As the world outside draws inward, cloaked in the deepening twilight of winter, a profound call for introspection emerges, often intensified by the stark beauty of northern latitudes. This natural rhythm, a universal invitation to pause and reflect, resonates deeply in places like Anchorage, Alaska, where the Chugach Mountains stand sentinel over a landscape preparing for months of snow and shortened days. It is a season, as some wisdom traditions and modern mindfulness advocates suggest, not for the outward thrust of New Year’s resolutions, but for the quiet planting of seeds within the self – intentions germinating in the darkness, awaiting the eventual return of light.

This potent message took on new meaning during a period of significant personal challenge, marked by debilitating fatigue, persistent joint inflammation, and an unsettling brain fog. These symptoms, eerily mirroring those experienced by a mother at a similar stage of life, cast a shadow over professional aspirations and daily vitality. The body’s insistent demand for rest, for care, became undeniable, forcing a reevaluation of the prevailing cultural narrative that often champions relentless productivity over essential recuperation. After two years spent attempting to "push through" the growing malaise, a common societal expectation in many demanding environments, the decision crystallized: it was time to listen, to retreat from the conventional 8-to-5 grind, and to seek professional therapeutic support.

The therapeutic journey commenced with a focused approach: sensory-motor psychotherapy. This modality, gaining increasing recognition for its effectiveness in addressing trauma and stress, operates on the principle that emotional experiences are deeply embodied, manifesting as physical sensations and patterns. Unlike traditional talk therapy that primarily engages cognitive processing, sensory-motor psychotherapy encourages clients to observe and engage with these somatic experiences, allowing the body’s innate wisdom to guide the healing process. In the quiet sanctity of the therapy room, amidst calming music delivered through headphones, the session began with a simple yet profound question: "What would life feel or look like if you were healthy?"

The immediate response was uncomplicated, yet profoundly resonant: "I’d be excited to make plans with my family." This seemingly modest aspiration, however, triggered a cascade of physical and emotional reactions. A sensation akin to a "fish head stuck in the throat," a palpable tightness in the chest, and an overwhelming heaviness descended. This visceral response underscored a deeper truth: the simple joy of familial connection, of participating in shared experiences like ugruk hunting, fishing, or even a walk through the birch and cottonwood forests, had become tinged with fear and sadness due to the unpredictable onset of migraines or crushing exhaustion. The body’s limitations had created a barrier, fostering a profound sense of grief for lost moments and an simmering anger – an anger long carried, rooted in the absence of a mother’s once boundless, vivacious spirit, and the subsequent void felt by the entire family.

As guided by the therapist, the focus shifted to these bodily sensations. Placing a hand over the chest, observing the tightness, and allowing it to evolve, the physical manifestation of emotion began its transformation. The constriction moved, traveling up the throat, briefly impeding speech, before migrating to the side of the face. Then, a profound shift occurred. A golden light seemed to envelop the head, accompanied by an unmistakable sense of the mother’s presence, her essence, her voice echoing a resonant truth: "The love is there. The love is there. The love is there. Babe, the love is there. The love is there. The love is there."

This revelation, experienced in the intimate space of therapy, offered a powerful reframing of grief and loss. It affirmed a fundamental human truth: love, as an energy, transcends physical presence and persists beyond death. It resides not just in grand gestures or cherished memories, but in the myriad small, everyday rituals that weave the fabric of family life. It is present in the laughter of children, the warmth of a shared kitchen, the communal act of preparing food – be it cutting fish or baking cranberry orange scones. Love permeates the mundane: wiping honey from a counter, cleaning a coffee stain, the simple act of acknowledging a pet’s bad breath while rubbing its belly. It manifests in the tender embraces at an airport reunion, the daily goodbyes at the school door, the shared reminders to take vitamin D during the dim winter months, or the quiet comfort of companionable silence on a couch. This enduring, pervasive love forms the bedrock of resilience, sustaining individuals and families through the inevitable cycles of joy and sorrow.

The mother, a vibrant woman who once danced with uninhibited joy to Otis Redding, had succumbed to severe depression 21 years prior. Her final months were marked by profound suffering, twisted thoughts, and an inability to sleep, transforming her from the beloved matriarch into a person consumed by an internal battle. Her passing left an indelible mark, and for her child, the onset of winter each year rekindled the grief, a poignant reminder of her absence. Yet, through the therapeutic insight, the memory of her, particularly her infectious spirit and her counsel not to take life too seriously, became a source of renewed strength. The realization that "the love is there" became not just a comforting thought, but a profound affirmation.

This journey of self-discovery, anchored in the wisdom of the body and the enduring power of love, underscores the universal human experience of navigating loss, illness, and the search for meaning. In a world that often demands constant forward momentum, the Alaskan winter, with its inherent call for quietude and conservation of energy, provides a natural metaphor for this process. It reinforces the idea that true growth often begins in periods of darkness and introspection.

The concept of "planting seeds for the self" takes on a deeper significance within this context. It is about setting intentions, cultivating mindfulness, and understanding that "thoughts become things." The mantra, "The love is there," transforms from a fleeting thought into a guiding principle, a powerful affirmation repeated to oneself, anchoring the present in the enduring legacy of connection. This internal shift reconfigures the emotional landscape; the once-feared prospect of making plans with family no longer evokes tightness and sadness, but a nascent sense of warmth and possibility, felt in the belly and behind the eyes. Like a golden light emerging from the depths of winter, or the inevitable turning of a season, this renewed perspective offers a profound sense of hope and the promise of a future where wellness and joy can flourish. It is a testament to the transformative power of self-care, therapeutic insight, and the enduring, unbreakable energy of love.