Winter, We Need to Talk
...about how I’m starting to like you
This week has been a bit of a slow plod. You know the kind. Where the days all blur together and it’s hard to pinpoint exactly what you did or if any of it really mattered. The weekend consisted mainly of different hues of grey accompanied by perpetual drizzle, and my only real outing was a damp stroll to Columbia Road to treat myself to a salmon and cream cheese bagel. But you know what? I’m totally ok with it.
Because instead of feeling guilty about not exercising, neglecting my bike, or having a jam-packed social calendar, I embraced a weekend of slowing down. I stayed in bed until noon on Saturday (yes, really), finished my first 1,000-piece puzzle, brewed mulled wine while decorating the Christmas tree, and absolutely obliterated Sean at Monopoly. No sunshine? No problem. It was cozy, it was restful, and - dare I say- it was kind of lovely.
That got me thinking about winter, a season I’ve historically disliked, and how I’m slowly starting to make peace with it. Love might still be a step too far, but like? Like feels attainable. So today, I’m dedicating this newsletter to my journey of learning to embrace winter’s quieter charms, and why, sometimes, a slow, grey weekend is exactly what you need.
(P.S there’s something super exciting for the ladies if you read to the end 👀)
To many people, winter is a magical time. It’s a season full of festivities and laughter, a time for reconnecting with loved ones, hosting dinner parties, and celebrating a year well-lived. It’s also a time to slow down, a space for long walks, steaming cups of hot chocolate, and frost-bitten crunchy leaves underfoot. Evening jogs in the park turn into cozy nights on the sofa, and strap tops and shorts are replaced by wooly socks and colourful, knitted scarves. To many people, winter brings immense joy. But I am not many people, and winter brings me nothing but cold toes, a persistent sense of doom, and existential dread.
For as long I can remember I’ve struggled with the changing of the seasons and its determined plundering of the light. And whilst others are shrugging on their winter coats and enjoying the wind down to Christmas, I find myself sinking into a deep, winter-fuelled melancholy and retreating to the dispirited confines of my mind.
“I’m not a negative person” I tell myself, as I doom-scroll instagram and ignore yet another WhatsApp message. “This isn’t me” I protest, as I bail on plans with friends, and question what is it all for.
And I’m right. It isn’t me, but for some reason the onset of winter sends me spiralling into an uncontrollable frenzy of hopelessness and anxiety, to the point where I forget that I’ve ever felt anything else.
This year it’s felt particularly hard - perhaps heightened by a summer of epic adventures - and for the first time, I decided to openly share my feelings on social media.
As someone who prides themselves on staying positive in all but the worst situations, being vulnerable about my negative mental state felt deeply uncomfortable. Yet, it also felt necessary - a public apology to the friends I’d been avoiding, and an explanation for why no one had seen me in weeks. Simply "saying it out loud" suddenly made the world feel a little less heavy. Now people would understand, and I wouldn’t have to come up with yet another excuse for flaking on plans, ghosting a conversation, or avoiding an invite.
As it turns out, I wasn’t the only one who was feeling that way. Countless messages flooded my inbox, people sharing their individual experiences of winter and their own personal struggles with “the blues”. I was floored. Not because so many others felt the same, but because we had all been suffering in silence.
Fast forward a few weeks and I finally feel like I’ve turned a corner. Of course, there are still bad days and moments that catch me off guard, but on the whole I’m feeling much more like myself (sans spending hours on the bike - more on that later).
One of the things that really helped me shift my mindset was reading Dr. Kari Leibowitz's “How to Winter”, in which she talks about her time spent living in Tromsø, a Norwegian town that experiences the Polar Night, and how, despite the sun not rising for three months every year, the town’s residents still manage to find the joy in winter.
“Preposterous!” was my first thought, quickly followed by “teach me everything you know.”
Imagine my surprise when one of the first things I learn is that my “winter blues” may not be caused by some weirdly dysfunctional corner of my brain, but could in fact be explained by my mindset. Which of course starts to make a whole lot of sense when I think back to every time I’ve ever heard people (including myself) describe the season as “grim”, “miserable”, and “f**king bleak”.
This repetition of winter as something to be endured cements the idea in our brains that it must be horrible. No wonder my nervous system starts to freak out as soon as October rolls around and 4pm sunsets become the norm; “this is the ghastly season you’ve been warning us about!”
