The gray Midwest winter day matched the gloom wrapping itself around my heart. Sadness loomed above me like Eeyore’s rain cloud. While saying goodbye to Christmas was always sad, the prospect of nothing ahead but the lingering cold and cloudy days stirred disappointment.
Nothing seemed to lift my spirits. My inner critic soared. I struggled to get out of bed in the morning. My energy levels dropped. I couldn’t shake this melancholy.
Why do I feel like this every winter? I wondered as I drove to pick up my kids from school.
Then it dawned on me. Growing up, my mother struggled with seasonal affective disorder. I didn’t think I ever would, but when we relocated to the Midwest years ago, my winters were marked by tears and weariness. Pushing through until spring felt more daunting with each passing year.
Perhaps it was time to admit I had seasonal affective disorder and do more than wait it out. But wasn’t my faith enough to beat this?
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