There are seasons in your soul just like there are seasons in the world. Somewhere along the way, we were taught to love the bloom but fear the fall, to panic when things slow down, to call it failure when life feels quiet. But nothing in nature blooms all year. And neither do you. You can’t stay in spring forever. Eventually, the petals drop, the air cools, and something inside you whispers, it’s time to shed again.
The myth of “always okay”
We live in a culture that worships perpetual productivity: always moving, always glowing, always “thriving.” It’s exhausting. There was a time when I mistook rest for regression. When my energy dipped, I’d spiral into panic, thinking something was wrong with me. I didn’t realize I was just in a different season. Winter energy doesn’t mean you’re lazy, it means you’re incubating. Summer doesn’t mean you’re done growing, it means you’re living what you once prayed for. Once I started treating my emotional cycles like weather instead of emergencies, life got softer. Less about controlling and more about observing.
Spring: rebirth and risk
Spring always starts messy: wet soil, unpredictable moods, a little awkward newness. You’re sprouting again after a long hibernation, and everything feels fragile but hopeful. This is when you say yes again. To new projects, new love, new versions of yourself that don’t quite fit yet. It’s equal parts excitement and terror, like texting someone first after convincing yourself you’d never do it again. It’s supposed to feel uncertain. Growth always does.
Summer: fullness and expression
Summer is confidence. It’s you laughing loudly again, dressing for how you feel, saying “I want this” without flinching. It’s the season of visibility, of being seen, not in the curated way, but in your element. The trick here? Enjoy it without clutching it. Don’t overthink the sunlight, just let it touch you. Because every summer has an expiration date, and clinging to it only makes the fall hurt more.
Autumn: release and reflection
This is the heartbreak season, but not always from love. Sometimes it’s identity. Sometimes it’s people who can’t meet you in your next chapter. Autumn feels like saying goodbye to things you still care about. It’s honest and bittersweet. It’s also sacred. Because letting go isn’t weakness, it’s trust. You’re trusting that space creates room for newness. You’re trusting that everything leaving is making space for what fits the next version of you. And yes, sometimes it means crying while deleting photos, cutting bangs, and telling yourself “I’m fine” in the mirror until you actually start to believe it.
Winter: stillness and becoming
Winter is misunderstood. People call it lonely. I call it clean. No noise. No distractions. Just you, your thoughts, your Netflix queue, and that sudden urge to rewrite your entire life at 2 a.m. This is where integration happens, where all the lessons of your previous seasons start to settle in. Winter isn’t punishment. It’s preservation. And when you finally stop fighting it, when you sit quietly long enough to listen, you’ll notice new seeds starting to form under the frost.
Change isn’t a threat, it’s your nature
When you learn to honor your seasons, you stop forcing perpetual bloom. You stop apologizing for needing a pause. You stop comparing your winter to someone else’s highlight reel. Because your life isn’t on a linear timeline, it’s a rhythm. And the same woman who blooms wildly in summer also deserves to rest deeply in winter. The goal isn’t to stay in one season. It’s to let each one shape you, gently, fully, without fear.
Journaling prompts: honoring your seasons
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Which season am I currently in, and what is it trying to teach me?
Growth looks different depending on the climate. -
What am I resisting that’s already asking to be released?
Let go before life has to pry it from you. -
What part of me is ready to rest, not quit?
There’s a difference. -
How can I celebrate small cycles of change, not just big ones?
Every shift, even quiet ones, are part of becoming. -
What would it feel like to trust timing instead of trying to control it?
Write from your body, not your brain.
You’re not meant to stay constant, you’re meant to evolve, wilt, rest, rise. Let the seasons move through you. You’re not behind, you’re just becoming.