The Weight of Winter

An Editor’s Note on grief, January pressure, and learning to move gently through the season

Winter arrived quietly this year and earlier than I expected last year. Not with snowfall or ceremony, but with a heaviness that drifted in and hovered. It was only when I finally paused that I understood what I had been carrying. I am grieving. The loss of my brothers lingers, and the absence of my grandmother still reshapes the way time moves around me and it puts me in a state of discomfort.

Grief is subtle like that. It rarely declares itself. Instead, it settles into the body as fatigue, into the mind as fog, into the heart as a low, constant ache-dmn near undetectable if I'm too busy. January does little to soften it n if nothing else sinks me deeper into it. The new year arrives full of expectation. Resolutions waiting to be written. Loose ends from last year tugging at attention in hopes you'll find the motivation to complete. A quiet urgency to become something new, even when you are still learning how to stand where you are.

“Some seasons aren’t meant for rebuilding. They’re meant for holding.”

Beneath all the pressure, a quieter question hums. What’s next? I don’t have the answer yet. After just turning 45, I still don't know what I wanna be when I grow up. For now, I move where I can-day by day. I'm getting my steps in on the walking treadmill. Gentle strength (and stretch) through Pilates. Small acts of motion that remind me I am still here, still breathing, still becoming. Not to outrun the sadness, but to sit beside it without being consumed.

This season isn’t asking me to perform or transform. It’s asking me to listen. To honor the shift a new year brings without rushing toward clarity. To trust that heaviness, like cold air, eventually lifts. This too shall pass. And when it does, I'll step forward with soft steps, steady pace n deeper grace.

If winter has slowed your spirit, let it. I recognize these feelings with getting in the bed early or a random hot bubble bath even if its in the middle of the day. Even the earth rests before it blooms again ☕❄️