I used to be one of those strange people who loved early January.

That moment after the Christmas decorations come down and the house feels weirdly tidy and spacious – a clean slate for a new year.

I always clear a day or two and disappear into my studio for "the great annual tidy-up", to color-code my books(!) and, crucially, to plan my year.

There are reflections, vision boards, goal-setting exercises, and sometimes even a Blue Peter-style thermometer with which to track my income. (Because people doing good things in the world get to make good money too!)

Absolute new pencil case vibes. (Sometimes an actual new pencil case too!)

But lately, I have found winter really tough. My mental health seems to become more and more battered with every successive storm, and I find it harder and harder to muster the energy for those few days of planning that I used to love.

Because, as much as I prefer windswept, desolate beaches to the tangled mass of tourists that descend upon us in the summer, it's got to be said that Cornwall is not at its best in January.

'Mizzle' is the word we use for the combination of mist and drizzle that soaks you through to your underwear without even registering on the weather forecast as actual rain.

Despite all of this, I set aside a whole week at the beginning of this year and I tried. I had plants to repot, books to colour-code and a whole host of planning tools that used to bring me joy.

But every time I tried to think about 2024, I couldn't see it – and I am the queen of visualisation.

It just seemed dark, and I just felt tired and sad.

And then a coach (shout out to Joeli Carparco) asked me a question.

"What thoughts are you telling yourself about this year?"

Boom!

The thought, the unfinished sentence, the fear that was behind my lack of ability to make a plan for 2024, was...

"2023 was so hard...."

and I hadn't even allowed myself to think the second part of the sentence:

"...which means 2024 is going to be hard too."

As soon as I had articulated the full sentence I could start to examine it. I could take it out of my brain, dust it off, and have a good look at it – and ask myself "what else could be true?"

Yes, 2023 was hard in many, many ways – I didn't come close to hitting the goals I pinned to my cork board last January with such hope and optimism. My Blue Peter thermometer? Hypothermic. I tried and failed at a lot of things – a lot! And I was beset with minor illnesses and injuries that got in the way of a lot of the fun stuff I had planned.

But do you what? It was also beautiful in so many ways. I spent joyous, spacious time with friends and family. I travelled – finally! I took time off. I swam. I connected with nature. I camped! I built some good habits. And my God, did I learn a lot!

And as for the second part of that sentence, yes, 2024 might be just as hard/beautiful as 2023, but it also might not. I can't know that yet.

You won't believe me when I say this, but as all this was occurring to me, the sun came out from behind a big cloud and filled my studio with light! The darkness was gone.

Now this isn't a movie. It wasn't an instant transformation. It took me another full week of digging my hands into soil (repotting all those plants – I still haven't done the books!), of walking on windswept, desolate beaches, and getting drenched in Cornish mizzle for me to really feel it in my bones, but, a little behind schedule – I'm finally excited about 2024!

A friend turned to me on the beach the other day, just about to comment on how dreadful the weather was, and she saw me walking, my face and my palms open to the rain, and just smiled. The difference in me is night and day.