Wintering, Motherhood, and Learning to be Present

Winter where I live in Canada is no joke. It’s the kind of cold that makes you question every life choice that led you here. The days are short, the darkness lingers, and the cold seeps into everything — your body, your mood, your energy.

This winter feels especially significant for me. I’m six months postpartum, on maternity leave, and learning how to move through this season with a baby in my arms. Instead of letting the darkness, the cold, and the winter blues get the best of me, I’ve been gently asking myself a different question: What would it look like to winter well?

Winter as a Season of Life

I’ve been deeply inspired by the book Wintering by Katherine May. In it, she reframes winter not just as a weather pattern, but as a phase of life — a time when energy dips, when things slow down, and when the world quietly asks less of us (even if we resist it).

Rather than pushing through or forcing productivity, Wintering invites us to listen inward. To ask ourselves what would actually help us get through the season with care.

Living in Alberta, winter isn’t something you casually endure. It shapes your days, your rhythms, and your moods. Reading this book made me pause and reflect on what would bring warmth, steadiness, and joy — not just for me, but for my baby too.

Creating Atmosphere at Home

In winter, atmosphere matters.

When the world outside feels harsh and frozen, our homes become our refuge. I’ve been turning the lights down earlier, lighting candles in the middle of the afternoon, and letting the house feel slower, softer, and quieter.

It’s not about aesthetics or perfection. It’s about signaling safety — to my nervous system, to my body, and to my baby. About creating a space that feels held when everything outside feels intense.

Presence in Everyday Motherhood

Winter invites presence, even when we resist it.

I notice how easy it is to scroll past the season, to numb out, to wish the days away. Lately, presence starts for me in the simplest way. Most mornings, before the day really begins, I sit down with my little daily stack: my planner, my journal for the year ahead, the book I’m slowly making my way through, and a few oracle cards.

Not for answers — just for a place to begin.

It’s not about doing it perfectly. It’s a pause. A moment to land in the day before it asks anything of me. Some days I write a lot. Some days I just sit with everything beside me.

Presence looks like small moments. Rocking my baby in the quiet. Doing one thing at a time. Letting the day unfold without rushing it.

Winter doesn’t need to be productive. It just needs to be lived.

The Small Pleasures That Carry Us

Wintering reminds us that pleasure isn’t indulgent — it’s necessary.

Warm coffee in my favorite mug. A simple meal that comforts more than it impresses. Something sweet in the middle of the day, just because.

These small pleasures anchor me. They make the long days feel held. They remind me that winter can still be kind.

Motherhood has taught me that presence isn’t always quiet or calm. Sometimes it’s repetitive. Sometimes it’s messy. Sometimes it’s simply staying when everything in you wants to rush ahead.

Wintering, for me, looks like choosing to be here anyway.

Home as Sanctuary

In winter, our homes become shelter.

Not perfect. Not styled. But lived in.

A place to return to. To warm up. To breathe. This is wintering — not escaping the season, but letting it hold us.

Comfort becomes a priority. Extra layers. Earlier bedtimes. Saying no more often. Rest isn’t something I earn — it’s something I allow.

Some days, rest looks like doing nothing at all.

Letting Winter Be What It Is

If you’re in a place where winter feels heavy, I hope this reminds you that you don’t have to rush through it. You’re allowed to move slowly. To tend to yourself. To find warmth where you can.

We’re learning how to winter gently — together.