S.A.D.
Our culture has a way of treating sensitivity as weakness, especially when it arrives cyclically, predictably, or quietly. But sensitivity is just another word for attunement—an ability to register subtle changes in light, rhythm, temperature, noise. For many people, that attunement is dialed up, not down and it especially likes to make its presence known in the long, dark, cold of the winter months.
Some people call it seasonal depression, some call it winter blues, and some don’t have a name for it at all, but they just know that something inside them feels heavier when the days grow short.
Clinically we call it Seasonal Affective Disorder, or S.A.D., rather unironically. And here’s the thing, it’s not failure, it’s physiology. It’s the body whispering, “something is shifting, and I need you to notice.” Most conversations about seasonal depression center on serotonin, sunlight, and schedules, and those matter, but I see something else in my clients (and in myself).
Seasonal depression can feel like moving between invisible emotional time zones. Your body shifts before your mind catches up, mornings feel heavier, thoughts slow down, irritability rises, your sensory threshold shrinks, and motivation dissolves into fog. It’s not “laziness,” it’s lag. A mismatch between the external world’s expectations and your internal world’s pace. Humanistically speaking, that’s not a flaw; rather, it’s a call for gentleness. Not collapse or avoidance, but softness as choice honoring the body’s wisdom instead of overriding it.
Seasonal depression asks you to slow down, so softness becomes your strategy:
softer mornings
softer expectations
softer transitions
softer self-talk
softer lighting
softer sensory environments
This isn’t indulgence, its regulation. It’s how sensitive nervous systems survive seasons of scarcity. Your nervous system isn’t wrong and is doing a job it’s been purposefully designed to do. If your mood changes with the light, it doesn’t mean something is broken. It means you’re deeply attuned; your circadian rhythm and sensory system is responsive and communicative. Remember you’re not “behind,” and you’re not “too much;” you’re adapting. You’re still you, just seasonally re-arranged. Sometimes healing looks like wintering.
Practical Support, Wrapped in Gentleness
Here are soft practices, not prescriptions, that align with a humanistic lens:
1. Honor the shift instead of resisting it
Instead of asking, “Why am I like this?”
Try: “What is this season asking of me?”
2. Create micro-pockets of light
Natural, artificial, or symbolic—light matters in all its forms.
3. Adjust the pace
Let your winter self move in winter rhythms.
4. Build sensory sanctuaries
Soft blankets, dim lamps, warm drinks, weighted textures.
5. Connect with people who speak your emotional language
People who hold space without fixing. People who don’t shame slow seasons.
