New beginnings start in January. A personal reflection on birth flowers, seasonal living, mental wellness, and choosing gentle ways to begin the year.

January’s name comes to us via the Roman calendar. Janus was the Roman god of doors, gates, and transitions, and was therefore seen as the guardian of both the past and the future — beginnings and endings of the year. He is depicted with two faces, one looking back and one looking forward. It makes me think of how we look back over the last year and look forwards into our future year, making plans. I was born in January, so I have always had a particular interest in this month. Not only does a new year begin (at least for many of us in the West), but my own personal year begins here too.

I love flowers, and quite accidentally I have fallen in love with carnations and snowdrops, the two flowers associated with January. I love carnations for their bright, soft romantic blooms and their spicy scent. They symbolise devotion and loyalty, qualities that remind me strongly of maternal love and compassion. I am a born nurturer. As Derek often says, I will nurture anything that needs encouragement to live — animals, plants, and humans alike.

In Roman and Victorian times, flowers were used as a way to communicate, and it was during these eras that each month was given two symbolic flowers. The other flower for January is the snowdrop, which I also adore (though, truthfully, I adore most flowers). My memory of snowdrops takes me back to when my parents bought a large plot of land. Each spring, snowdrops would blossom; delighting my parents — a joy that was passed on to me.

Snowdrops symbolize hope, new beginnings, rebirth, and quiet triumph. They look fragile, but like me, they are anything but. They flower in spring, die back by autumn, and lie dormant beneath the earth. Their bulbs store all their energy and life, waiting patiently. Then, in the coldest part of winter, they send their tiny fingers up through the soil to touch the light. They are a sign of hope and rebirth — a new cycle beginning once again.

I feel deeply aligned with this way of living. It’s okay to hibernate and slow down, and it’s equally okay to feel exuberant when new ideas begin to stir.

With its theme of new beginnings, January is also known by some as Dry January. I have never drunk very much in my life — perhaps an occasional glass to celebrate an important date, a couple of gin and tonics in summer, some glühwein or mulled wine in winter, or the odd beer at a barbecue (or, as we South Africans say, a braai, pronounced like BR-eye). On average, I was probably having about one drink a week.

When I first heard of Dry January, I was a little bemused. “It’s not for me,” I told myself. The following year — which happened to be 2020 — I thought, “Well, if you’re so smug, why don’t you do it then? It won’t be hard.” I ended up having a dry year and noticed that my rosacea and allergies improved significantly.

After 2020, I did have a glass once or twice a year, but it only reinforced the fact that, for me, it simply isn’t worth it. Wine, for example, is one of many things that worsen my papular rosacea. It’s not the cosmetic aspect that bothers me — it’s the pain. At times, it can be uncomfortable even to rest my face on a pillow. The sensation ranges from itchy and tingly to outright painful. Alcohol doesn’t enhance my health or well-being, so over the past year I made a conscious decision that I am not a drinker.

Over the last two years, I have also drastically reduced my caffeine intake — not because I think I should, but because I feel calmer and less jittery without it. I noticed how anxiety and restlessness affected my blood pressure and headaches, so once again, it simply made sense to adjust my habits in ways that help me feel better.

Speaking of anxiety, January is also Mental Wellness Month. Throughout this month, I’ll be sharing more about journaling, visual journaling, and the therapeutic relationship as I continue to explore and honour the themes of January.

Chat soon.