New Beginnings

December has always felt different to me.

There is a softness that settles in. A collective permission to look back gently and forward with hope. We forgive ourselves more easily. Our mistakes feel smaller. The year begins to blur at the edges, not in a dishonest way, but in a kinder one.

As January approaches, we tell ourselves we are about to begin again. A clean slate. A fresh start. What has happened has happened, and now it is time to move on.

It is a feeling of release we do not seem to grant ourselves at any other time of year.

But over time, I started to wonder why we reserve that feeling for one date on the calendar, and who decided it belonged there in the first place.

Because the truth is, that sense of renewal is not tied to January at all. It is something we create. And for women, it is something our bodies already know how to do.

I began noticing that not everyone experiences January as a beginning. There are cultures and communities who do not mark the new year on January first. Some follow lunar calendars. Others follow solar or religious calendars. And yet, they still experience that same sense of renewal. That same emotional reset.

Which made me realise something that feels obvious now, but took me a while to truly sit with. The feeling we associate so strongly with the new year is not attached to the date itself. It is attached to meaning. To permission.

We collectively agree that this moment marks an ending and a beginning. In doing so, we allow ourselves to soften. To release what has already passed. To look ahead without carrying the weight of the previous year with us.

And once I saw that, I could not unsee it. Because if that feeling can exist outside of January, if it can exist whenever we decide it does, then it is not something we need to wait for.

Especially not as women.

Women have periods. There is no softer way to say that.

For many of us, they are not neutral. At best they are inconvenient. At worst they are debilitating. They interrupt our lives, our routines, our sense of control. And when you are living with pain, discomfort, or unpredictability, being told to simply love your body can feel hollow.

I understand why the narrative of unconditional body love does not land for everyone. When your body feels like something you have to endure, romanticising it can feel more frustrating than freeing.

But the way I see it, if this is something we have to live with, then it deserves more than dismissal. It deserves meaning.

Women are cyclical beings. Whether we have been taught to notice it or not, our bodies move through patterns of preparation, growth, release, and rest every single month.

Over the course of a cycle, the body builds. It holds. And then it lets go.

This rhythm is not dramatic. It is quiet. Reliable. And deeply human.

Which is what brings me back to that feeling we associate so strongly with the new year. The relief. The softness. The permission to begin again.

Because our bodies already practice that release regularly.

Our uteruses build up a lining all month long, and then shed it when it is no longer needed.

In much the same way, we as humans accumulate experiences. Expectations. Tensions. We carry them with us, often without realising how heavy they have become. And once a year, we collectively decide it is time to put them down.

January gives us permission to do that.

But if release is something our bodies are already capable of, then perhaps it does not need to be confined to a single date on the calendar. Perhaps it is something we can recognise more often.

Not as a demand. Not as another thing to optimise. But as a reminder that letting go is part of our design.

I have been trying to do this myself. One of the things I appreciate most about the internet is that you are not required to take everything it offers. You can take what resonates and leave what does not.

I live with endometriosis and PMDD, so I have consumed a lot of content about exactly what to do in every phase of the cycle. Over time, I have learned to be selective. Not every suggestion needs to become a rule, and not every framework needs to be followed to the letter.

For me, honouring the start of a new cycle is less about doing things correctly, and more about allowing contrast. When I am on my period, I naturally move toward simplicity. Less makeup. Comfortable clothes. Fewer demands. And then, once my period has passed, I like to mark that shift in a small but intentional way. Putting a little more effort into how I look. Wearing something new. Taking my time. It helps me feel like I have returned, not to productivity, but to myself.

The other part of this reset is quieter. I have always been someone who thinks deeply, often without meaning to. During my period, when everything slows, I try to give that instinct space. I reflect on what the last cycle held. What felt heavy. What I do not want to carry forward. Squaring things away in my mind, as best I can, so I am not dragging them with me into the next month.

More than ever, women are being told what to do with their bodies. What to eat in each phase. How to move. How to optimise. Even well-intentioned advice can begin to feel loud.

That is why I shared what works for me, and only that. Not because it is the right way, but because it is mine. It may resonate with you, or it may not. And that is okay.

Phase & Flow, and this space within it, exists for that exact reason. As a reminder that you do not need to mirror what the woman on your screen is doing to be doing this well. The most empowering thing a woman can do is learn to listen to her own body, and to trust what she hears.

As we move into a new year, I invite you to notice the feeling of renewal that January brings. To sit with it. To see how it feels in your body. And if it serves you, to gently carry a trace of that same permission into the beginning of your cycle each month.

Not as a rule. Not as a practice to perfect. Just as an option.

Until next month, move slowly. Be honest with yourself. And remember that beginning again does not need to be loud to be real.

Love,
Ava