Channeling My Inner Bear in the Winter

As soon as daylight savings time hits, it feels like someone flipped a switch in my brain. The days are suddenly shorter, it gets darker earlier earlier, and my whole body is whispering one message: hibernate. Not in a lazy way, but in that natural, animal instinct kind of way. As soon as it gets dark, my brain switches to pajamas, soup, and “let’s settle in for the night.”

Part of that instinct actually helps me. In winter, I naturally want to eat dinner earlier, and honestly, that works in my favor. I feel better when I’m not eating late at night, and the science agrees. But there is a tradeoff. When dinner is at 5, suddenly I’m looking at a long evening ahead with all my calories already accounted for. That is when the old habits start whispering. Not loudly, just enough to nudge me toward the kitchen because I want to eat something comforting.

I repeat these words to myself every night: “The kitchen is closed.” And, “Just because you want it, doesn’t mean you get to eat it.” And, “You have to learn to become comfortable being uncomfortable.”

Winter brings this interesting in-between space. My body wants warmth. My mind wants something to look forward to. And I want comfort without undoing my progress. So, I lean into the cozy things that actually support me. I love soups. I love tea. And yes, I enjoy hot chocolate as long as it fits into my calories for the day. I am not trying to win any winter awards. I am just trying to live in a way that feels good to me.

What changes the most this time of year is my willingness to do the small things after dark. I always work out during the day, so that part stays solid. But once the blinds are closed, my motivation for household chores drops. Scooping the litter box, moving the laundry, tidying up, putting something away in another room. Those things suddenly feel easier to delay. And going out after dark becomes much less appealing. Winter encourages me to stay in and settle down much earlier than usual.

I am learning to work with that instead of fighting it. Some nights, I give myself permission to be done early. Other nights, I make myself handle one or two small tasks before I officially call it quits. And both approaches count as progress in their own way.

Winter is not the season where I try to be a superhero. It is the season where I try to stay connected. Connected to my goals. Connected to my routines. Connected to the version of me who is choosing health even when the world goes dim at four thirty.

And maybe that is what winter is here to teach. Not perfection. Not intensity. Just presence. Just paying attention to what helps and what quietly pulls me off track. Just giving myself tools that work during the longest nights of the year.