Wintering
As the snow begins to fall and night arrives at 4pm here in the Pacific Northwest, I hope this finds you settling into the season in whatever way you need most.
Typically, I’m a spring-and-summer kid — tolerating the colder months with anticipation for flowers, green scenes, warmth, and adventure. Yet this year, something has shifted. I’m greeting each season with a deeper presence and appreciation.
Hibernating in winter isn’t new to me. In fact, it’s something I’ve always been good at — but it used to happen unconsciously, and if I’m honest, with a hint of resentment.
What I’m noticing now is a genuine embrace of the slowing down. The turning inward. The cold temperatures. The darkness. As I soften into this winter season, I’m struck by how wise my body is — how intuitively it knows what to do, and how intimately it mirrors the rhythm of nature.
I don’t think it’s a coincidence that the word wintering keeps showing up around me. As I pay attention to this shift, I’ve been reflecting on what it truly means to winter — not just to get through the season, but to honor it.
Wintering is the intentional practice of slowing down, turning inward, and allowing yourself to rest and restore — emotionally, physically, and spiritually. Just as nature retreats, sheds, and conserves energy in winter, wintering is a season of honoring your capacity, tending to what’s tender, releasing what no longer fits, and trusting the deeper cycles of life, healing, and renewal.
It is not about productivity, resolution, or becoming “better” — it’s about being with oneself in honesty, gentleness, and quiet restoration.
As you step into your own season of wintering, here are questions to help you explore its invitations more deeply:
5 Journal Prompts for Wintering
Where in my life am I being invited to pause, soften, or step back right now?
What parts of me have been asking for attention, rest, or nurturing but I’ve been too busy to listen?
If I trusted the wisdom of my own natural rhythm, what would I let go of? What would I say yes to?
How do I know I am safe to slow down? What supports me in truly resting?
What inner resources (stillness, intuition, imagination, tenderness) awaken when I allow space for quiet?
