From summer to winter(ing): Finding resilience in tough times

I’ve spent the past seven days in my own mini-winter: cocooning, resting, and retreating. This was my body and mind’s response to an unexpected pet emergency. My sweet little shihtzu, Mario, went completely blind last week.

I love animals. So if you’re not much of a pet person, you might want to imagine something else in your own life that has felt equally overwhelming or heartbreaking.

Watching Mario struggle to orient himself, to find his water, his toys, or simply to walk, was devastating. It brought me to tears to see his brother, Hugo, try to initiate play and not understand why Mario wasn’t responding. I’ve been surprised by how deeply this has affected me. Perhaps the love I have for them is even bigger than I had realised.

In those first days, I didn’t want to do anything or see anyone. Social visits? Not right now. I was already physically exhausted from late-night vet visits and sleepless nights, but the sadness left me emotionally depleted, too.

In the midst of this, I found comfort in one of my favourite books: Wintering by Katherine May. She writes about life’s winters, the inevitable difficult seasons when we are called to slow down, nurture ourselves, and find meaning in retreat. Instead of resisting, she invites us to welcome these times and allow them to shape us.

One passage in particular stood out and gave me permission to simply be:

I began to treat myself like a favored child: with kindness and love. I assumed my needs were reasonable and that my feelings were signals of something important. I kept myself well fed and made sure I was getting enough sleep. I took myself for walks in the fresh air and spent time doing things that soothed me. I asked myself: What is this winter all about? I asked myself: What change is coming?”

So that’s what I did. I let go of the guilt and got cosy. I snuggled my little guy. I napped. I read. I napped some more.

And now, a week later, I can feel this winter beginning to thaw. I feel more rested, more motivated, and more prepared to face things head on.

What awes me most is Mario’s resilience. Despite his blindness, he’s learning. He’s finding new ways of being: Navigating spaces with support and encouragement, exploring textures, sounds, and smells. He’s adapting. And so are we.

For me, wintering is a way of building resilience. Resilience grows from rest. Strength grows from care. We can learn a lot from these difficult times. As Katherine May writes:

Wintering brings about some of the most profound and insightful moments of our human experience, and wisdom resides in those who have wintered.

Katherine May

It feels significant that Mario’s blindness came just as I was leaving my old job and facing uncertainty about what’s next. Maybe this is my lesson: to slow down, to let go of needing all the answers, and to trust that new ways will open up in time.

I’d like to believe that’s exactly what Mario is showing me.

JOURNAL PROMPT

In what ways could you give yourself a bit of space and care right now?