I live in North Dakota. When I tell people, even other North Dakotans, that winter is my favorite season, they look at me a little funny.
Winter is cozy and quiet. I like soft blankets and warm jackets and thick socks. I like cuddling with my kitties on the couch, reading a good book with a little headlamp in the darkness that envelopes my house by the time I get home from work. Have you heard of the Danish term, hygge? That captures the feeling. Also, it’s more socially acceptable to stay home and relax when it’s cold outside.
Spring for me generates feelings opposite of most people. Snow melting, grass turning green and flowers blooming do not bring me peace and hope; these things only remind me that I will soon be cutting grass and trimming hedges. My list of chores will grow substantially.
Spring comes with expectations. People will want to go places on weekends, eat at restaurants and sleep in beds other than the one at home that doesn’t hurt my body. All of these things complicate my life.
They say the trick to living with fibromyalgia is to not let it stop you from living your life, to not let it be the reason you don’t do something you want to do. This is the first spring since my diagnosis, so I suppose I should consider that my goal.
Spring expectations … Sigh.