Surviving Winter with Chronic Illness

A complicated body craving rest and comfort during an uncomfortable season.

I become feral, animalistic in my pursuits. My mornings become long, drawn out affairs wrapped in heating blankets, endearing my muscles to the idea of withstanding gravity through gentle movement, encouraging bones to slide softly into sockets from where they’ve slipped during the laxity of sleep. My eyes beg for moisture, the dawn akin to a brilliant faced god through the swollen eyelids and tender, dry sclera. My skin yearns for the touch of the pale sky through my eastern window, the sun the only alarm clock my body acknowledges.

I draw breath on hands and knees, swelling a creaking rib cage with cold, exhaling the tension gathered on the inner soft of my thighs. My core engages, expands with the rhythm of air rattling through awakening airways, encouraging a body to remember how to live. I hone my mind to attention, settling into the faintest whispers of pleasurable movement, delighting in the way my spine realigns as muscles draw taunt, then release, recruiting the strength of my muscles into the act of awakening.

My mornings become consumed by the appetite of my body for attention, for rest. I make nests in each room I visit, huddled beneath the blankets that have sprung free from closets and chests during this season. Thermal fabrics become a second skin, I imagine myself furred, insulated by layer upon layer of fabrics. I give away the shape of myself for the comfort of plush layers. Caves of fabrics hide curled fingers in their depths, needed items magically appear from the folds of my textile body.

I stand transfixed by the sun streaming through a western window in my afternoons. The far off light sends a brief burst of energy surging through my synapses, enough to write a paragraph, enough to clean a room. I have aligned my work schedule to this winter rhythm, driving into town as the sun fades behind the mountains. My face disappears behind a thick mask to ward off the viruses that thrive especially during this season. I drink copious amounts of coffee during my short stints at pretending to be human before returning home and shedding my outer layers.

I have announced my hibernation, resigned myself to the soft grief of many declined plans. I grow quiet, forgetting my voice for many hours, the hum of drone metal and pagan choirs a backdrop to my winter afternoons as I let my mind drift through shadow. I remember to text a friend, I forget to text another. I let myself draw close to the winter habits of my farming ancestors, remembering when the winter brought a respite from field work.

My ambitions during this season have faded from the relentless hurtling forward of even a few years ago, a losing battle with a bodymind that craves slowness during this season of cold and darkness. I grow still, sitting within the darker shades of being, allowing myself to feel comfort without guilt, allowing myself to bury beneath blankets without fear of being consumed. I trust that the glimmer of spring somewhere beyond the horizon will bring me from the cave.

—

Winter and I have a strained relationship. My body hurts, more so than its usual tense reminder of aliveness, and I struggle with things like poor circulation, increased fatigue, and loss of mobility. As a child, I was frequently severely ill during winter. From flus that would last several weeks, to developing cold induced asthma and experiencing my first health crisis, I have carried a lot of somatic fear about winter.

This year, I have felt myself ease into an understanding with this season. I am exceptionally exhausted after a busy holiday season, and have been letting myself recover as much as I can. I’ve been noticing especially this year the amount of delight I have in creating coziness and pleasure, and have been exceptionally careful in my energy expenditure. There is grief in this, though I have found this year that I am finding much more comfort in the quiet I’ve cultivated than in years past.

I hope that you are able to find some rest this winter season.