Language is powerful and we must not forget the weight of words.
Leibowitz suggests that instead of viewing winter as a season we need to simply “get through”, why not embrace it as something magical and something to be excited about: an opportunity for rest, reflection, and renewal.
And what about all those exhilarating winter rituals? Sure, summer might take the crown for lounging in the park with a cold cider, or taking a day-trip to the beach, but what about all the awesome activities reserved for the colder months? Wrapping ourselves in hundreds of layers for a brisk Sunday morning walk, meandering through quaint Christmas markets and enjoying a steaming cup of mulled wine under the glow of fairy-lights, or sticking on a festive Spotify playlist and dancing around the living room whilst precariously hanging ornaments on the tree.
She also reminds us that, for most of the natural world, winter is a time for hibernation - not for productivity - and that our ‘always on’ attitudes are a surefire way to guaranteed misery throughout the darker months when our bodies are screaming out for longer lie-ins and afternoon naps.
In short, Leibowitz emphasises the importance of acknowledging that we’re not built to operate at the same cadence all year round. Yes, the modern world allows us to keep to our schedules and agendas and itineraries as though nothing has changed, but the reality of the situation is that things have changed, and we should allow ourselves to adapt to that.
One of the examples that she shares in her book is that communities such as Tromsø (or other places that experience severe winters) have no choice but to alter their routines. With twenty-hours of darkness, heavy snowfall, and freezing temperatures, nature forces a shift. People simply can’t carry on as normal.
Which, when I really think about it, is exactly why I find myself sinking into a hole of despair every time the temperature starts to drop. I beat myself up for the fact I can’t keep up with my summer routine. I feel like a failure when I choose to watch Netflix instead of ride my bike. And I question what I’m doing with my life when, instead of ticking items off my to-do list and building towards my future, I spend the day lounging on the sofa. Instead of embracing the season as a time for rest or recharging, I fall into the trap of comparison, cursing myself for not powering through and staying as active as I was just a few months ago.
And this is where the shift begins. Because with this newfound mindset, instead of wallowing in guilt for staying in bed until noon, or berating myself for skipping yet another workout, I chose to embrace it. This weekend wasn’t about productivity or ticking boxes - it was about savouring the first weekend of December, leaning into festive traditions, and finding joy in turning small, ordinary moments into cherished memories.
We lit candles, cranked up the holiday tunes, made mulled wine, proudly added a new Christmas bauble to the collection (a dinosaur, because obviously), decorated the tree, and played Monopoly for an embarrassing number of hours. The to-do list remained entirely untouched, and my bike is still sitting in the corridor like a naughty child, but for the first time in a long time, I don’t care.
Because this weekend I realised something important: that slowing down doesn’t necessarily equate to failing, and taking a break doesn’t mean I’m falling behind. Sometimes, the most meaningful progress isn’t in ticking off tasks or pushing yourself harder - it’s in giving yourself permission to just be. To savour the quiet, to enjoy the simple pleasures, and to celebrate the little moments that, when strung together, create the kind of memories that stick with you long after the season fades.
This winter, I’m learning that joy doesn’t always have to be earned or achieved; sometimes, it’s in simply allowing yourself to exist fully, without guilt, and letting the season unfold as it is. And honestly, that feels like progress enough.
One for the ladies
Some of you might have seen me raving about the brand Kostüme and their incredible bib shorts, which got me through my 4,000km North Cape adventure completely saddle-sore free!
They’re a small, independent brand that relies entirely on word of mouth for advertising - a strategy that’s worked brilliantly with their male audience. However, they’re eager to connect with more women, and that’s something they’re actively working to change.
To help more women discover (and fall in love with) their gear, they’re offering an incredible bundle deal: their five-star bibs, a jersey, and a base layer for just £135.
There’s fewer than 20 sets available, so I wanted to share with you all in case you’re looking to treat yourself (or a cycling-loving wife, girlfriend, or friend) this Christmas!
And just to be transparent - I don’t getting any commission from this; I just genuinely rate their bibs and believe this brand deserves some love.
Check out the offer and discount code here ✌️
P.S if you’ve enjoyed my writing so far and think others might quite like it too, it would mean the world to me if you could spread the word 💜