labour

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. This may involve the breaking of a lifelong habit, passed down carefully

I didn't feel that the two should be in conflict - achieving your potential, and not being completely miserable. Happiness is the greatest skill we'll ever learn; it is not a part of ourselves that should be hived off into a dark corner, the shameful territory of the wilfully naive.

Happiness is our potential, the product of a mind that's allowed to

Some people thrive on a little sleep deprivation, but I do not. I now know that I can achieve far more after nine hours than I can in the spare time afforded by a short night. Sleeping is my sanity, my luxury, my addiction. …

And winter sleeps are the best. I like my duvet thick and my bedroom cold, so that I have a chill to snuggle against. Unlike

As we so often find in ancient folklore, the Cailleach offers us a cyclical metaphor for life, one in which the energies of spring can arrive again and again, nurtured by the deep retreat of winter. We are no longer accustomed to thinking in this way. We are instead in the habit of imagining our lives to be linear; a long march from birth to death

I have used up all my energy just to see this, and it's worth it. But how could I ever justify that to the outside world? How could I ever admit that I chose the muffled roar of starlings over the noisy demands of the workplace?

• Wintering, Katherine May, p. 36

I realise, suddenly, how this season of illness has rearranged my mind into a library of paranoia. I am afraid of being doubted, and I'm afraid of being found out. I am wondering what all those other people, whom I used to see every day, are thinking of me.

Are they gossiping, or has some morbid discretion fallen over my name? I'm not sure which is

All this time is an unfathomable luxury, and I'm struck by the uncomfortable feeling that I'm enjoying it a little too much. Perhaps there is nothing wrong with me at all; perhaps this is all a fantasy that I've concocted in my desperation to leave. I'm only serving my notice period, so perhaps I just don't care anymore. I know that I would

People admired me for how much I got done. I lapped it up, but felt, secretly, that I was only trying to keep pace with everyone else, and they seemed to be coping far better.

• Wintering, Katherine May, p. 23

Life has been busy, and in the general rush of things, these vital fragments of identity have been squeezed out. I have missed them, but in a shrugging kind of way. What can you do when you're already doing everything?

The problem with 'everything' is that it ends up looking an awful lot like nothing: just one long haze of frantic activity, with all