The clocks slipped back, and something in me slipped with them. I never expect it to hit as hard as it does, but every year, like clockwork, I feel my body dim. Mornings drag. Nights come too early. I sleep too long, yet never feel rested. Inside, everything feels muted. Not broken, just distant, like my emotions are speaking from another room.

I know the name for it. Seasonal affective disorder. That doesn’t make it easier, but at least it gives shape to the fog.

On the better days, I pull myself outside with Izzy and Cora. Their paws crunch over brittle leaves, and cold Indiana air settles against my skin. They trot ahead with no concern for the sun’s absence, and for a few minutes, I borrow their uncomplicated joy. My breath rises in small ghosts. I let the wind sting my cheeks because it reminds me I’m still here.

When the weather is kind, that little walk helps. When it isn’t, I feel myself shrinking toward the bed again.

I’ve been trying to force a connection too. A grocery run where I smile at the cashier. A coffee shop seat instead of my living room. A quick call instead of another text. It’s that awkward practice of pretending to be present, so maybe I can become present. Fake it till I make it. Some days it works. Some days it feels like dragging a heavy coat behind me, but I do it anyway.

There is one place that still feels alive. Writing.

Even when I feel hollow, the page listens. Lately, it has pulled me into my next story, Heat & Bone. It follows a closeted MMA fighter who refuses to throw matches and gets kidnapped by the man sent to break him. Violence turns into something stranger. Fear curls into desire. Two men trapped together begin to see parts of themselves they were never meant to touch. It’s dark and tender. Wrong and kind of thrilling. This is me deciding that if Stockholm syndrome wants to show up and complicate things, then I will make it beautiful.

Strangely, writing about a character whose world narrows to one person has helped me feel less alone. While he fights for his body and heart, I sit here, morning light sluggish through the blinds, fighting for my own inner spark.

If you’re struggling with the season too, I see you. It’s okay to feel slow, tired, unfinished. Take tiny steps. Let sunlight find you where it can. Walk a dog. Borrow a smile from someone else’s face. Surround yourself with stories that remind you life can still expand even when the sky seems to contract.

I’m still moving through this one day at a time, and if the words keep showing up, I will show up with them.