The One With the January Blanket

It seems I've missed the deadline for my annual, 'I hate January' blog post so here I am tip-toeing into February and hoping I've got away with it . . .

I mean, in some kind of ironic backlash against January's predictable onslaught of self-improvement manifestoes, social media is now filled with all the reasons why we shouldn't be bowing down to such nonsense. Great. My work here is done. As long as it's not caveated with a link to collagen powder or a gym subscription because content creation can be sneaky like that. You've got to have your wits about you.

Anyway, I survived January and it seems like you have too. Congratulations to us. I'm now peeking out from the blanket that has kept me from extending my overdraft all month and wondering if it's safe to come out.

What do you think, is it safe?

I wouldn't say I'm ready to get 2026 sorted. Far from it. I'm having some health issues that make me want to stay under the blanket forevermore and the energy levels are not what they used to be. However, I'm quietly practicing some of the things I know will tease me away from gloom: short meditations, gentle yoga, cake, windy harbour walks, gratitude, cuddles, WhatsApp wisdom with the girls.

I guess I'm also noticing when my brain starts chanting at me, 'Come-on-for-god's-sake-you-should-be-making-big-and-exciting-PLANS-not-bemoaning-the-end-of-The-Traitors-and-planning-your-next-slice-of-cake.' There's a very fine line between healthy motivation and toxic thinking, right?

So noticing that's happening is enough. Enough for me to perhaps have a knowing inward chuckle but also to do something small to inch myself forwards.

In a couple of weeks or so, Ramadan will begin. Ramadan is a holy month for Muslims all over the world, where they fast from sunrise to sunset as is one of the five pillars of Islam. I'm not Muslim myself, but my husband and two teenaged sons are, so it's a pretty big month in our house.

Not actually our house at all, but a wedding party. Still, it's a good excuse for a selfie.

Each year, I try my best to support them. I recognise that participating in Ramadan is an extremely personal thing and try not to glamorise it from my potentially white-privileged perspective. Instead, I see my role as being gentle and patient, respectfully curious and, obvs, to get the Tesco shopping in.

Every year, I feel the approach of Ramadan like a giant, swelling wave . . . it's beautiful and awesome but also pretty terrifying. I know I'm going to be living with men at the edges of their physical and emotional boundaries; that they're experiencing something I could never fully understand; that their hunger will take on a dimension that will be equal parts fulfilling and depleting.

I know I'm going to be arranging my work schedule around Iftar - the time when the sun sets and the dining table needs to be full of food. That I can't be late with the lasagne or tardy with the tagliatelle. I'll need to consider the salt content of everything and become a nutritional goddess. I'll be in charge of stocking the snack cupboard and making pre-sunrise meals before I go to bed. I'm not the one fasting but, honestly, the month can feel like a marathon, even for me.

A typical Iftar feast in Turkey - this is what I'm up against, folks.

So I guess that's part of the reason why I'm not quite out from under the January blanket yet. I know Ramadan is coming and I know it's going to take some hard-ass energy. I'm sitting here, quietly gathering my resources, silently prepping my soul.

If you're a follower of mine, you will know that a few years ago I had a book published called, 'My Little Ramadan'. Believe it or not, that novel is inspired by a time (back in my thirties when January blankets were old people's lore) when I fasted along with my husband to support him during Ramadan.

If you want to know how it went, you need to read the book or at least read the blurb, but spoiler alert: it wasn't easy and I haven't done it since.

Touting my wares (or something)

During that time I learned that Ramadan isn't just about going without food and water. It's about extending compassion and energy to those less fortunate than yourself. It's about understanding that we are all related by humanity itself and that a connection like that is felt deeply when you're paying proper attention to it.

This got me thinking about the millions of people in Gaza right now. I don't know what the concept of Ramadan will be feeling like for them given that they are experiencing starvation on a critical scale. As I hide under my January blanket, it suddenly takes on a new kind of meaning. It symbolises my wellbeing, my privilege, my safety.

It's only a small thing, but I decided to take a bit of action. I'm hoping you can help me . . .

For every copy of My Little Ramadan I sell from now until the end of Ramadan (20th March), I'll donate all of the profits to a charity called All Our Relations. They directly support 21 families and 4 community-led aid projects across Gaza and they believe in the power of human connection to save lives. I'm not claiming that this will be a huge gesture - my Amazon figures are usually quite embarrassing to share - but I'm hoping that this small intention by me will encourage people to buy, aka, help.

I mean, it is kind of beautiful, right?

So, if you haven't yet read My Little Ramadan, I encourage you to buy it now.

If you know a friend who loves a good book, buy it now.

If you don't know who it's for but want to help anyway, buy it now.

If you don't want to use Evil Amazon (understandable) then you can always get the book from my website shop. Hell, you can even get it signed.

Alternatively, just go to All Our Relations' website and see how to donate directly there.

And if you happen to be reading this snuggled under your own January (or February, or March) blanket, perhaps take a second to consider a small action you can take too. Because it's not like we're not all related.

Go well,

Abi

xxx

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