How I cope (and create) with seasonal depression

January is the worst.

January 2009 — Tulum (I’d spend every January here if I could)

Happy New Year, everyone!

I always feel weird saying that. I do sincerely wish you a happy 2023, but our calendar being what it is, wishing you a happy New Year feels perilously close to wishing you a happy January.

January in the Pacific Northwest Is. Not. Happy. It’s brutal. It’s oppressive. It strips you bare. Gone, the gentle vibes of cozy season. Gone, the twinkling lights to ease the cold and dark. Gone, the novelty of early sunsets and sweater weather. Bright Yuletide cheer has been replaced by gray, gray, gray.

Yet life and work go on. Capitalism doesn’t care if you have seasonal depression. You still have to earn a living. You still have to feed your meat sack. Hopefully, you can muster a little energy to nurture your creative embers, too.

I’ve dealt with seasonal depression for as long as I can remember, and I’ve found a few things that help me cope. My hope in sharing them is that maybe they’ll help someone else, too.

First, the obvious — eat well, exercise, meditate, get enough sleep, go to therapy, yeah, yeah, yeah. The basics matter. Of course they do. But they can quickly turn from acts of self-care into yet another fucking thing on a list that’s already too fucking long, and that’s not helpful. So I try to take a low-pressure approach. Move as I’m able. Eat as I’m able (preferably food that’s mostly nourishing, at mostly regular intervals). No New Year’s resolutions or ambitious fitness goals, just frequent reminders that I deserve to feel good in my body.

Okay, now that that’s out of the way, here’s my actual list.

Things that help me cope with seasonal depression

Look for the colors of winter. Winter in the Pacific Northwest is a drab season. Gray (the sky), green (the evergreens) and brown (everything else) predominate. But if I look more closely, I can still find bursts of color — a splash of red winter berries, the orange bellies of winter birds, a sliver of blue sky peeking out from the clouds, a purple crocus, the occasional pink sunrise. I make it a game sometimes when I walk through the neighborhood — how many different colors can I spot today? Maybe it’s silly, but it helps me find beauty and novelty in a season that seems, on the surface, to lack both.

Use a HappyLight every morning. I was so sure the HappyLight was a gimmick when I first heard about it, but it’s been worth every penny. No one paid me to say this. The link isn’t even an affiliate link. I try to use it for at least 20 minutes every morning on the brightest setting. It makes a noticeable difference in me mood.

Take walks when the weather permits. I’m not always great at adhering to this one, especially when it’s cold and gross outside, but I always feel better after I take a walk in natural daylight. It’s easy to forget how much it wears on me to be indoors all the time.

Buy flowers. I love flowers, and bringing them inside is like giving myself a little taste of spring. It helps me remember that spring is truly on the way, and in just a few weeks’ time, the world and my mood will both be brighter.

Consume comfort media without an ounce of shame. January is not the time to edify myself with great literature or books on craft. I don’t have the energy for it, and I give myself permission to let that be true. Instead, I turn to cozy novels full of magic, found family and romance, that inspire me and make me feel good. Few things feed my soul quite like a good fantasy of manners (I highly recommend AJ Lancaster’s Stariel series and pretty much everything by Gail Carriger).

Create what feels good. My WIPs rarely get much love in January. But I do occasionally find myself writing unexpected poems or making things with my hands (current project: a giant raffia basket) — whatever feels good. The point isn’t to make great strides on my long-term creative goals; it’s just to keep the spark alive, knowing I’ll have more energy to nurture it later.

Schedule things to look forward to. Shockingly, January sucks a lot less for me when I schedule fun things to look forward to. I find it equally shocking that I’ve only recently figured this out. They can be big, special things or small, everyday things. The point is to get out and remember that fun is still possible. My January fun list includes tickets to Moulin Rouge, a night on the Oregon coast, a weekday lunch with a friend, and several new books coming out this month.

Remember, it passes. It always passes. January in the Pacific Northwest is horrible, but spring always follows soon after. The earliest flowers are already blooming by February, and the long nights have begun to ease. When nothing else works, I remind myself of this — these feelings are temporary. They, like everything, will pass, likely sooner than I think.