad or influencer crossed my feed.
Would I pay to use search engines? No - I actually know a lot of stuff already, and I trust traditionally published books and magazines more than algorithms.
Would I pay to have access to email? Yes - it's useful for the kinds of communication I need to do professionally, and I know how to set rules and filters that render it no more stressful than going through physical post. (Seriously...learn to filter your inbox, ffs! It's a game changer. If you're a fan of AI (I'm not) learn how to teach it default responses to certain kinds of messages - it'll respond without you even having to read the email. I can summarise and send a response in under 5mins just reading most emails myself, so I don't need AI's assistance in that matter - well, other than sometimes in providing text-to-speech, but that's not usually what people mean when they talk about AI.)
I mentioned I felt very tired, and very low - which are both things men aren't really allowed to talk about feeling, these days. We may be (slowly) moving beyond the idea of "stiff upper lip; keep calm and carry on!", but we're moving instead into the snapped response of "Try being a woman!" Fun fact; I have: I was less tired. People offered to help me far more than they have in the time I've cohesively engaged with society as a man. My performance at work wasn't as scrutinised. I didn't face the same struggle to get work in the first place. It was easier to find social activities.
I was more depressed, though - to the point of suicide. I couldn't see a way past the depression. Now? I still get depressed, but it's rarely anything like as bad, and mostly I can go "It's just mental weather" - but we don't tell people they shouldn't talk about the weather, or that certain types of people are having a worse experience with the weather, do we?

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