Seasonal Living: How to Work With Your Natural Rhythms
Seasonal living doesn’t have to mean flower crowns, fire dancing or living by the moon. For me, it began with something much simpler: noticing the patterns in my energy, body, family and everyday life – and wondering what might change if I stopped trying to be the same all year round.
Seasonal living didn’t begin for me with a perfectly curated morning ritual or a desire to live more like nature. It started with noticing myself saying “I’m tired of always feeling…”, and questioning if it was really true.
Recently, I sat down with Victoria Vanstone for a conversation on her podcast, Sober Awkward, about seasonal living and what living with the seasons can offer us in our very normal, very busy modern lives.
Ten minutes, as it turns out, is nowhere near enough time to explain something that took me more than a decade to arrive at, because seasonal living wasn’t something I discovered one day and decided to implement.
The idea, framework, lifestyle of seasonal living found me slowly, first through an interest in slow living when my children were little. Then through years of noticing patterns in myself and family traditions that worked (and ones that didn’t). Through Christmases and summers and camping trips. Through learning about rituals. Through my work as a counsellor and my fascination with why we do what we do.
And more recently, through burnout and a winter I’ve needed more than ever before. So I wanted to come back here and tell the fuller story. Not because I’ve perfected seasonal living (far from it!), but because somewhere along the way, the seasons have become one of the ways I understand myself.
And gosh, it feels good to have permission not to be the same every day! To not constantly optimise and hack and improve myself, and instead ask:
What if I stopped constantly trying to improve myself and became more interested in learning how to work with myself?
Before Seasonal Living, There Was Slow Living
More than ten years ago, I became interested in slow living.
My kids were little then – three of them under five, and my days had a particular feel to them that anyone who has lived through that stage will probably recognise… busy and constant. Full in a way that didn’t leave much room to notice anything beyond the next nap, the next meal, the washing, the mess, who needed me and what needed to happen next.
Slow living wasn’t something I had the capacity to practise particularly well back then, instead, it sat somewhere in the background of my life, simmering.
I’d read something about living differently, or hear someone talk about slowing down, being more intentional or becoming more connected with the rhythms of everyday life, and I’d feel this little flicker of recognition.
That. I want more of that.
And then life would take over again, the washing, the nappies, the constant feeding and activities filled between the naps and tears.
I think that’s true of a lot of things worth exploring. They don’t necessarily arrive as fully formed ideas accompanied by enough time, money, energy and wisdom to immediately put them into practice. Sometimes they arrive as a pull, something you notice again and again, until eventually something in your life makes enough room to follow it.
Where Seasonal Living Actually Began for Me
Seasonal living arrived differently. About five years ago, I kept catching myself saying: “I always feel this way. I’m always tired at this time of year. I always go flat around this month. This is always a hard part of the year.”
Eventually I became curious about the word always. I began to question whether it was actually true. Or had something happened a few times and I’d turned it into a story about myself? So I started tracking.
It was nothing sophisticated – no colour-coded spreadsheet or elaborate wellbeing system, just a scrappy notepad that had been used and abandoned, but enough pages for the idea to come to life. So I started collecting information.
- What was happening in my life when the feeling appeared?
- What had I been doing in the weeks leading up to it?
- What hadn’t I been doing?
- How was I sleeping?
- What was happening in my body?
- What was happening at work?
- What was happening with my family?
- What was the weather doing?
- What time of year was it?
- What was my energy like?
- What was I eating?
- How was I caring for myself?
- Were there particular memories, expectations or stressful events attached to that part of the year?
I wanted the facts, not just the feeling. And gradually I began to see that some of those feelings did have patterns around them. There were things that were specific and repeatable.
Things I couldn’t see while I was simply living inside the experience, but which became much clearer when I stepped back and looked across months and eventually years.
That was really the beginning of what I now think of as seasonal living. Not living according to a seasonal rulebook, but instead a small, personal act of self-research.
What happens to me at different times of the year, and what does that tell me about me?
So, What Does Seasonal Living Actually Mean?
The more I’ve explored seasonal living, the less I think it’s about doing stereotypically “seasonal” things.
You don’t need to grow all your own vegetables or preserve food (although a girl can dream). You don’t need a different morning routine for every season. And you certainly don’t need to decorate your house according to somebody else’s Pinterest board (although I definitely see the appeal).
