From gloom to bloom: Beat the winter blues

In the blink of an eye, we say goodbye to the first month of 2026. January and February are the hardest months for me. There is an undefinable sadness that settles in quietly following the hustle and bustle of the holidays.

It arrives with the gray skies that seem to stick around for days with only a glimpse of sunshine late in the afternoon or mid-morning. That gloominess seems more cruel during already daylight-starved days when darkness falls long before I am ready for it.

Although we have had unseasonable periods of warmer days, the cold slips back in — not sharply or dramatically, but dull and exhausting.

My feet and fingers ache in the damp and unforgiving cold. I long for springtime and rebirth on the farm.

Loss feels closer in January. The fields are empty where crops stood tall a few short months ago and gardens lay still with only remnants of last year’s bountiful plants.

Although the livestock still need us every single day and we continue to invest time and energy in their care — especially when winter’s bite is deepest — the work is hard in a different way.

The physical demands may be even greater as we’re weighed down by heavier coveralls, coats and boots. But the rhythm is different. The days often feel heavier than the Carhartts.

When the days are longer and the grass growing, I can’t wait to get home after spending a day away. I quickly change into chore clothes and head out to the barn or the garden or to the site of whatever project is underway on the farm.

During the sad months, the urgency to bundle up and head back outdoors lessens. I spend more time indoors these winter days.

We’ve experienced great loss in Januarys past and present. The month brings those memories back — the cold, the wind, the bundled figures, the quiet goodbyes. January has witnessed our grief and it reminds us of those losses past and present.

Despite its undesirable qualities, January allows us the space we need to grieve, to reflect, to experience our very human response to loss, change and exhaustion. It teaches us to be hopeful. It reminds us that to grow, we must endure winter.

During the busyness of calving, fertilizing, making hay and gardening and growing crops, there is precious little time to stop and process emotions.

Sadness makes itself known when you have time to feel. It doesn’t necessarily mean something is wrong. It means you are human.

January sadness is not a sign of failure. It is pausing, not quitting. It’s bending, not breaking. It’s enduring, not surrendering.

You can feel sad and still get up, still do the work, still hope for better days. In fact, allowing sadness often prevents it from turning into bitterness or burnout. Feelings that are felt tend to move; feelings that are buried tend to harden.

It’s OK to be sad.

If your sadness ever becomes too heavy and you feel unsafe, overwhelmed, or find yourself thinking about harming yourself, please don’t carry that alone.

Reach out to someone you trust or get immediate help. Call or text 988 to reach the Suicide & Crisis Lifeline.

There is help available — and you matter more than you may feel in that moment.