This time of year for me has always felt harder emotionally than others. Beyond the very real weight of SAD (Seasonal Affective Disorder), there is a weird sort of awkward holding my breath sort of feeling. It’s an uncomfortableness that’s resulted in settling into something that is a palpable discomfort, but I can’t really do anything about it.

Winter time (at least in Colorado) is as manic as any other season, but for me, the grasp winter has is a tight stranglehold on what I know to be coming in the Spring. It’s only February, but I know it’s on the way. Every other week, Spring is teased out of the ground in sprouts from the grass, buds from tulips, or tree blossoms when we have spectacular days of sunshine and 60-degree weather, and then it’s quickly frozen and crushed again by the cold. The power and weight of the snow aggressively shoving its shoulder against the neck of Spring, forcing it back shrinking and folding into itself again until it feels that kiss of the sun again.

I feel like the Spring. Every day I’m waiting for the snow to melt off my shoulders. I hold my breath and close my eyes. I will hold still, knowing that soon the sunshine that I can feel on my face won’t be replaced by snow again so quickly.