Seasonal living also doesn’t have to mean flower crowns, tarot cards, fire dancing or witchy spells either. If those things are meaningful to you, wonderful. But you don’t need to adopt a whole new identity or belief system to pay attention to the seasons.
Seasonal living can be incredibly ordinary.
It’s noticing that you need a tea instead of an iced coffee. That you’re suddenly pulling the blanket over yourself on the couch. That the afternoon light has changed. That mangoes are back. That your kids are staying outside later. That you don’t feel like eating the same food you wanted two months ago.
You don’t have to make seasonal living mystical for it to be meaningful. You just have to notice.
Seasonal living is about paying attention. To nature, your body, your energy. To your senses, environment and relationships. To the patterns that repeat throughout your year.
And to what this particular season – both outside you and within your own life – might be asking of you.
It might be
- Noticing that your energy changes when the days get shorter
- Changing what you cook.
- Opening the house up when the weather warms.
- Noticing what’s flowering on your morning walk or in your garden.
- Realising you naturally become more social at one time of year and more reflective at another.
- Recognising that a particular month carries memories for you.
- Creating a family tradition.
- Changing the way you exercise.
- Resting differently.
- Preparing for a demanding period rather than waiting until you’re already depleted.
Or simply stopping long enough to ask “What do I need in this season?”
Seasonal living isn’t another set of rules, it’s about becoming more responsive to your own life.
The Seasons Aren't Instructions
Winter does not mean you must rest. Spring doesn’t mean you need to start something. Autumn doesn’t require you to ceremonially let go of your past. And Summer doesn’t mean you should be social, energetic and joyful.
Those ideas can be lovely metaphors but they aren’t instructions. You might adore winter and struggle terribly in summer. Spring might make everyone around you feel alive while you feel exhausted. This isn’t evidence you’re doing seasonal living incorrectly – it’s simply data.
The question isn’t: How am I supposed to feel during winter? It’s: What happens to me during winter?
That’s a completely different relationship with yourself. Instead of using the seasons as another external authority telling us how we should live, we can use them as a prompt to become curious about how we actually live.
Nature Doesn't Expect Itself to Be the Same Every Day
This may be one of the greatest gifts seasonal living has given me – nature doesn’t expect itself to perform at exactly the same level all year round, but humans often do.
We expect ourselves to wake up with roughly the same energy, maintain our routines, keep producing, keep achieving and keep moving forward regardless of what’s happening around us or within us. And if we can’t, we often assume there’s a problem.
Why am I so tired?
Why can’t I get motivated?
Why don’t I feel like seeing anyone?
Why have I lost momentum?
Why can’t I get back into my routine?
What’s wrong with me?
So we look for another solution, routine, supplement, productivity system. A planner, podcast, morning practice. Another way to optimise ourselves. And sometimes those things are helpful, but I often wonder if we’re trying to solve something that needs to be noticed first.
Somewhere Along the Way, We Became Very Good at Being Busy
We live in a fast-paced world. We’re busy being busy. Information, productivity, optimisation and constant improvement are everywhere.
How can I sleep better?
Work better?
Parent better?
Exercise better?
Eat better?
Focus better?
Use my time better?
Become better?
At the same time, many of the natural cues humans once lived alongside have become much easier to override. We can switch lights on at midnight, heat our houses in winter and cool them in summer. Buy many of the same foods throughout the year. Work under the same artificial lighting regardless of what is happening outside. And, we carry endless entertainment, stimulation and information around in our pockets.
There’s also knowledge we don’t necessarily inherit in the same way anymore. Knowledge about weather, food, growing things, preserving things. Preparing for seasons, resting, watching, waiting, noticing.
Even the way we respond to boredom has changed. Many of us grew up being told to go outside and play (nature being one of our best nervous system regulators). Now a screen can become an almost immediate regulator for children and adults alike.
Increasingly, technology and now AI can help us think, decide, understand ourselves and make sense of what we’re feeling. There are extraordinary benefits to that, but I don’t want technology to become the only place we know how to turn.
We also have nature, movement, community. Our bodies and senses. Times for quiet, reflection and tuning into the physical world happening around us.
In today’s world I think seasonal living is more about remembering how to be in relationship with those things again.
