Let me start with this: I love fall and winter. Absolutely, unapologetically, irrevocably love them. The chill in the air? Bring it on. The crackle of frost under my boots? Music to my ears. The extra layers, the hot drinks, the shorter days and longer nights—they are not just tolerable to me, they are downright comforting. There is something about cold weather that grounds me, calms me, even rejuvenates me in a way summer never has and never will.
I loathe summer. I do not use that word lightly. There is simply no polite, reasonable, or poetic way to say it—I hate summer with a passion that simmers just under the surface like sweat pooling in places no one should mention in a family-friendly essay. You can be sitting still in the shade, having done nothing more than breathe, and still feel like the sun has turned your body into a human convection oven. Even in minimal clothing, I often feel suffocated, overwhelmed, and miserable. And let us be clear: when I say I can “strip down to nothing,” I do not mean it in some chic, sexy, magazine-spread kind of way. I mean I could be sprawled out on a cool tile floor in front of a box fan, stark naked, praying for a thunderstorm, and still feel like my soul is melting.
Summer heat does not just get under your skin—it seeps into your bones, clings to your clothes, and makes sleep nearly impossible. There is no relief unless you have access to constant air conditioning or a body of water to dive into. But not all of us live that life. And for those of us who struggle with certain health conditions, medication sensitivities, or sensory issues, summer can be downright hostile.
Cold weather, on the other hand, gives you options. It respects boundaries. It waits for you to make the first move. When it is cold, you can add layers until your comfort is restored. You can brew a hot cup of tea, light a candle, wrap yourself in fleece-lined everything, and feel the world slow down just a bit. You can nestle into warmth, rather than desperately claw your way out of heat.
One of the most beautiful things about cold weather is the way it invites stillness. A snowy evening muffles the noise of the world and replaces it with a hush that feels sacred. Winter encourages introspection. It draws us inward, both physically and emotionally. It is the season of reflection, of solitude, of nesting. In winter, we gather, we hibernate, we create. It is no coincidence that some of my best writing, deepest conversations, and most cherished memories were born in the cold.
And fall? Fall is the gateway to that sacred space. It is that perfect, brief moment when the world exhales. The air turns crisp, leaves rustle in burnt hues underfoot, and everything smells like cinnamon, bonfires, and possibility. Fall feels like a reunion with the parts of myself I only remember when the heat dies down. My mind clears, my skin breathes, and I feel connected to the earth again.
In cold weather, fashion even feels easier and more forgiving. You do not have to worry about sweat stains or sticky skin or awkward tan lines. You can wear cozy sweaters that feel like a hug, scarves that double as statement pieces and security blankets, and boots that make you feel powerful with every step. There is a tactile intimacy to cold-weather clothes that is hard to explain unless you know the comfort of a well-worn wool hat or the snug fit of thick socks inside sturdy boots.
Even bedtime feels sacred in the winter. There is nothing—absolutely nothing—like crawling into a bed that has been transformed into a personal cocoon. When the temperatures dip, I can layer on another quilt, tuck a warm water bottle at my feet, and know that sleep will come gently. There is peace in knowing you can warm yourself with effort and care, instead of being held hostage by a heat wave that no fan or frozen pillowcase can fix.
To some, cold weather may be harsh or inconvenient, but to me, it is permission. Permission to slow down. Permission to rest. Permission to not perform or hustle or wear less just to be accepted. Cold weather asks nothing of you but honesty. You do not fake a smile in a snowstorm. You do not pretend you are okay when you are shivering. Cold weather reminds us of our vulnerability, and in that, it reminds us of our shared humanity.
So yes, I feel strongly about cold weather. I love it deeply, not in spite of its bite but because of it. I would take a hundred gray skies and snow-covered sidewalks over one humid afternoon of sweat-slick skin and heat headaches. Cold weather, with all its challenges and grace, feels like home.
