It’s Natural to Move Slow in Winter
A few weeks ago, I was taking a yoga class from my living room on a particularly cold night in Montreal. The temperature had plummeted to around –25 C (–13 F) — no joke even for a Canadian well-acquainted with the cold. The wind seeped in through my drafty front window and my limbs were aching from the walk I’d taken earlier. Truthfully, it had taken quite a bit of effort for me to get myself moving at all.
The class was with one of my favourite teachers, and she’d designed it to be gentle yet stimulating, exactly what my body needed to feel good that day. Even though I hadn’t wanted to leave the cozy warmth of my pile of blankets and thick sweaters, I found myself enjoying the class, and my joints felt considerably less achy afterwards. It was the most beautiful kind of surprise. Maybe I’ve had this experience before, but this was the first time I noticed its significance.
Your body is not a machine
I’ve spent most of my life in motion. I do some form of exercise six days of the week and I make sure I go for a walk every day as well. To some, this may seem excessive but to me, it’s actually less than I grew up with. At peak intensity, I was training 26 to 28 hours per week, in circus and gymnastics and physical conditioning. It feels like a luxury that I get to choose how and when I move my body now, when for so many years I felt like I never had the option to do so.
As a gymnast, my training actually peaked during the coldest months of the year: competitions ran from January to April, with the highest concentration of meets being when the temperatures tended to hang out around –30 C, plus windchill. My body did not like this. I would feel achy and stiff and always too slow — but I pushed through anyways, because that was just what we did. I never thought there could be any other way of going about it.
It never occurred to me that my body’s resistance to training could actually have something to do with the earth’s natural rhythms, that actually, there was nothing wrong with me. My body was just doing what it was built for, responding to the world outside. It was divine wisdom; I was taught to ignore it. I was taught my body’s cues were something to manipulate or overcome.
And so, this cold January evening felt like a revolution: it’s natural to move slow in winter. I don’t have to force myself to do some high-intensity workout if it feels like too much. I can listen to my body and still move and it can feel good. What a revelation.
When resistance comes, look closer
I think we can apply this train of thought to so many areas of our life. We live in a society that glorifies busyness and demands that we do all the things, all the time. This is changing, albeit slowly; I think the pandemic showed us all how unsustainable our way of life has become.
We don’t have to wait for the world to slow down before we can claim a new pace for ourselves. The trees don’t apologize for the fact that they don’t produce at the same rate year-round. They know that if they did, they would burn themselves out. This is the wisdom of nature — this is the wisdom of the divine feminine rising to the surface after centuries of being suffocated and repressed.
If you find yourself feeling resistance to something, I encourage you to look a little closer. Invite curiosity into the conversation: why do you feel the way you do? Is there something triggering about the activity? Are you feeling exhausted or overwhelmed? Did you experience something traumatic in childhood and now this situation is bringing that (lived) memory to the surface? Resistance is simply an indication that one part of you is not in agreement with the direction you are headed. It’s neither good nor bad — it doesn’t mean you shouldn’t do the thing. It’s simply an invitation to investigate further.
You never know — maybe you’ll even discover there is some divine wisdom at play behind the scenes. We know so much more than we give ourselves credit for.
A gentle nudge: If, like me, you are in a season of winter, here is a gentle reminder that you don’t need anyone’s permission to listen to your body and move at a pace that suits your needs in this moment.
Mantra: I am so grateful I get to move my body in a way that feels good. I listen to my body when it tells me what it needs. I honour my innate wisdom.
As a poet, writer, and artist, Maia Thom works with words to create spaces for people to breathe and come home to themselves. In 2020, she published her first anthology, Kitchen Table Talks: Simple Reminders + Thoughts on Life. You can find her on Instagram as @maia.thom where she shares poetry, art, and practical wisdom to offer daily moments of calm.