Seasonal Living in Australia Doesn't Have to Look Like Someone Else's Four Seasons
There’s another reason I think the noticing part matters. A lot of what we see about seasonal living comes through a Northern Hemisphere lens.
Winter means snow, fireplaces and hibernation. Autumn means pumpkins and orange leaves. Spring means April flowers. But that’s not the environment I’m living in – I’m in Brisbane, Australia. Our subtropical environment doesn’t necessarily perform the neat four-season story we’ve inherited through books, movies and social media.
And Australia contains enormously different climates and seasonal patterns depending on where you live. So perhaps living seasonally shouldn’t begin with deciding what “winter” is supposed to mean.
I loved the way Victoria described this when we spoke on Sober Awkward. For her, she knows the seasons are changing through very ordinary things – the return of beach weather, plums coming into season, or the moment it’s hot enough to burn your bum on the car seat.
And that’s kind of the point.
We don’t necessarily need someone to teach us what the seasons are supposed to look like. We can start noticing how they actually show up where we live.
It can begin by going outside.
- What’s actually happening here?
- What’s flowering?
- What’s fruiting?
- Which birds are suddenly around?
- What has disappeared?
- What does the air feel like?
- When did the mornings become cooler?
- When does the humidity arrive?
- How has the light changed?
- What is happening in your garden?
- What are you noticing in your body?
Seasonal living starts with noticing the place where you actually live, rather than following somebody else’s idea of what a season should look like.
In fact, you might already be far more connected to the seasons than you realise. You just haven’t called it seasonal living.
The Season Outside You and the Season Inside You Might Be Different
This is something else I’ve become increasingly interested in. There is the season happening in nature and then there is the season happening in your life. They won’t always match.
It can be spring outside while you’re grieving. You can be surrounded by all the cultural messages of new beginnings while your own life is asking you to stop. It can be winter while you’re starting a business and feeling more creative and energised than you’ve felt in years.
You might be in a season of building, parenting, caregiving. Questioning, recovering, creating. Waiting, beginning again or even letting go. Seasonal living isn’t about forcing the metaphor of nature onto our lives. It’s another opportunity to notice what is actually happening.
I’ve started to think of this as three different layers of noticing.
The Three Layers of Seasonal Noticing
What’s happening around me?
The weather, the light, the temperature, what’s flowering or fruiting, the animals and birds around me, what I’m eating, how the environment is changing.
What’s happening within me?
My energy, mood, sleep, body, thoughts, memories, needs and capacity.
What’s happening in my life?
My family rhythms, work, relationships, traditions, anniversaries, school terms, holidays, periods of busyness, periods of rest, and whatever this particular chapter of life is asking of me.
And then, what happens when I start noticing the relationship between all three?
Maybe the weather has changed and my body is responding to it. Maybe a particular month carries memories I hadn’t consciously connected with. Maybe what I thought was a problem with my motivation is actually the cumulative effect of a very full school term, less sleep and a season of caregiving. Maybe I’m expecting myself to be in a season of growth when my actual life is asking for recovery.
That’s where seasonal living becomes much more than noticing the weather.
It becomes a way of understanding the relationship between the world around me, the world within me, and the life I’m actually living.
How I Actually Approach a Year
When I sit down to think about seasonal living practically, I usually start with the whole twelve months rather than any single season.
I ask myself what the non-negotiables are. What already matters to me at certain points in the year, whether or not I’ve ever called it a ritual?
Then I look at traditions, which ones do I want to keep carrying forward? Which ones might be worth creating from scratch because there’s a gap where something meaningful could sit? Which traditions have become joyous and anchoring? And which ones am I carrying simply because that’s what we’ve always done, or because somewhere along the way I decided that’s what a good mother, wife, family or person should do?
I think about what parts of the year require preparation – what parts restore me, where I tend to overcommit, when my family feels connected. Where things repeatedly become difficult, what I’d like to protect and what I might be ready to change.
None of this happens quickly, it’s slow mapping and tweaking done gently, season by season, year by year.
Beach Camping and Finding Our Own Version
One of the clearest examples in my own life is our summer holiday. I grew up going to Brisbane and the coast for summer holidays, and my extended family still does.
My aunt, who I admire enormously, hasn’t missed spending at least three weeks in the same spot in around thirty years. Now her children bring her grandchildren. I think there is something heartwarming and beautiful about that kind of continuity. A place becomes more than somewhere you visit, it holds years of memories. You anticipate it, return to it and your children grow up with it.
