Finding Hope in Winter’s Grip

The days draw longer now. I find myself restlessly sitting around, waiting for winter to loosen its grip and for spring and summer to return. I want to get back to my true happy place—the campground, the outdoors, the easy kind of time that comes with friends and family when the air feels alive again.

I’ve never really been someone who dwells on the seasons. I’ve always been able to shrug off the cold, push through the darker days, keep it moving. But for some reason this year, it’s getting to me more than I expected. Maybe it’s not just the weather. Maybe it’s what the end of last year dragged in with it, and what the beginning of this one asked me to carry.

The end of the year and the start of this one were mentally troubling for me. Not in a dramatic, “everything fell apart overnight” kind of way—but in that slow, quiet way that wears you down. The kind that shows up in your patience, your sleep, your motivation. The kind you don’t notice until you’re already standing in it.

And then there was the friendship I lost.

That’s the part that still messes with me, if I’m being honest. Because it wasn’t a clean break. It wasn’t a single moment where you can point and say, That’s where it ended. It was slow. Gradual. A fade I didn’t see coming because I was blinded by loyalty, by history, by hope—by the version of that friendship I kept trying to believe was still real. I didn’t recognize it was ending while it was happening. I didn’t want to.

There’s a specific kind of grief that comes with that. Not just losing someone, but realizing you were fighting for something that had already started slipping away. Realizing the effort wasn’t mutual anymore. Realizing you were the one filling in the silence, making excuses, adjusting your expectations, carrying the weight so it didn’t collapse.

And now, here I am—watching the days stretch out again, waiting for warmth to come back, trying to convince myself that I’m not stuck, just in between.

That’s what winter feels like to me right now: in between.

In between who I was last summer and who I’m becoming now. In between the version of life that felt light and the version that feels heavier than it should. In between letting go and learning how to move forward without needing closure I may never get.

I don’t think I’m asking for a perfect season. I’m not asking for everything to be easy. I just want to feel like myself again. I want the mornings that start with purpose and end with a tired kind of peace. I want campfires, laughter, open air, and the kind of quiet that heals instead of the kind that echoes.

Maybe that’s why it’s hitting harder this year—because I’m not just waiting for spring.

I’m waiting to feel alive again.

And until then, I’m trying to be honest about where I’m at, without letting it turn into a place I live permanently. I’m trying to remember that some things end not because you failed, but because you outgrew what you were settling for. I’m trying to trust that what’s meant for me won’t require me to chase it, beg for it, or shrink myself to keep it.

If you’ve been feeling that winter heaviness too—like you’re restless, like you’re stuck in neutral, like you’re missing a version of yourself you can’t quite reach right now—you’re not alone.

Tell me in the comments: what are you counting down to this year? What’s your “campground” season—your place, your people, your reset?