Winter’s Malaise and the Chance to Begin Again

I start each fall with the best of intentions.

And this year, I was on it. Early.

After the trainwreck of last winter, I wasn’t going to let my seasonal blues get the best of me. At the first sign of falling light levels, I had my happy lamp out and would meditate in front of it. This year, I had an “anti-depression plan:” stay connected to people I like; tend to my physical well-being with movement; meditate daily; cook good food; book music and cultural events to anticipate.

It started out pretty well. I met online with my friend Janice twice a week for a chat and to do our Petra exercises together. Up until Christmas, I met weekly with my Scottish friend Maggie for a chat online and a regular meditation. I worked with my coaching clients and dove deeply into my podcast. I met monthly with my writing buddies. As soon as there was enough snow, my husband and I headed into the woods for our daily forest bathing hikes. I made reservations at new and interesting restaurants.

And still, by January, I was in the doldrums.

It creeps up on me, you see. This winter malaise. I get sluggish and tired. I grow less interested in life. I don’t want to go out. I don’t always shower every day. I can go days without leaving the house. I get irritated and snappish, which isn’t like me (I think anyway. My husband can tell you more). I want to sleep… all the time. In short, life loses it’s sparkle.

By February, I can be in tears. Last year, I was. Suddenly, I would go on crying jags that had no real cause but seemed… bottomless. Not every day, but enough days to notice.

I guess, things are better this year, because that didn’t happen.

I did keep to my morning ritual of coffee and happy light. My daily meditation. Sitting on Sundays with Big Stone House resumed, and I began paying attention again to my highs and lows. Petra classes with Janice continued. Maggie and I stopped talking for a while, but we’re getting back to our weekly sessions soon. Coffee chats with friends, in person and online, continued. I joined a curling league; two in fact. I was still sluggish and tired and snappish. But I was aware it was happening, eventually anyway.

I tried to call “human” on myself (when I noticed), and practiced giving myself grace in the moment. I was also reminded that the most helpful lesson I have learned is that I can begin again. Each moment, each day, each week, each month are opportunities to start over. To give myself a clean slate.

I can always begin again.

And so, with the light returning in late March and into April, I feel a surge of energy. My heart suddenly sings and I feel, hopeful. I smile more. I bask in the goodness that is all around me.

I forget that this always happens. Like the night giving way to morning, so too does my winter malaise give way to my skipping heart. Bright spring days return: I walk in my neighbourhood under an eggshell blue sky, with snow still underfoot, and the sound of geese honking overhead. The world feels shiny, fresh and new.

And I resolve, for yet another year, that next fall, it will be different. I will try again to avoid the depths of despair and maybe, fall down just a little less.

But as I write that, I pause and wonder if there is something here for me to learn.

I fully believe that we get the same lessons again and again from the Universe until we learn them. And my winter malaise is a recurring opportunity to learn… something…?

I also fully believe that when I face things I can’t do anything about (like the changing seasons, and winter), there is one thing I can tend to and that is how I hold the situation. How I react to it. THAT I can do something about.

I’m aware that winter’s call to slumber is a necessary thing for all aspects of nature, at least here in my part of Canada. That the perennials and the garlic all need time to rest so they can flourish in their next growing season. The ground needs to lie fallow awhile, and replenish itself. Many animals hibernate for the winter, so they too will be ready when the longer days beckon.

Less daylight is permission to slow down, DO less, DEMAND less of myself. Especially since my work is mine to direct, I can slow down and produce less. There is no reason why not. As I explore, I’m aware that there’s a lot that I can learn from winter. I can take my time and slow down. I can read more. Rest more. Cogitate and plan so I’m ready when life gets busy again.

And, what about grace…. What if part of my winter malaise is an unconscious judgment of myself that I’m not measuring up? That I’m not being as productive as I think I should be during these short winter days? And what if I just let that go… that need to produce, and as the days get shorter in the coming fall, just see if giving myself permission to hibernate isn’t just the thing to help me slip free of the darkness of my soul, just this once? And rest up, to be ready for spring…?

I start each fall with the best of intentions…

We're in the forest daily from fall to spring, and it never ceases to raise my spirits, even when I'm feeling low. Photo credit: T. Chapman