For a while, I tried desperately to follow that same pattern with my own family, but it didn’t quite fit us. And one of the things seasonal living has taught me is that something can be beautiful for someone else without needing to become mine.
So instead of treating that as a failure, I got curious. What would fit us?
What we keep coming back to over several years is beach camping. It’s become our version of that same instinct rather than a copy of my aunt’s. And now I feel it pulling at me throughout the year. There’s almost a borrowed joy in knowing summer is coming – something waiting for me that I can anticipate and draw from when I need it. By the time it arrives, I’m not simply going on holiday, I’m arriving at something I’ve been anticipating for months. It’s where I rest, restore, play and immerse myself in a different rhythm.
More and more I start to think about how I will arrive there. Questions throughout the year – am I looking after my health beforehand? Have I left enough capacity to enjoy it? Can we prepare well enough that we’re not spending the first half of the holiday recovering from the life we just escaped?
We plant the seeds for it long before we pack the car so that, when we finally get there, we can actually be there. That’s what I mean when I talk about creating rituals that are meaningful, joyous and anchoring. They don’t have to look like anyone else’s, they just need to be yours.
Rituals Give Texture to a Year
I’ve become fascinated by rituals – not routines we perform because somebody told us successful people do them, not another list of things we should be doing. But rituals that mean something. A meal you cook when the weather changes, that first swim of summer. That morning coffee outside when the mornings become warm again.
A winter Sunday evening ritual, or going somewhere each year when a particular tree begins flowering. Opening the windows and cleaning the house when you notice the season shifting. Returning to the same camping spot. Taking your children somewhere every year until eventually it becomes something your family does.
These small practices connect us with ourselves, each other, our environment and the passage of time. They give texture to a year because otherwise it’s very easy for life to become one long stretch of work, school terms, appointments, bills, deadlines and things that need doing.
And suddenly it’s December and you’re asking: Where did that year go? The kids changed, you changed, your body changed. Winter came and went, jacarandas flowered and summer returned. Perhaps you photographed some of it, but barely had time to inhabit it.
Rituals can become little markers in the ground that provide ways of connecting and belonging.
What Winter and Burnout Taught Me About Conserving Energy
If you’d asked me a year ago which season needed my attention, I’m not sure I would have said winter, but burnout has a way of making that decision for you.
I got sick. I hit a wall I’d been heading towards for a while without wanting to admit it. And this year, winter became less of a season I moved through and more of a season I needed to genuinely prepare for and lean into.
Health, energy, rest and rejuvenation. Accompanied by all the feels because burnout has a way of bringing things to the surface that we perhaps wished wasn’t really there.
It’s been a year of learning how to conserve some of my vitality rather than spending it the moment it returns (aka nurturing my inner hedgehog). That’s another pattern I’ve noticed in myself and I don’t think I’m alone.
A little energy comes back? Fill the calendar. Feel motivated again? Start another project. Have a good week? Quick, catch up on everything. Get an unexpected free afternoon? Find something productive to do with it.
We don’t always know how to keep some energy. We spend it as we receive it.
There’s an ancient Chinese medical text, the Huangdi Neijing, that has fascinated me in this exploration because thousands of years ago it was already discussing the relationship between human wellbeing, conserving vitality and living in accordance with natural rhythms.
The language and medical understanding belong to a very different time, but I find the underlying question remarkably contemporary:
Have we become so focused on stimulation, doing and momentary pleasure that we’ve forgotten how to conserve ourselves?
My experience of burnout made that question much less theoretical. This winter I’ve been learning to notice the cues earlier. The small ones, the ones that tell me my capacity is stretching before I end up flat with nothing to give. I’m still learning and I don’t catch them all. But tracking the data on myself, the same thing I began doing five years ago means I can sometimes catch the pattern earlier than I once would have. Definitely not perfectly, just early enough to make a different choice.
What Seasonal Living Can Offer Our Mental Health and Wellbeing
Seasonal living itself isn’t a mental health treatment, and I wouldn’t suggest that living according to the seasons will simply resolve anxiety, depression or burnout. But the science supporting something at the heart of seasonal living – our relationship with nature – is actually quite substantial.
