
The holidays end, and everyone else seems to bounce back into life like it was all just a brief inconvenience. Decorations come down. Resolutions go up. People start talking about productivity and “fresh starts.”

There’s a strange sadness that settles in after the holidays — not dramatic, not loud, just heavy. The excitement is gone, the lights are packed away, and spring feels like a rumor someone made up to be polite.
Meanwhile, I’m standing in my kitchen staring out the window at gray trees, wondering how many months it is until I can touch dirt again. The holidays were made for family so when you are missing part of your family, you begin to question ever feeling anything other than this ever. Some days the hardest part isn’t missing them — it’s wondering if the version of me who was their mom actually existed.
This stretch of time — from after the holidays until the world thaws out — hits a lot of people harder than we admit. Shorter days mean less sunlight, which affects serotonin and melatonin levels in the brain. That shift alone can mess with mood, energy, and sleep. It’s one of the reasons Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD) tends to peak in late winter, not December when everyone expects it.

But even without a formal diagnosis, this season can still feel emotionally brutal.
It’s the letdown after months of buildup.
The loss of structure.
The quiet after forced togetherness.
The waiting.
Everyone talks about January as a reset, but for some of us it’s more like limbo. Not moving forward. Not moving back. Just stuck — watching other people carry on while we tread emotional water.
I’m not drifting, I’m not drowning — I’m stuck treading water, burning energy just to stay here.
What makes this season especially isolating is that it doesn’t look like depression the way people expect. You’re still functioning. Still showing up. Still doing what needs to be done. You just feel… dulled. Unmotivated. Sad without a clean reason.
And because nothing is technically wrong, it’s easy to tell yourself you should be fine.

But this isn’t a personal failure. It’s a seasonal one.
Human beings aren’t designed to thrive in months of darkness, cold, and waiting. We’re meant to move, to grow things, to be outside doing something that feels alive. When that gets taken away, it leaves a very real emotional gap.
So if you’re struggling right now, you’re not weak.
You’re not ungrateful.
You’re not broken.
You’re just in the long, quiet middle — the part no one puts on a calendar.

And sometimes the only goal isn’t happiness. It’s getting through this season gently enough to meet yourself again when the light comes back. This is the year I stop treading water, I will start swimming again. Til next time gang, take care of yourselves, and each other














