Getting Ahead of Winter Doldrums

I first wrote this blog post back in 2013 but recently rewrote it from a new perspective.

Once upon a time, I lived in Anchorage, Alaska. When I moved there to be with my now-husband, every bone in my body screamed I was not supposed to live there.  

I was overcome with a blank, eerie sense of warning each time I tuned into what my future held and what came next. An ancient part of myself was speaking clearly—something so innate it was almost genetic—yet, somehow, I found myself remaining in that extreme and personally challenging location. 

Let me say this: Alaska is not for the faint of heart. To start, it holds the record for the most search and rescues, not to mention fatalities, in the wilderness every year. It calls to and welcomes the bravest, most extreme adventure seekers. Mother nature rules there—always. Anchorage was where I quickly learned how to drive through whiteout conditions, how to navigate icy sidewalks and hiking trails upright, how to dress in a gazillion layers, and how to stay keenly aware of when bears and moose were nearby (which happened far more often than I would have ever guessed). 

As much as I thought I had the ability and strength to adapt to just about anything, I had finally met my match. When I moved to Alaska, a seasoned local therapist informed me that every family in Alaska has someone who just curls up on the couch at the first sign of winter and doesn’t get up again until spring. Six. Months. Later. For me, at five and a half years into my romantic relationship and Alaskan adventures, I was still barely managing to make it through the seemingly never-ending, brutal winters. At the brink of every autumn, I felt a deep gloom and heaviness begin to settle in as I watched the dreaded Termination Dust brush against the mountain peaks, signaling the somber end of summer. It was so difficult to get going each winter morning, and when I finally did, I was barely functioning as I dragged myself through each workday. It was as though I was living in slow-motion for half of each year, and no matter what I did, I couldn’t click on another gear or summon more energy. I was becoming that couch person! 

Perhaps worse yet, the coping skills that had worked for me in the lower forty-eight states were essentially useless to me during the darkest months here. No amount of yoga, dog walking, tea with friends, art making, connection with my spiritual community, winter sports, or sun that I could soak up between the only daylight hours of 10:30 a.m.–3:00 p.m. could even remotely lift the heaviness I felt. 

I couldn’t continue this way, so I committed myself to beating the dreaded seasonal changes I was overwhelmed with month after month. I studied, researched, and tried out anything that might help with seasonal affective disorder (SAD) and the winter blues, including reading every relevant book. I was well aware of all the light therapy studies and experts working in the field, and so I tried the best-known protocols and approaches to adapting to the seasonal changes, sharing the gems I found with not only my clients but anyone else who was searching for answers. Here are some of the highlights from what I learned—perhaps they’ll help if you ever find yourself experiencing your own difficult encounter with seasonal changes:

1. Find a great doctor to work with who will go over labs and other key nutritional and dietary foundations with you. I ultimately found that regular B12 shots were one of the most effective supports.

2. Use a SAD light (such as the Happy Light or a full-spectrum light) as specifically directed! This is so important, as there are keys to their effectiveness and not all lights are created equal.

3. Get exposure to natural light as much and as frequently as you can. Make sure it washes over your face and skin, even on the overcast gray days. Natural light provides substantially more lumens than artificial indoor lighting. 

4. Exercise! No matter what particular type of exercise you’re drawn to, it is encouraged to make peace with your environment and embrace the outdoors. Undoubtedly, my best winter days consisted of walking with friends and engaging in various winter sports, including cross-country skiing, ice-skating, and snowboarding. 

5. Address the emotions that seasonal changes bring. Although SAD is a very biological issue with physical components, that doesn’t minimize the importance of attending to the emotional aspects. Ways to do this include creating things to look forward to, fostering opportunities to spend time with people you enjoy, finding a great therapist, discovering community, and spending time in spiritual practice—whatever that may be for you. In some cases, medication or physically getting away from the intense winter location for a period of time may be necessary; in fact, all good Alaskans know that taking a minimum of two trips out of the extreme North each winter are essential for withstanding the long haul. 

I know my own seasonal struggles would have eventually eased, or I would have at least gotten better at working with them (and it would have always been work for me—that part I’m certain of). But I’ve learned through trial and error and my own unique wiring that I’m simply better suited for a place that is located slightly closer to the equator—a place that boasts more consistent doses of sunshine and overall daylight hours. 

How about you? What natural rhythms in your environment serve you the best? And where are those places or what are those times of the year that just feel like home for you?

If you or someone you know might benefit from more support and information about seasonal challenges consider a coaching session, located under the Individual Sessions tab.