Research has linked spending time in nature with improvements in mood, mental health, emotional wellbeing and cognitive functioning. Interestingly, research also suggests that our sense of connection with nature matters too. It isn’t necessarily only about how many hours we spend outdoors.
There is also the growing body of research into practices such as forest bathing, or shinrin-yoku, with research exploring its effects on stress, mood, anxiety, depression and physiological markers of stress.
I find that fascinating because so much of seasonal living brings us back into relationship with the natural world… we notice the light, we go outside to see what’s flowering. We feel the temperature change, we pay attention to rain, trees, birds, food and the changing length of the day. We use our senses and we become curious about how our bodies respond to the environment we’re living in.
Seasonal living also offers a framework for noticing. It can invite:
- reflection
- mindfulness
- intentional rest
- sensory awareness
- connection with nature
- connection with our bodies
- a greater sense of interconnectedness
- more intentional rituals
- an understanding of what restores us and what depletes us
- and, over time, a deeper knowledge of ourselves.
The more we notice, the more information we begin gathering about ourselves. We start recognising our rhythms, our needs, our capacity. The environments in which we feel most alive. And the things that restore us and quietly drain us.
Seasonal living becomes less about following the seasons correctly and more about using them as a prompt to know ourselves more deeply.
Different seasons can then turn our attention towards different parts of life. There are times for growth and activity. Times for enjoying and harvesting what we’ve created. Times for letting go. Times for conserving energy. Times for reflection. Times for rest.
Again, these aren’t rules, they’re invitations. Sometimes the most useful information comes when your experience is completely different from the metaphor.
Seasonal Living as Self-Knowledge
This is where seasonal living becomes particularly meaningful to me as a counsellor, because what happens if we treat our experience of the year as information about ourselves?
- Why do I dread December?
- Why do I come alive at a particular time of year?
- Who is doing something I admire?
- Why do I withdraw every winter?
- What does Christmas bring up for me?
- What expectations have I inherited about holidays, celebrations or family?
- Which traditions are actually mine?
- Which ones am I maintaining because I think I should?
- What happens in my relationships at particular times of year?
- What does my body seem to remember?
- What do I need more of?
- What consistently depletes me?
- What restores me?
- What am I learning about myself under all the doing?
The seasons give us something to reflect against, and gradually we begin seeing our patterns, memories, needs, preferences, values and expectations more clearly. That’s self-knowledge.
However, knowing isn’t the end of it.
- Can I meet what I discover without immediately judging it?
- Can I be curious about why I feel this way instead of telling myself I shouldn’t?
- Can I allow tiredness? Grief? Excitement? Restlessness? Desire?
- Can I ask for what I need?
And then, with what I know, can I make choices that support the life I’m actually living? That can look like – changing a boundary, creating a ritual, having a conversation, resting, preparing earlier, doing less, doing something differently. Or even finally allowing myself to want what I want.
Notice yourself, then meet what you find. And learn how to lead yourself from there.
How to Start Living More Seasonally
If you’re reading this thinking you’d like to explore seasonal living yourself, I wouldn’t start by adding anything. Start by noticing.
You can treat yourself as a little research project. Over the next season, pay attention to questions like:
- What do I already naturally do differently at this time of year?
- What happens to my energy?
- How do I sleep?
- What happens to my mood?
- Do I become more or less social?
- What foods am I drawn towards?
- What am I noticing through my senses?
- What’s growing or changing around me?
- How does the weather affect me?
- What health concerns tend to appear?
- Where do my thoughts tend to go?
- What do I love about this season?
- What do I struggle with?
- Are there memories attached to this time of year?
- Do the same situations or emotions seem to emerge each year?
- How do I naturally care for myself?
- What feels important to me right now?
- What does this particular season represent to me?
You don’t need to answer all of them, you don’t even need a journal. Just keep a note on your phone if that’s easier. You’re simply gathering information.
What happens to me during this season, and what does that tell me about me?
Then choose one thing – one season, one experiment, one ritual or one area that needs a little more attention. Maybe this winter you create a Sunday evening ritual that helps you settle into the week. Maybe spring means ten minutes outside with your morning coffee. Maybe this summer you pay attention to how heat affects your mood and energy. Maybe autumn becomes a time to look at what’s working in your life and what you’re ready to leave behind.
