12/26/2025
A poem to help embrace the winter season…
Winter is not weak.
She does not beg you to bloom.
She asks you to stay.
Stay with the quiet ache.
Stay with the body when it stops performing.
Stay when productivity falls silent
and the nervous system finally unclenches its jaw.
Healing doesn’t shout here—
it exhales.
Long.
Slow.
Unapologetic.
Blankets become boundaries.
Darkness becomes medicine.
The breath lowers into the ribs
like it has nowhere else to be.
Inside you, chemistry riots softly—
cortisol loosens its fist,
melatonin climbs the walls of night,
neurons learn the language of safety again.
This is not collapse.
This is recalibration.
Water remembers.
Earth steadies.
Fire learns restraint—
not extinguished, just contained.
Air thins until truth can pass through it
without resistance.
Nothing is forced.
Nothing is fixed.
Everything is listening.
And then—
the solstice.
The longest night splits open.
Light doesn’t crash in.
It returns.
Quietly.
Relentlessly.
Something ancient shifts its weight inside your chest.
Your cells clock the change before your mind does.
A new equation begins—
dark plus rest equals becoming.
Winter doesn’t promise comfort.
She promises truth.
And if you let her,
she will remake you
without ever raising her voice.
By Angelia Abouhassan
