When The Light Begins To Return
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When The Light Begins To Return
This winter has felt different for me.
Not dramatic. Not catastrophic. Just… heavier.
The kind of heaviness that creeps in quietly. Mornings that feel harder to begin. Afternoons that seem to close in too quickly. A sense of moving through thick air rather than open space.
I found myself wondering how many grey days it takes before the spirit starts to dim a little.
For me, it wasn’t one event or one difficult moment. It was simply the long stretch of muted skies. Weeks of cloud cover. Fields saturated and muddy. Walks shortened. Light scarce.
And the truth is, we are not separate from the seasons.
Our bodies are rhythmic. Light regulates our sleep, our hormones, our energy. When daylight is reduced for long periods, it makes sense that motivation dips and tiredness increases. It isn’t weakness — it’s biology meeting environment.
This winter I have felt the “winter blues” in a way I hadn’t before. A lower hum of energy. A stronger pull toward comfort food and early nights. A little less sparkle for things that usually lift me.
But what I am noticing now — and what feels hopeful — is the subtle shift toward spring.
The evenings are stretching. There is a softness in the air that wasn’t there in January. The ground, though still damp, is beginning to firm. Soon the fields will be less soggy, the paths more welcoming.
And with that comes something very simple but very powerful: more walking.
Walking is medicine for me. Open skies, birdsong, the feeling of moving forward on steady ground. When winter mud limits that, I feel it. So the promise of lighter evenings and drier fields feels like more than convenience — it feels like renewal.
Spring offers light in two ways:
More daylight. More possibility.
As we move toward it, I’m gently supporting myself rather than judging the slower months. Opening curtains early. Sitting where the light reaches. Stepping outside even when it’s brisk. Planning longer walks as soon as the ground allows. Letting movement gradually expand again.
There’s also something tender about acknowledging that winter is naturally inward. Nature rests. Trees conserve. Perhaps feeling a little slower is not something to criticise, but something to honour.
If you have felt the heaviness too, know that it doesn’t mean something is wrong with you. Sometimes it simply means you are human, responding to months of grey.
And now — slowly — the light is returning.
The fields will dry.
The evenings will stretch.
The air will warm.
And with each small step on firmer ground, energy rises again.
A GENTLE INVITATION
If you notice yourself feeling overwhelmed, disconnected or stuck, consider this an invitation to pause and turn towards yourself with kindness. Support does not have to be dramatic or complicated — sometimes it begins with a single breath and a willingness to listen inwardly.
If you would like support in reconnecting with yourself, finding balance, or exploring what self-care truly means for you, you are warmly invited to get in touch or book a session. You do not have to navigate it alone.