Letters to Myself: Thirty-Three
Prompt: What Would It Look Like to Be Gentler With Myself in This Season?
A reflection on winter, self-compassion, and learning to slow down, exploring what it truly means to be gentler with yourself during harder seasons.
I like this prompt because it forces me to pause and examine how I’m moving through this season. Winter can be difficult. The cold keeps us inside, the darkness lingers, and motivation doesn’t always arrive when we want it to. Still, there’s value in stepping outside, feeling the cold air, catching what little sunlight we can, because this season is part of the life unfolding in front of us.
Instead of rejecting winter and resenting it for what it isn’t, I’m trying to view it through a different lens: this is normal. There is beauty here if I allow myself to see it.
Snow can feel aesthetically pleasing at first, but eventually it melts into slush, ice, and mud. That transition mirrors something deeply human. Seasons, both external and internal, aren’t always clean or picturesque. Sometimes they’re messy, uncomfortable, and inconvenient. Yet even in that mess, there are moments of warmth: sitting by a fire, holding a hot cup of coffee or tea, sharing quiet time indoors. Winter invites us to notice the small things more closely.
This season asks us to slow down.
Before spring pulls us outward again, into movement, social life, and long days, winter gives us permission to rest. The changing seasons exist so we don’t become numb to sameness. There is wisdom in variety, even when one season challenges us more than another.
For me, being gentler with myself right now means acknowledging that I’m not as physically active as I am in warmer months. I still go to the gym, show up to work, run errands, and keep moving, but it isn’t the same as sweating under the sun or being outside for hours at a time. And that’s okay.
Gentleness, in this season, looks like grace.
It means allowing myself to enjoy being indoors: reading, writing, thinking, creating. But without guilt. It means recognizing that this quieter rhythm isn’t laziness; it’s preparation. I look out beyond these walls knowing what will come, and that awareness makes this moment meaningful rather than limiting.
Winter also carries memory. As I get older, memories accumulate, some beautiful, some painful. Being gentler with myself means allowing those memories to surface without judgment. They may reopen wounds, but they’re also proof that I’ve lived, loved, and grown. Those experiences shaped who I am now.
I have to remind myself that I don’t need to be perfect. I simply need to continue showing up. I am capable of greatness, but greatness doesn’t demand constant intensity. Sometimes it asks for patience.
Living in Minnesota has taught me this. The seasons here are unforgiving at times, but they shape resilience. They remind us that light always returns. That warmth is cyclical. That hardship does not mean permanence.
So if being gentler with myself means resting more, feeling sad some days, or even having an extra cookie to get through the darkness, so be it. Hope is still present, even when the days are short.
Winter doesn’t have to be something I endure with resentment. It can be something I accept with compassion. And in doing so, I learn how to extend that same gentleness toward myself.
This post is part of my "Letters to Myself" series — a weekly free-write blog where I explore personal growth, curiosity, and healing through simple prompts. Sometimes reflective, sometimes fun, but always real. Thank you for being here.
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Photo by Kyle Gare
