My first reaction to seeing the first blossoming trees a few weeks ago was far from excitement. In fact, I was surprised by how heavy I felt. It was like a quiet weight had settled in for the season. A season I should, by all accounts, love.
Taking pictures of blossoming trees is one of my favourite things to do. There are countless reasons why spring should be my season. The days get longer. The sun and blue skies finally return to Berlin. I can cycle everywhere again and avoid the public transport. I can sit outside at cafĂŠs, enjoy the smell of fresh air, listen to the birds.
And yes, I still love all of that. But Iâve started to realise that what spring symbolises for much of the world doesnât quite resonate with me.
Friends talk about their "rebirths"âtheir waking up from winter slumber, their new productivity streaks, their packed social calendars. My feed is full of spring âglow-upsâ, vlogs about cleaning routines and habit resets. Somehow, New Yearâs resolutions that were half-forgotten in February come roaring back to life in March.
Itâs wild how much weight a season can carry.
So why did the first signs of spring fill me with anxiety instead of joy?
The only explanation Iâve come to is this: the achiever in me gets overstimulated. If Iâm already someone who thrives on to-do lists and structure and âproductivityâ is my second name, then springâthis season of "doing more"âbecomes overwhelming. Itâs like my lists themselves are having a glow-up. Suddenly everything feels urgent. Prioritising gets harder. And time? Time is still the same.
My brain spirals:
It's March, and Iâm nowhere near my German learning goals.
I canât just sit at home and watch Netflix. I need to be doing something.
I have three appointments to book. Actually, five.
Oh no, I'm behind on my reading goals too.
The pressure to keep moving clashes with my bodyâs quieter needsâto rest, to slow down. For the first weeks of spring, I felt paralysed. I felt extremely tired. Guilty for not matching the season's energy. Frustrated that I couldnât ride the wave everyone else seemed to be on.
I talked about it with my partner, a friend, and even my therapist. And slowly, I connected the dots. What if I'm simply projecting all this pressure onto a season? What if itâs not spring that overwhelms meâbut my own expectations of who I need to become in it?
When I think of autumn, I feel grounded. Comforted. At peace. I slow down naturally. I do not feel guilty for missing on things. I light candles, drink tea, and feel more like myself. I am, it seems, wired for different rhythms. I have to accept that my seasonal depression hits during Spring.
Closing Thoughts
Spring might be a season of bloom for manyâbut for some of us, it can bring overstimulation, pressure, and a deeper reckoning with our pace. And thatâs okay. We donât all have to grow the same way.
Maybe this season, instead of pushing forward, I can simply notice. Notice the blossoms, the sun, the birds. Notice my discomfort too. Maybe thereâs room for both.
And maybe my kind of blooming happens quietly. On my own terms. In my own time.
xx Adi
p.s. This post was born out of a journal entry. It follows a slighthly different format to my previous writings. Hence, I am curious how it resonated with you. Would love to hear your feedback or thoughts in comments or DM.
I like this format. It feels like following someones monologue.
Thanks for sharing this. It's interesting how different our perceptions are. For me, spring is a slow movement, one step at a time out of winter's slumber, gentle and soft, no rush or hurry. But I guess these differences in perspective are also a similarity in human nature. We may share a season, or a city, or a dream, but we all live in our own little worlds.