Wintering

When Life Turns Cold

Life does not move in a straight line. It rises, flourishes, falters, and sometimes drops suddenly into a season of pain, exhaustion, or uncertainty. These periods can arrive through illness, grief, family trouble, burnout, or change that strips away the ordinary rhythm of daily life. They feel isolating because the rest of the world appears to keep moving while one person is forced to slow down.

For Katherine May, one such collapse began around her fortieth birthday. Her husband suffered a medical emergency when a ruptured appendix turned dangerous, and the crisis landed in the middle of other pressures, including leaving work and facing writing deadlines. The shock did not stay contained within that single event. It spread through the household and exposed how fragile their carefully managed life had become.

She came to see these stretches as wintering: a time when life becomes barren, quiet, and difficult, but not meaningless. Wintering is not a personal failure and not something to hide. It belongs to ordinary human experience, just as winter belongs to the year. Everyone reaches seasons when they cannot perform their usual role, and trying to deny that only deepens the pain.

This understanding was shaped by earlier struggles too, including depression in her teens and the long confusion of living with undiagnosed autism. Hard experiences had already taught her that difficult seasons can empty a life out before anything new can take shape. The blankness is frightening, but it also creates space. Something old falls away, and a different self begins to form.

Relief starts with acceptance. Instead of forcing a return to normal, she learns to let winter be winter: a season for reduced expectations, extra care, and patience. The point is not to enjoy suffering or turn it into a lesson too quickly. It is to stop fighting the fact that certain parts of life require retreat before renewal is possible.