Winter Isn’t for Hustling: It’s for Holding Yourself
There’s something about the turn of the year that carries a strange kind of pressure. Even though I genuinely love the ritual of New Year’s Eve—the reflection, the quiet hope, the symbolic reset—I’ve realized that my energy doesn’t actually reset in January. If anything, it rests.
I align far more closely with nature’s rhythms. Spring is when I feel my energy awaken again, when ideas stretch and reach for the light. Winter, for me, is a season of integration. I’ll often sketch out a loose vision for the year ahead, but the colder months are about reflecting on what’s already been lived, felt, and learned. And yet, culturally, we’re often asked to have everything figured out right in the dead of winter—to optimize, to push forward, to prove momentum when the ground itself is frozen.
Winter asks something different of the body. And of creativity.
For me, it asks that I warm my soul. That I stay close to home. That I read new stories, cook hearty meals for my family, and tend to what I lovingly call my creativity cauldron. I no longer lean into hustle culture… it has led me straight into burnout every single time. Maybe this is specific to my nervous system… but I have a feeling I’m not alone in that experience.
Holding yourself, I’ve learned, looks very practical. It means giving myself the tools I need to succeed each day, especially in winter. I have a cozy nest on the couch where I can curl up and read, or write if inspiration happens to strike. There are no expectations in that space—only warmth and quiet support for whatever the day brings. And honestly, some days the pain flares are strong enough that my heating pad becomes the highlight of the afternoon.
On days when the world tells me to push harder, I remind myself that half of nature is asleep. The ground is frozen. Even the trees are resting.
Rest, too, has required a reframing.
For a long time, I equated resting with laziness, while simultaneously wishing I could “do nothing” joyfully. When those old thoughts creep back in, whispering that I’m avoiding something or falling behind, I gently remind myself that those thoughts aren’t truth.
Rest is not avoidance. It’s active care.
I now build rest into my days intentionally, in a way that flows and supports me, and it’s changed everything.
Low-energy days don’t need to mean anything more than what they are. Winter gives us a natural invitation to tend to ourselves—to offer love, warmth, and care during cold, quiet days. I lean into small acts of gentleness often: tea, favorite blankets, quiet mornings, snuggling with my animals. When it snows, it feels like nature herself is encouraging all of it at once.
And here’s the part that always surprises me: slowing down doesn’t take anything away from my creativity, it protects it. When I’m constantly pouring from my creative well, I become depleted. Expectations—real or perceived—can weigh heavily on my work. Winter feels like a collective exhale, a season where those expectations soften and the noise quiets. It gives me space to refill, so that when spring comes, I have something real to offer again.
So if you’re finding yourself tired this season, I invite you to loosen your grip. To rest where you are. To trust the seasons… both the ones outside your window and the ones moving quietly within you.
You don’t need to hustle through winter. You’re allowed to be held.
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