The darker mornings arrive before we’re ready. One week you wake to sunlight, the next it feels like night never ended – and with it comes a heaviness you can’t quite explain. Before long, it’s dark when you leave for work and dark when you come home again. The days feel shorter, but the weight of them feels heavier. Thoughts seem sharper in the dark. Energy dips when you need it most. For many people, autumn is the time when anxiety starts to creep in louder.
It isn’t a personal failure to feel this way. It’s what happens when our bodies move at one rhythm, and the world pushes us to live at another.
Why autumn and winter feel harder
Our culture treats January as the “new year” – a time to set resolutions, make plans, and push for fresh starts. But in reality, January falls in the middle of winter, when our bodies are at their lowest energy point. We’re encouraged to speed up at the very time our biology is telling us to slow down.
And that pressure doesn’t just appear in January – it starts to build long before. By October the days are already shorter, the light fades earlier, and the colder air makes evenings feel different. Many people notice their energy dipping before they’ve even realised what’s happening. It’s the time of year when your body naturally begins to slow down – yet the world around you still expects the same pace as summer.
Nature shows us that the new year begins with spring – around March, when the days grow lighter, nature comes back to life, and our bodies naturally find more energy again. Forcing ourselves to treat January as a fresh start only widens the gap between what the season is asking of us and what we’re trying to demand of ourselves. That gap is often why October feels so unsettling: your body is beginning to slow, but you’re already bracing for the pressure to push on.
Shorter days mean less light, and less light affects mood, energy, and focus. Winter, for centuries, was a time of slowing down, storing energy, and resting until spring brought renewal.
For someone already carrying anxiety, this mismatch can feel brutal. You wake up exhausted, but tell yourself you should be achieving more. You scroll past people who seem full of energy while you’re struggling to get through the day. You wonder if you’re falling behind.
Your system isn’t broken. It’s responding exactly as a human body responds when light decreases and the pace of life should slow – only now you’re trying to keep up with a culture that doesn’t pause.
The fears that show up
For many, this season stirs up the same old stories. You wake up heavy and wonder if you’re slipping backwards. You compare yourself to everyone else who seems to be coping, and question why it feels so much harder for you.
The evenings change too. Not long ago you might have been sitting in a pub garden or meeting friends while it was still light outside – now the nights seem to close in quickly, leaving you at home with more silence than you know what to do with. And in that silence, your thoughts can feel louder than ever. Somewhere inside, there’s a quiet fear that if you stop to rest, you might never start again.
These aren’t just passing thoughts. They can spiral into shame, feeding the belief that you should be doing more, that you’re somehow behind. And when you’re already anxious, that weight can feel relentless.
What we quietly long for
Even inside the spiral, most people carry a quiet picture of how they want this season to feel. Waking up and actually wanting to stretch instead of hiding under the covers. Sitting with a warm drink in the evening and feeling their body unclench, even for a moment. Walking home through crisp air and noticing the colours around them instead of rehearsing tomorrow’s to-do list.
These aren’t far-off dreams. They’re small, ordinary hopes – the kind of everyday experiences that can start to feel possible again when we stop forcing ourselves to move at a pace that doesn’t fit the season.
The part of you that already knows
There’s a part of you that recognises this rhythm already. You catch it in the relief of an early night, or in the way your body exhales when you finally stop pushing. That part isn’t broken by anxiety – it’s the quiet awareness that notices everything without being swept away.
The more you connect with it, the less you have to fight your thoughts. You start to see them for what they are: passing weather, not your whole identity.
Small ways to align with the season
You don’t have to overhaul your life. A few small shifts can help you move with the season rather than against it:
- Seek light early. Open the curtains as soon as you wake. Step outside for a few minutes in the morning if you can.
- Treat evenings as transition. Switch on a lamp, make a hot drink, or put on music that signals “the day is closing.” Let your body register the shift.
- Notice small details. On walks, focus on the crunch of leaves, the change in the air, the colours around you. Anxiety pulls you into the future; details bring you back to now.
- Choose your own reset point. Our culture uses January as a reset, but you can choose March – the spring equinox – as your “new year.” Until then, let autumn and winter be about resting, recalibrating, and conserving energy.
- Pause to notice. When your thoughts spiral, remind yourself: “I’m the one noticing these thoughts.” That perspective is always there, and it’s powerful.
Closing reflection
Feeling heavier in autumn doesn’t mean you’re failing. It means your body is asking for something different from what the world demands. When you learn to move with the season – not against it – the anxiety eases its grip.
And if you’d like to explore this more deeply, therapy can be a space to pause, reflect, and reconnect with the part of you that’s always been there in the background. A place where you don’t have to fight your thoughts alone, but can discover a different way of living with them.
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