By Noriko Nakada
When I moved to Los Angeles and escaped Oregon over 25 years ago, I wasn’t just trying to escape the cloudy, dark, rainy, snowy winters. I was also escaping the homogeneity of the white, Christian majority that dominates the Pacific Northwest.
The diversity of LA has kept me here for decades, and the weather is a welcome bonus. I gained sunny skies, temperate winters, and long summers that even sneak summery days into winter, spring, and fall.
But this year, with wet like we haven’t seen in a long while, and a cold snap that gripped the southland so tight it even sent a few flurries down into the foothills, I was reminded of my fragile mental state on cold, dark days.
When the dark of winter sinks in, even in sunny Southern California, I feel like sleeping, hibernating, pulling to covers tighter and longer and keeping my eyes closed to the world. I forget to exercise, to write, to eat green things, and sometimes I even forget to breathe. I wish for a snow day, and dream that, for just a minute, I live somewhere with snow. I feel like I would trade away my entire LA life for a single day off.
I should no longer be surprised when I find myself swallowed in this slothful seasonal state. But each year, it takes three, or four, or five weeks for me to realize what’s happening, that I’ve come off the rails, that I’m stuck in first gear, that even though my foot is on the pedal and I’m flooring it, I can only go so fast, and I’m probably doing real harm to my engine.
Thankfully, spring is here. The days are stretching longer and I am at the page, putting words down, one after the other. Yes, I’m still hitting snooze, and eating cake and French fries whenever I can. I’m not writing or reading as much as I would like, but I am going to be gentle on my winter-hating self.
I will breathe. I will get a column out into the world. I will revise and resubmit some poems and essays. I will watch my kids hitting baseballs and softballs into a blue sky. I will go for a run. I will even get up to Portland for AWP and when I’m there, I will engage with the writing world. I will, somehow, welcome spring.
As writers flock to rainy, gloomy Portland, I hope we can all shake off the winter that might still be clinging. And if you can’t, at least know you are not alone. Depression and seasonal affective disorder are real. Please take care of yourselves as we all crane our necks toward spring. Find the wildflower fields, the cherry blossoms, the sun shining bright for a little bit longer each day. But if it is all too much, please listen to the small voice that knows when you might need some help. Listen to that voice and reach out if you need it, because we need you.
Here are some resources for those struggling with depression.
Noriko Nakada is a public school teacher and the editor of the Breathe and Push column. She writes, blogs, tweets, and parents in Los Angeles. She is committed to writing thought-provoking creative non-fiction, fiction, and poetry.