Scent Memory

Have you ever been gaslit by the smell of your house? Plus a 2025 retrospective.

It’s been too long since I’ve written something public, as it always is. Fall came and went, ferrying me along a crash course tour of my less desirable patterns and attachments. Now, it’s December and we are somersaulting into the cold, lonelier months of the year. I can’t believe we’re here again.

December 1st marked one year since I moved into this a-frame cabin. The opportunity appeared out of thin air while I was wrapping up an extended trip to Bozeman, one fraught with romantic fits and starts, confrontations of my weaknesses and in hindsight, my strengths. In a moment where I felt completely turned around, unsure which scent to follow, the offer of the a-frame appeared like the hand of god in my life and said “here’s the right choice”. And it was.

My getting to know this place was in the darkness. The air was brisk, the brushy wetland across from my brook leaf-less. Snow flurries dot my memory of that time. I was contending with my single-ness, trying not to yearn too hard and enjoy my solitude while staring down the tunnel of a long winter that was only mine to manage. I wasn’t perfect, but I prevailed and met my boyfriend on a rainy spring day, standing in a circle of friends. Our dancing hearts carried me through the summer.

As the weeks crept closer to September, we braced ourselves for his return to a demanding ski coaching schedule. In October, he left for a month to coach in Austria. Two weeks after he returned, he left for two weeks to coach in British Columbia, getting home a day before we were due at my parent’s house for Thanksgiving. On top of it all, our homes are an hour away from each other which adds a layer of logistical complexity to the relationship. The summer of long distance had felt manageable, normal. But when autumn arrived, it didn’t take long for me to realize I was being groundhog-dayed by the universe; his absence from the cabin felt familiar.

The month of October, while he was gone, felt much like my first December here. The house takes on a certain scent in the colder months you can only smell when you first walk through the door. Every return home, I was brought back to those first weeks here: weeks ripe with longing, questions, exhilaration, and a very specific strain of loneliness. But didn’t I have a boyfriend now? Where was he? We usually spoke once a day, typically in the afternoon before his bedtime in the Central European time zone. Otherwise, I was left to my own devices for a month: cooking my own meals, making my own coffee, failing to take out my own trash. Just like the old days. Aside from the nice man calling me every afternoon to ask how my day was, this existence felt entirely the same as it did a year ago. Which caused a spiral.

Very quickly I was hucked back into my most notorious relational patterns: assuming the mere fact of his being in Europe was evidence he hated me, metaphorically pacing the halls waiting for our daily phone call, hoping today’s would be the one where he would say the magical non-existent phrase that put my anxiety to rest for good, falling into the trap of confirmation bias where every interaction that didn’t exceed my expectations beyond what I could have imagined was just more proof that we were incompatible. You get the jist.

At this point in the essay you might be thinking “Jillian, have you considered therapy?” to which I reply: yes, I’ve had years of therapy and I actually have a pretty good handle on why my brain and nervous system co-conspire to ruin my relationships. The progress here is my awareness of the neuroses described in the above paragraph, where three years ago I likely would have never noticed them and wondered why the heck I suddenly felt awful about everything. The awareness to share them with my nice boyfriend in real time (always with the asterisk *I know this isn’t logical but*, to which he always responds kindly and apologetically, even though none of it is his fault or responsibility) is the good stuff.

Of course, he eventually returned stateside and came straight to my cabin. We cozied up for a few days to reintegrate. I was reminded that he was in fact real and that he did in fact still love me. The smell when you first enter the house on a cold day was the same, but this time there was another person inside. The weeks since have been up and down. Sometimes I feel squarely planted on the conveyor belt towards my future, others I feel like the conveyor belt is out of order and I’m sat cross-legged on it facing the wrong direction, halted. It’s all an illusion, that this December 1st is the same as last December 1st, that I’ve made no gains in the self-growth department, that I’m just as lonely as I was then. Because I’m not.

Merry Solstice

This is likely my last letter of 2025. I have two feelings about this: 1) I failed at this Substack because I promised myself I’d write a monthly check-in, round-up-type thing AND a longer form essay, but I fell very short of that mark. 2) It’s actually quite an accomplishment to maintain any sense of consistency with these kinds of things, so from that perspective I was successful.

Take THAT, imposter syndrome. I’ll see you in the new year. Thanks for all of you who continue to open these emails and send me love after every dispatch, it means the world.

For me, the value of December and the holiday it brings is its reverent darkness, the eager anticipation of the sunnier half of the year, the quiet faith that spring will arrive again. The evergreen trees we bring into our houses and cover in lights and nostalgia are symbols of this; a nod to our faith in the sun’s return and honoring what came before. I hope however you move through this month, it includes a dose of that.

And don’t forget to eat some sugar. Here’s my favorite recipe.

Thank you, 2025

Notable events:

• Austin, TX - February

• That one really good day at the Dartmouth Skiway with friends - February

• The purchase of my new-used couch - February

• Deer Isle, ME - March

• Bird flew down my chimney - March

• 32nd birthday - April

• Ride for Mo - May

• Austin, TX, again - July

• Mad Half Marathon - July

• Copenhagen - October

• Puerto Rico - upcoming :)

Books I read:

• North Woods - Daniel Mason ( ★ ★ ★ ★ ★)

• Small Things Like These - Claire Keegan ( ★ ★)

• Radio Free Vermont - Bill McKibben ( ★ ★ ★ ★ ★)

• How To Say Babylon - Safiya Sinclair ( ★ ★ ★ ★)

• Good Material - Dolly Alderton ( ★ ★ ★)

• Cat’s Cradle - Kurt Vonnegut ( ★ ★ )

• Idaho - Emily Ruskovich ( ★ ★ ★ ★ ★)

• The God of the Woods - Liz Moore ( ★ ★ ★ ★)

Patterns I knit:

• High Point Hat - Purl Soho

• Great Lakes Pullover - Ozetta

• Happy Feet Booties - Purl Soho

• Sophie Hood - Petiteknit

• Hedgehog - Purl Soho

• Garter Ear Flap Hat - Purl Soho

All for now. I love you for being here, thanks for making the time. I hope the end of this year brings you calm, peace, whatever else you need. Don’t forget to help each other! And make hay when the sun shines.