The wintering that doesn't seem to end
Midlife reset update
I began this midlife reset with a clear intention: to lose the extra kilos I had gained —but also to come back home to my body. To feel connected, aligned, nourished.
But somewhere along the way, something shifted.
I’ve stopped weighing myself. I seriously don’t care anymore. The numbers aren’t speaking to what I’m going through. This isn’t about fat loss. It’s something deeper.
Maybe it is because I don’t feel like I am overeating. Maybe it is because I have been tracking for so long that I am well aware of how much I am eating each day. Maybe it is because my clothes still fit and so I can stay calm. Maybe it is because I genuinely do not care about my weight at the moment.
I feel like I’ve entered a kind of winter. Not the season outside, but something internal. A deep slowing down. A hibernation. A place where everything in me is saying: Preserve. Be still. Go quiet. Let it all settle.
It’s not depression. It’s not laziness. It’s not giving up.
It’s something ancient. Something animals know.
And what’s hard about this wintering is the part of me that whispers, Will spring ever come again? Or is this just it now? Am I fading? Is this the beginning of the end?
But another part of me knows: something is dying—but not everything. What’s dying is the push, the reaction, the proving. And what’s growing roots is the part of me that listens.
Even my way of eating has changed. It’s still structured—protein, fat, carbs—but now it’s more responsive. I listen to what my body can actually handle. Some days, even good food hurts. Some phases of the cycle bring more exhaustion. I’m more sensitive to carbs in the luteal phase. More sensitive to protein in the follicular. My stomach aches more easily now. My digestion slows down with me.
And still, I try to honor it. Still, I try to feed myself with care.
This week’s recipe reflects that wintering, even though it’s technically spring here in Reykjavík. It’s cozy, calming, grounding. A warm bowl that sits softly in the body—a small act of care for days that feel slow and quiet:
Butternut Squash Chickpea Curry
Some days, I wish I could just stop everything. Like truly hibernate. Like the animals do. Go to sleep and wake up when the season is done. Let the body rest without guilt. Let the soul rearrange itself in silence.
I don’t have answers.
Not yet. But I’m here. Inside the winter.
Trusting—just enough—that spring will return in its own time.