My voice is now a chameleon, changing to suit whomever I’m talking to. I don’t even notice myself doing it anymore, except in those moments of terrible cognitive dissonance when I am forced to speak to people from two disparate parts of my life at once. Then, unable to imitate either, I have to consciously tread a middle path, and it’s horrible.

Here is another truth about wintering: you’ll find wisdom in your winter, and once it’s over, it’s your responsibility to pass it on. And in return, it’s our responsibility to listen to those who have wintered before us. It’s an exchange of gifts in which nobody loses out.

Edward Bullmore, a Cambridge neuroscientist who believes that depression is caused by inflammation in the brain. In this context, the effect of the cold made sense. “I’m treating my brain like an inflamed joint,” she says.

Sometimes we will have to name our personal winters, and the words will feel barbed in our throats: grief, rejection, depression, illness. Shame, failure, despair.

is the active acceptance of sadness. It is the practice of allowing ourselves to feel it as a need. It is the courage to stare down the worst parts of our experience and to commit to healing them the best we can.

I am afraid of being doubted, and I’m afraid of being found out.

A great deal of life will always suck. There will be moments when we’re riding high and moments when we can’t bear to get out of bed. Both are normal. Both in fact require a little perspective.

I’m afraid and don’t have the grace to conceal it.

If we don’t allow ourselves the fundamental honesty of our own sadness, then we miss an important cue to adapt.