By Julie Stockman

Today is January 31st of 2011, says my Macbook’s date and time box.

Today is the last day of the longest full month of winter. Today is sunny and 28 degrees where I live. We can usher in February tomorrow. February holds the promise of maple syrup and longer days and above all, only 28 days to its name. It holds the promise of leading us to Spring.

January has been stagnant and grey. The skies have been oppressive and looming, grey after day after grey after day.

Last year I was pregnant in January and I have never felt the choking, suffocating, icy grip of SAD (seasonal affective disorder) like I did last year. Last year I would stand in the shower three or four times a day, begging the water to wash away the sadness. I would cry, and tell myself it was okay to cry, until the crying became too heavy to bear, and I would tell myself to stuff the sadness back into the box inside my head that held the grief and pain of ancient losses. The box that held the fear of pregnancy and the fear of not being pregnant.

I imagined the box being too full – losses and miscarriages and the burning constant desire for my mother’s presence spilling out of the edges all over the place. It was too much. Piece by piece, I shoved the spillage back into the box and shut the lid tight. Sometimes I put heavy things on the lid to keep it shut. Tight. Lid shut tight. I would turn off the water in the shower, dry myself off, and attempt normalcy with my family.

This year, I spent many January days looking out the front window mentally repainting the landscape. I would paint blue skies right over the grey. I would paint green trees along the road, vegetable plants in the front garden, birds jumping from plant to plant. On particularly brave days, I would paint sunflowers. Longing for warmth and sun would then become grief over its lack and I would shut my eyes. Tight. Eyes shut tight. I would reset the switch to this cold Winter reality and rejoin my family.

In the third week of January this year, I realized that January seemed to have no beginning and no end. I wrote about it in my head. I didn’t put it on paper. Words on paper can make depression real. Depression is best left fleeting. I told myself to work through it – to literally work through it. Do the dishes. Vacuum the hall. Don’t watch TV. Don’t be lazy. When I sit is when the grey skies push down on me. Bake bread. Feed the animals. Visit friends.

I know I am not alone in my Winter Blues. I trivialize them as blues, regardless of their severity, because it makes it easier for me to pluck them off as soon as possible.

I long to give voice to the seasonal struggle without giving it more power. I long to find a way to appreciate the rhythms of winter without resenting its yearly return. I long for my inner emotional life to stay temperate regardless of the weather around me.

But more than anything, I long today to see not just this last day of January, but the last day of February. Come quickly now, please.

As I notice the SAD feelings return at the end of each year, I’m recognizing patterns. The busier I stay, the less they affect me. The more active I can be physically, the better I feel. And contrary to my usual way of rolling with my instincts, the more I reach outward rather than give in to the desire to draw inward, the happier I stay.

I have faith that I will continue to find the paths that lead me away from SAD feelings without medicines – pharmaceutical or herbal – and that I can remember to stay thankful for the beautiful gift of life that I see in my children.

And I have hope that one day I can say goodbye to the SAD feelings once and for all, just as I can today to the dreadfully long month of January.

Other posts by Julie Stockman:

When Mama Really Does Know Best: Why I Love Tandem Nursing

Organic Food Shopping Tips

Ideas for Finding a Good Naturopath or Nutritionist in Your Area

Julie Stockman lives in Farmland, Indiana where she homeschools her children with her husband, Jeff. She spends her days baking, gardening, keeping chickens, exploring the nature around them, practicing gratitude and mindfulness, and writing about it all on her blog, Heirloom Homestead.