Light in the Darkness: Navigating Winter

Look—winter can suck. You know when it doesn’t suck? When there’s snow, or fire, or both. Otherwise, it’s just a season where snot freezes to your face, and there’s no pretty foliage to ogle. I’m from New England—of course we ogle trees.

There are a lot of reasons seasonal depression is a real thing. The primary one: our society ignores the biological need to rest when the world is resting. We see hibernation all around us—from mammals to turtles, even trees—and yet humans insist on rising before the sun, driving in the worst traffic of the year, and sitting behind a keyboard for seven hours, only to drive home after the sun has already given up. Congratulations, you now know my plans for today.

And that’s before we add family obligations. According to the National Retail Federation, about 91% of Americans celebrate something in the winter months, and consumers are expected to spend close to $900 per person during the 2025 holiday season. Combine that financial stress with winter travel (for example, I’m traveling 46 hours this holiday season), and it’s a lot—especially during the one time of year when the rest of the planet seems to be choosing to nap.

Give Yourself Grace

I’m not telling you to quit your job (we do have $900 per person to spend, after all). But this is an invitation to look at the parts of this season and decide what you can loosen your grip on—and what you can release entirely.

Do you remember that amazing Christmas from 2008? The snow arrived just in time, we drove around looking at lights reflecting off fresh snow, and then came back to Grandma’s house for cocoa and her famous cookies. You remember that? No? Then why the hell are we trying to recreate it in 2025?

I’ll be the first to admit I’m a nostalgia girly. I get emotional over Norman Rockwell paintings. But I’ve also personally witnessed this rule:

The most chaotic disasters start from a desire to recreate.

We all want to make the holidays joyful for our friends and family. That’s beautiful—we all deserve participation trophies for trying. But when intention turns into expectation, we stop living in the present. When we compare 2025 to 2008, we set ourselves up for misery.

Comparison is the thief of love, especially in a world where our own phones constantly encourage us to measure ourselves against others. And to answer your question: if I had to choose between the tradwives on Instagram making cookies from eggs, grain, and milk gathered from their own backyards and Grandma’s cookies, I’d choose Grandma’s every time — even if they’re Nestlé.

Please note: this is an expression of admiration for grandmothers everywhere, not a sponsorship or endorsement of Nestlé.

Stay in the present moment. You may not be able to recreate old memories, but you can create new ones.

Find the Light

For those who don’t know, I live near Harper’s Ferry, right next to the Potomac River. This time last year, I would wake up early, grab my coffee, and walk along the C&O Canal, staring out at the river.

It was fucking cold. These walks were dark, foggy, and bitter, and I genuinely worried my fingers might fall off from frostbite. On one of these walks—while my coffee was actively forming ice crystals—I had one of my favorite realizations:

Of course Santa is real.

Do I have DNA evidence? No. But somewhere between wondering why I was doing this to myself and looking at a mallard duck thinking, I could absolutely roast that thing over a fire right now, I started thinking about why Santa mattered when the stories first began.

Winter back then was brutal. Light came only from candles and fire. Mortality rates were high. People were scared. They needed Santa. They needed the magic of a kind stranger leaving gifts in shoes, stockings, and under trees.

Do we need Santa now? Hard to say—especially when we mostly trust Jeff Bezos to handle that job. But even in our comfort-addicted society, there is still darkness. We still get sick, old, and stupid, no matter how often Warren Zevon told us not to.

It is our job to find the light in dark times.

Sometimes that means lighting the menorah and remembering the eight days the oil refused to go out. Sometimes it means wrapping your house in enough plastic lights to put Clark Griswold to shame. Sometimes it’s my favorite tradition: a single candle in each window, glowing in the dark, telling the world that even in deep night, there is light.

Even if it’s just a single flame.

Some people find that light through religion. Some through family and friends. Some through Bing Crosby. The rule is simple: it has to be your way of finding light. Otherwise, you’re just performing someone else’s expectations—and that violates the whole “stay present” thing I talked about earlier.

Sometimes it feels like you don’t listen to me.

Here’s the most important thing: there is light. Even in Russia, Norway, or Greenland in the 1500s, someone could step outside and see millions of stars and the moon. Was it enough to spot the pack of wolves about to make you a midnight snack? Probably not. But it was still light.

Even in your darkest moments, there’s a speck of light somewhere. I’ve gotten pretty good at finding them. Is it enough to erase all the darkness? No. But it’s often enough to help you hold on until you reach brighter ground.

Yes, it’s a mixed metaphor. You’ll survive.

And one last thing—especially for those of you who are annoyed that I spent all this time writing something “cheesy” about finding light in winter: if you’re pissed, sad, or irritated, go to the Contact Me section of this website and tell me. I’ll warn you, you may get an invitation to follow up with a phone call (or, Lord forbid, a healing session), but I’d rather you put that energy into an email than carry it around all season.

And if “may all your days be merry and bright” feels unrealistic for 2025, try this instead:

May you find a spark of light in your darkest days,

A small glimmer to keep you moving forward,

A reminder that the night is temporary,

And dawn is coming.