Maybe your experiment isn’t adding something at all! Maybe it’s protecting some of the energy you’ve spent years giving away.
The question becomes less what should I be doing? And more what am I noticing, and what might support me here?
Otherwise seasonal living simply becomes another wellness routine we think we’re failing at, and I think we’ve got enough of those already.
Why I Keep Coming Back to Seasonal Living
I think what I’ve finally realised is that seasonal living was never really about the seasons for me. It’s been a way of getting to know myself properly.
A way of building a relationship with the person underneath all the doing. A way of noticing my patterns rather than immediately judging them. Understanding what restores me and what depletes me. Recognising when I need movement and when I need stillness. Connecting with the place where I actually live. Creating traditions with my family.
Remembering to experience my life rather than constantly thinking about how I could be doing it better. The seasons just happen to be a generous, patient mirror for all of that and perhaps why I trust this practice so much.
If I miss it this winter, winter will come again. If a ritual doesn’t work for our family, we can try something different next year. If I don’t notice a pattern until I’ve already run myself into the ground, I can learn from it.
There is another season, another opportunity to notice, another chance to know myself a little better. The relationship I’m building with myself through seasonal living isn’t a checklist I’m trying to complete.
Like any relationship, it needs attention, curiosity and nurturing. And at the heart of it is trust.
Trusting myself enough to notice what is actually true for me. Trusting that I don’t have to be the same every day. Trusting that my changing energy isn’t necessarily a problem to solve. Trusting that rest and productivity don’t have to be opposites. Trusting that something can work beautifully for someone else and still not be right for me. Trusting myself to create a life that is honestly mine. And finally trusting in life itself.
Maybe we don’t need to constantly optimise ourselves until we’re finally functioning at maximum capacity. Maybe part of living well is developing enough self-awareness to recognise this is where I am, this is what I’m noticing and this is what I need.
And learning, season by season, how to work with the person who is actually here.
I recently joined Victoria on the Sober Awkward podcast to talk about seasonal living, slowing down and what the seasons can teach us about ourselves. You can find it here.
Key Takeaways
- Seasonal living is less about following rules and more about paying attention — to the natural world, your body, your energy and the rhythms of your everyday life.
- You don’t need to live a perfectly slow, natural or “woo-woo” lifestyle to live seasonally. It can be as ordinary as noticing changing light, weather, foods, energy levels and family rhythms.
- Your experience of a season matters more than what a season is supposed to represent. Winter doesn’t automatically mean rest and spring doesn’t have to mean growth — notice what is actually true for you.
- There are three layers worth noticing: what’s happening around you, what’s happening within you, and what’s happening in your life — and particularly the relationship between all three.
- Seasonal living can become a form of self-research. Tracking recurring patterns in your mood, energy, sleep, capacity, health and circumstances can help you understand what restores you and what depletes you.
- Connection with nature has meaningful evidence behind its wellbeing benefits, while seasonal living can also provide a framework for reflection, mindfulness, sensory awareness, intentional rest and greater self-knowledge.
- Rituals can give texture and meaning to the year. They don’t need to be elaborate or inherited — the most meaningful traditions are often the ones that genuinely fit you and your family.
- You don’t need to change your whole life to start living seasonally. Start by noticing one season, look for your patterns and choose one small experiment or ritual to explore.
- Ultimately, seasonal living isn’t really about becoming better at the seasons. It’s about becoming better acquainted with yourself — and learning to work with yourself rather than constantly trying to optimise yourself.
Meet The Author
Amy Doyle
Amy is a Holistic Counsellor in Brisbane, Australia who helps her clients understand themselves more deeply - their emotions, needs, patterns and the experiences that have shaped them, and develop the self-awareness to navigate relationships, work, family and life in a way that feels more grounded, intentional and their own.
References
Chen, H., Meng, Z., & Luo, J. (2025). Is forest bathing a panacea for mental health problems? A narrative review. Frontiers in Public Health, 13, 1454992. https://pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/articles/PMC11882403/
Weir, K. (2020, April 1). Nurtured by nature. Monitor on Psychology, 51(3). American Psychological Association. https://www.apa.org/monitor/2020/04/nurtured-nature
Kirkwood, J. (2016). The way of the five seasons: Living with the five elements for physical, emotional, and spiritual harmony. Singing Dragon.
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