Be Inspired..!!

Notes from a grown adult who ate shredded cheese for dinner and called it self-care.

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Last January I stood in my kitchen at 4:47 p.m., in the dark, eating shredded cheese out of the bag. Not on a plate. Not melted. Just me and a pound of Kraft, like a raccoon with health insurance.

Then my phone lit up with a LinkedIn post from a guy who “wakes up at 4 a.m. to win the day.” Win it against who, Greg? The day didn’t even know you were competing.

I’d been tired for weeks. Not cute tired. The kind where you sit in the Target parking lot for ten minutes with your hand on the door handle, negotiating with yourself. I figured I was broken. Lazy. Probably needed a new planner, because that’s always the answer.

Turns out I was just a mammal in winter, acting like it was June.

Here’s the part that made me laugh out loud. Every other creature on the planet gets this. Bears nap. Squirrels hoard snacks. Even your dog stares out the window in December like he’s got something heavy on his mind. Meanwhile we get Daylight Saving ending, sunset at 4:30, and a boss who says “let’s circle back Q1 priorities” like we didn’t all just get hit by a truck made of pie.

We were built for seasons. More light, more movement, more people in summer. Less light, more sleep, more soup in winter. Nobody had to call it “seasonal living.” They just called it Tuesday. Then we invented electric lights and the 9-to-5 and the phone that never shuts up, and now we act shocked that our bodies are sending strongly worded emails.

And the wellness industry looked at that and went, “Great, let’s sell them a $48 candle.” I own the candle. It smells like “fireside cedar.” I have never once been by a fire or a cedar.

So last winter I quit fighting it. Not in some cabin-in-Vermont way. I’m not that person. My version was dumb and small and cost about as much as a Chipotle run.

First, I bought a fuzzy blanket. The Bedsure sherpa fleece throw, the one that has roughly 400,000 reviews and lives on every couch in America. I’m not saying it changed my life. I’m saying I sat under it on a Sunday, with no phone and no plan, and for the first time in months my brain went quiet. A blanket did that. A $25 blanket. I’m not proud, but I am warm.

Second, Dr Teal’s Epsom salt. Yes, the one in the purple bag you’ve seen at every Walgreens since 2009. I started taking a bath on Wednesday nights. A bath, like a Victorian child. It felt ridiculous for about four minutes, and then it felt like the best idea I’d had all year. Turns out “rest” doesn’t have to be earned with a 10-mile run first.

Third, and this one’s for the summer people, a Stanley Quencher. I know. I KNOW. But here’s the thing: I’d been dragging my feet through the whole year like winter was something to survive instead of something with its own rules. By spring, I wanted to be outside, loud, and a little dumb, and I wanted a giant cup of ice water to haul around while doing it. The cup became my “okay, it’s go time” signal. Is that a ridiculous thing to say about a cup? Yes. Do I stand by it? Also yes.

None of that is the point, though. You don’t need any of it. The point is that I stopped treating my energy like a fixed setting. And once I did, something weird happened with the people around me.

I texted my friend Dana, “I’m in my hermit era, I love you, I will see you in March.” I figured she’d be hurt. She wrote back, “THANK GOD. Me too.” Then we both stayed home on a Saturday and talked on the phone for two hours about nothing. It was one of the best nights of my winter, and I was wearing socks with a hole in them.

That’s what nobody tells you. When you stop demanding your summer self all year, you stop demanding it from everyone else. You get kinder. People start telling you the truth. A bunch of us are running on fumes, and we’re all pretending it’s a personality.

And look, 2026 is a lot. Your phone is a slot machine. Your inbox is a hostage situation. Every scroll hands you somebody’s perfect 6 a.m. routine, which, congrats, but I saw you posting that at 9 p.m. in sweatpants. Of course you’re tired. You’re running a full-time job, a group chat, and a personal brand on a body that wants to hibernate.

So here’s my ask. Right now, wherever you are, look at the light outside. Is it getting darker earlier? Is your body kind of asking for less? Be honest. I’m not your boss.

Then tell me. Hit reply, comment, or forward this to the friend who texts “so tired lol” every Sunday night and never explains. I read every response, and I’m pretty sure half of you are walking around with a secret January you’ve never told anyone about.

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Anyway. I’m going to go eat cheese out of a bag.

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