by Grace Pappadellis ’29 on November 20, 2025
Opinion
There’s no more faking any remnants of warm weather or trying to convince myself that there will be some sort of turnaround. There will be no fascinating shift in temperature, allowing the sun to pour over everything and letting the world forget about the onset of winter. Well, with the state of the environment and humans affecting the peculiar weather patterns each and every day, anything could truly happen. However, denying the arrival of winter would be foolish, and understanding the signs of my own seasonal depression is essential for learning to cope, and maybe even enjoy the season of my despair in a fresh, somewhat convoluted way.
I’ve been working to fight off negativity for a decent amount of time now—especially my own. Still, I struggle with maintaining the sort of persona I strive for during other seasons. I generally gravitate towards positive people—people who like to laugh, adventure, and get excited about everyday life. When I don’t recognize these traits within myself, it saddens me, especially when it feels out of my control. The sun setting early, the paleness of my skin, the bitter cold, and the congested itinerary that is somehow devoid of the activities I truly enjoy are all factors contributing to my glumness and pessimism. Sometimes during conversations, my words are short and slightly ornery, especially when I am overwhelmed with homework or it is too cold and dark for me to run outdoors. I want to slap myself in the face as I reflect upon my insufferable interactions with others, even if this frustration is only apparent to myself.
Seasonal depression is a commonly used term today, but each person experiences the changing of seasons differently. For example, one of my closest friends from back home hates the overwhelming heat, especially in unpredictable New England summers. She abhors sweating, humidity, and being in the sun for too long. In fact, all summer long, she explains her need for fall—those crisp, cozy first weeks in October when she lives in the honeymoon phase of the vibrant colors and senses in nature to inspire her artwork. I admire her ability to appreciate the Sunday of the seasons, but I’d argue the superiority of spring and summer any day.
To remain optimistic and focused during this time of year, I incorporate activities that bring me comfort into my daily routine. However, I do not shy away from the things that bring me discomfort. It may sound ridiculous and unrealistic, but exposing myself to the cold alleviates its harshness and bitterness, which helps me change my opinion of it. I hate the cold. I am generally cold all the time, and I inadvertently underdress as if I’m protesting the weather. Despite this, I take walks when it is cold. I won’t run, though I love running outside, but I’ll walk. There’s so much to see, especially when I’m alone, creating songs in my head, like I once did as a kid. I’ll admit that I enjoy the revitalization, my lungs filling with chilled air, and the warmth of an enormous scarf around my neck. Plus, it is even more rewarding to enter a heated home after an icy stroll. I’m immediately wrapped in a down comforter and emboldened by the warmth trapped all around me.
Once I can forget the cold, winter doesn’t seem so bad. The cold is the most operative word, the condition that pushes me over the edge. I can manage most of the others, or at least try to. I am making progress with the walks, though. No one can truly predict it, but maybe the frigid air will zap my seasonal sadness away for good.