Winter Table: The Soft Turning Toward Spring
February brings a unique stillness. It isn’t as restful as January or as lively as March. It’s an in-between time, when something quiet starts to wake up. On a recent morning, as I stepped outside and drew in the crisp air, the sound of snow crunching underfoot anchored me in the moment. The earth seems to exhale, releasing the scent of damp soil, a subtle reminder that beneath the frost, life stirs quietly, waiting for the first sign of warmth to bloom.
If you’ve felt that sense of something growing beneath the surface, with roots getting stronger in the dark, you’re not alone.
Winter Turning Toward Spring
Even when everything looks bare, small signs of life begin to show. Maybe you notice a shift inside, a bit of energy you haven’t felt in months. Maybe the days feel a little longer, or your body craves movement, fresh air, and something new.
I've been thinking about what I want to plant this year, both in the garden and in the work I'm preparing to do. For my garden, I'm planning to plant sunflowers, as they bring joy and brightness. Professionally, I'm hoping to cultivate a new initiative in perinatal mental health support, aiming to provide more resources to new parents. Late winter invites us to imagine what we want to grow, even if we're not ready to begin yet. How about you? What literal or professional seeds do you hope to plant this year?
What’s Growing in the Dark
This winter, I’ve been doing quiet work that others may not notice. I’ve been deepening my training in perinatal mental health support, learning to support the big changes of pregnancy, postpartum, and early parenthood. I’ve also been learning about Internal Family Systems (IFS), exploring the parts of us that hold protection, grief, and healing.
Some seasons ask for patience instead of action. For me, this has been a time to care for roots, not to hurry new growth.
In April, I’ll attend the American Counseling Association conference, and I’m looking forward to it with both curiosity and anticipation. I’m thinking about what I want to bring with me, and how caring for my professional growth feels a lot like tending a garden—slow, intentional, and full of possibility.
Grief as a Winter Companion
Grief has joined me at my winter table this season. Sometimes it shows up gently, sometimes it feels sharp, and often it comes when I least expect it. I’ve been asking myself what grief needs from me right now and recalling a lesson it taught me: that vulnerability in sharing can bring unexpected strength. By attending to these emotions, I've learned that leaning into grief allows it to connect us with others who bear similar burdens. Sharing a story, hearing another’s pain, grief reveals wisdom in common experiences. Sometimes grief needs space. Sometimes it needs to be seen. Sometimes it just needs the kindness of being allowed to exist, without being fixed or rushed.
I’ve been thinking about starting a grief group—a place where grief can be seen in community, where people can share what they carry and know they’re not alone. Grief isn’t just about death. It’s about all the losses we hold: relationships, versions of ourselves, futures we imagined. Carrying that alone can feel so isolating.
If this resonates with you, I’d love to hear from you. I’m starting to imagine what this space could look like, thinking about its tone, pace, and purpose. To get started, you can simply reply with a word or phrase that reflects your interest. I’ll collect these responses and share more details soon.
Staying with the In-Between
This midwinter moment feels like a threshold. It isn’t fully one thing or another.
I’m learning to stay here without rushing ahead.
Are you learning about yourself in this season of 'almost, but not yet'? What is starting to wake up in you as winter slowly softens?
A Reflection for You
If you’d like to write along with this Winter Table entry, here are a few gentle prompts to help you begin. Consider setting a gentle timer, perhaps for ten minutes per prompt, to create a shared ritual of reflection. This practice can help you dedicate a focused moment to each thought, making the exploration feel both purposeful and contained. Here are the prompts to get you started:
What small signs of life, inside or outside, are starting to show up as February goes on?
What has been quietly growing in you this winter that others might not notice?
What tender place in you could use some company right now?
What are you preparing to plant—emotionally, spiritually, or literally—as the season shifts?
If this season feels tender for you too, you’re welcome to sit here with me. You’re not alone in this in-between time.
