For some, this time of year brings a heaviness, a quiet sense of slowing or even sadness that can feel like a veil between us and the brighter, more expansive parts of ourselves. It’s common to feel this dip in mood, sometimes known as seasonal depression, as our bodies and minds respond to the loss of light.
In many ways, nature models something essential for our psychological wellbeing. The trees shed what they no longer need, and animals retreat into hibernation. This natural rhythm invites us to pause, reflect, and turn toward our own inner landscape. From an existential perspective, this slowing can be seen not as loss, but as an opportunity — a call to reconnect with what gives our lives meaning, even when warmth and light feel scarce. We are still the same people, with the same possibilities, purposes, and vitality within us as we were in brighter months.
In Internal Family Systems (IFS) terms, certain parts of us may become more present during the darker season: the anxious part that fears stagnation, the self-critical part that insists we should be more productive or upbeat, or the lonely part that longs for connection but finds it harder to reach out. Each of these parts has something to tell us. When we meet them with self-compassion rather than resistance, something softens. We adapt and embrace the challenge rather than shy away from it.
Finding light in winter isn’t about denying the darkness; it’s about staying in relationship with it — staying in attunement with ourselves. Beneath the surface, growth is still happening. Roots are quietly strengthening. In our own lives, this might mean maintaining gentle routines that support winter wellbeing — small, meaningful actions that keep us connected to purpose and remind us we’re still moving toward our dreams, even if more slowly.
At the same time, kindness toward ourselves is vital. We don’t need to push ourselves to bloom in a season designed for rest. Allowing stillness, listening inwardly, and tending to the parts of us that struggle can itself be an act of renewal.
The light will return, as it always does. But even now, in these dimmer days, we can find sparks of warmth — in connection, creativity, and quiet presence. Sometimes, the greatest light is found not by escaping the darkness, but by learning to dwell within it with gentleness and grace.
If you’re finding this season particularly heavy, it can help to share the load — to speak things aloud in a space that feels safe and attuned. Therapy offers that kind of space: somewhere to explore your own rhythms, reconnect with what sustains you, and rediscover the quiet light that’s still there, waiting to be found.