Today is December 21, the beginning of the winter solstice here in the Northern hemisphere. Though tonight marks the official start of the season, I have been easing into my own winter for the last several weeks, ushering in a period of solitude, cold, darkness, and rest. For most of my life, I was like the majority of my fellow New Englanders, rushing between warm spaces in a too-thin jacket, cursing the darkness and cold. Why couldn’t it be summer all year long? But over the last few years, I’ve stumbled upon an unexpected change of heart about this season we love to hate.
It started when I first read Katherine May’s Wintering three years ago, at a time when I desperately needed its call to embrace the cyclical nature of the human experience. As May writes, “We like to imagine that it’s possible for life to be one eternal summer and that we have uniquely failed to achieve that for ourselves.” That has always been true for me, a person who prides herself on the ability to get things done, in order to move onto the next thing that begs my attention. Historically, winter was nothing more than a minor setback in my grand plan to be productive, warm, and happy all year long.
As a child, I learned about hibernating animals, about trees that lose their leaves in winter, about the days growing steadily shorter and colder in the run-up to winter. I saw it as a quaint and interesting quirk of nature that had absolutely nothing to do with me. But in the last several years of my life, I’ve come to understand that I am an animal too, and ignoring my own urge to winter is tantamount to a bat or dormouse attempting to forgo its own hibernation in favor of a yearlong summer. Each year at this time, I feel the pull to slow down and turn inward, but only recently have I begun to structure my life in a way that makes this possible. Left unchecked, my life would continue at its usual dizzying pace, Newton’s first law embodied. I am an object forever in motion, and unless I push back with unbalanced force, I will continue on into oblivion, wiping and re-wiping my countertops, folding and refolding the same pieces of laundry, adding items to my never-ending to-do list for all eternity.
This year, my body has left me no other choice but to winter. Lately, I have felt a familiar, gnawing anxiety creeping into my bones, a surge of panic that sets my heart to racing and makes me feel like I’m drowning on dry land. It’s worse when I’m prone, lying flat on my back in the dark of the night, vulnerable and unable to take action on the myriad tasks my mind likes to conjure up. Each morning I wake with my heart slamming against my chest, either from the stress of my dreams (in which I live out a technicolor version of my greatest fears) or from the feeling that before I’ve even set my feet on the floor, I’m already behind.
To be clear, I do not live a particularly stressful life. I have the good fortune of staying home with my kids, who are honestly a blast to hang out with 95% of the time. I have a loving spouse, a wonderful network of friends, a supportive family. I have hobbies and interests and I make adequate time and space for my own needs. And yet, every now and again, a season of panic sets in. And when it does, I recognize it as my nervous system screaming at me that something is amiss, something that can often be remedied if I’m willing to slow down and turn inward.
So that’s what I’m doing this winter. In the interest of prioritizing rest and solitude, I am retreating from the familiar busyness of my life and granting myself the space to be, as Katherine May puts it, “more careful with my time and energies.” Right now, as the days grow colder and the nights longer, I am more aware of the finite limits of both my time and energy in a way that I am not in the bright, hot, endless days of summer. It feels like a radical act of self care to realize that I cannot be the same all year long, and to adjust my life accordingly.
Consequently, I enjoy winter more these days than I ever have. I look forward to slipping on my warm socks and cozy sweaters, to bundling up under a mound of blankets with a cup of tea and a book in hand—sometimes turning in for the night as early as 8:30. I like lighting candles at night and easing into the early darkness more naturally, without so much artificial light confusing my nervous system. I like layering up in my puffy jacket and hat and gloves for a midday walk in the bracing cold, sucking in lungfuls of icy air as I wind my way through the trails near our house. I’m partial to the comforting foods of winter—the homemade soups and bone broths, the bowls of oatmeal and kettles of tea—the kind of nourishment that warms me from the inside out. And I enjoy the feeling of my body responding in kind, to my heart rate slowing, my shoulders relaxing, my jaw unclenching, my limbs loosening. This call to slowness feels innate, undeniable, a force I am doing well to embrace rather than ignore at great risk to my own well-being.
I have a feeling I’ll be writing more about wintering this season, as it’s what has the lion’s share of my attention these days. But for now I’ll leave you with this: if the season is calling you to turn inward, to slow down and prioritize solitude and stillness, remember that this feeling is no accident. It’s hardwired within us as animals, as true and undeniable as the seasons themselves. So rather than struggle against it in an attempt to live in an eternal summer, why not see what happens when you embrace the season and all that comes with it? Winter is here whether we like it or not, so maybe it’s time to clear a space for it in our lives.
Right Now I’m…
Watching: Parks and Rec for the millionth time. Right now, it’s all about comfort, baby.
Listening to: Holistic Trauma Healing with Lindsey Lockett. I learn so much from Lindsey’s work but now that I’m not on social media anymore, I miss a lot of her content. The podcast has been a nice avenue for me to pick and choose the pieces of her work that most resonate with me right now.
Reading: The Anatomy of Anxiety: Understanding and Overcoming the Body’s Fear Response by Dr. Ellen Vora. This book (which I learned about in Lindsey’s podcast) echoes so much of what I’ve written about here, in a way that makes anxiety management feel very achievable without meds, which aren’t right for me at this time in my life. I’m about halfway through, and have gotten a ton of practical tips from what I’ve read so far.
Loving: The Christmas season. I’m usually too stressed to enjoy it, but this year my husband and I partnered up to tackle the holiday tasks together and we got it all done with enough time to still enjoy the fun gatherings and seasonal activities. Also, my kids are truly connoisseurs of coziness and I cannot wait to gift them with the bigger and cozier beds we got them for Christmas. I see a lot of book reading and bed snuggling in our immediate future.
Learning: That it’s OK to not give myself away to every person that wants my time and attention. I’ve been slowly getting better at this as I’ve gotten older, but every now and then a relationship comes along that trips me up and sets me back to what feels like square one. But I know I’m growing and taking all the old lessons with me, even when it doesn’t feel like it. Live and learn, right?
Celebrating: My first semester of my creative writing program finishing up. I worked my ass off for the last six months (while having an absolute blast!) and now I get to enjoy a few weeks of rest while I gear up for my second weeklong residency in January.
Happy holidays to you and yours,
Melissa