Entering The Inner Cave
In late autumn, bears begin slipping into hibernation—not on a precise date, but when the world around them shifts. As daylight fades, temperatures drop, and food becomes more challenging to find, these furry beings naturally read these cues and choose to go inward.
Each year, I notice how my body does something similar. Not as a proven scientific process like true hibernation, but as a kind of inner cave—an opening to my own knowing, a quiet pull toward rest when life has asked so much of me for, what not seems, way too long.
Usually, I don’t even realize I’ve entered that cave until I’m already emerging from it. But this year is different. This year, I find it comforting to recognize the process as it begins—to feel the first tug inward and actually understand what it means.
There’s something empowering in noticing it early. It allows me to lean into what this season offers instead of falling into doom-and-gloom thinking or judging myself for wanting to slow down, move less, or simply be still. Instead of seeing my lack of physical activity as a flaw, I can meet it as a sign: a message from my body inviting me to rest, digest, soften... and listen.
When I’ve been anxious, overwhelmed, or simply too busy for too long, something inside me begins to dim the lights. The energy that once went outward starts turning inward. I notice tight muscles and how my sleep has lost its depth. I realize that my digestion has slowed and my mental focus has thined. It’s as if my system is whispering: You can’t keep going at this pace.
Eventually, I find myself in a kind of protective downshift.
This downshift looks like:
fatigue
craving quiet
needing warmth
wanting to withdraw socially
concentration becomes a chore
seeking mental distractions (like Netflix binging or doom-scrolling)
finding it more challenging to start tasks
It’s easy to judge this part of myself. To call it laziness, weakness, or failure. But what if it’s none of those things? What if it’s a kind of inner hibernation—a wise turning inward after too much overwhelm?
Just as bears enter their dens before the cold becomes unbearable, I often withdraw internally long before I consciously acknowledge how overwhelmed I’ve become.
And then there’s the daylight—how quickly it slips away this time of year. The shortened days can stir anxiety at first: less time to be outdoors, less light to get chores done, fewer hours that feel "productive." The loss of light can feel like the world is closing in on us, asking us to shrink our schedules and our pace. But what if this, too, is part of nature’s design?
What if the early darkness is not an inconvenience, but an invitation? A gentle nudge from the natural world saying: It’s time to rest now. Time to digest. Time to get cozy and soften into the slower rhythm of the season.
So this winter, instead of pushing against the slowness or criticizing the tiredness, I might gently ask myself:
What if this tiredness is wisdom?
What if my body is choosing rest to keep me sane?
What if this season of hibernation fosters an opportunity for deep inner knowing?
When we begin to see our fatigue as a message rather than a flaw, something softens. The nervous system eases. And in that softening, a quiet thaw begins—the early sign that something tender is preparing to return.
Funny thin is...this is actually scientifically explained...which helps me find a sort of peace with it all.
A gentle scientific explanation:
