The Beauty of Uncomfortable Mornings

Why stepping into the cold, dark, imperfect world might be the most grounding habit you create this season.

This morning, I was out walking the dogs before sunrise. Right now in the Pacific Northwest, the sun rises just before 8 AM and sets around 4 PM. Some people would absolutely hate a season like that, but I honestly don’t mind it so much. And where we live, there are no streetlights or fences — intentionally — to allow wildlife to move naturally through the neighborhood.

I was bundled up, reflective gear strapped on, my beanie with a headlamp, and my bear bell jingling to let any curious creatures know I was coming. The three of us — me and my two heelers — ventured into the dark fog where I could barely see a few feet ahead. Everything was so quiet. I started listening to the rhythm of my steps and watching the steam of my breath float into the cold air.

We had heavy rain yesterday. Flooding-level rain. Some towns were even evacuated as the Skagit River crested at record levels. As I walked through one of the darkest stretches of my path, the rushing creek was the only thing I could hear — loud, full, fast. In theory, being in the dark woods with nothing but the sound of moving water should have been unnerving. I couldn’t see very far ahead. I was walking mostly on instinct — and on my pups’ steady awareness of everything I couldn’t see.

But instead of fear, it soothed me. The sound settled into my nervous system the way white noise does. I stood there for a moment, took a deep breath in, and the air tasted like soaked cedar and cold earth. It reminded me that nature is constantly in motion — adjusting, recovering, finding its own rhythm again.

There’s a little bend in the trail I love, and something about how the evergreens hold the cold air creates this unmistakable scent. It smells like Christmas! This smell is new to me. Where I come from, Texas doesn’t exactly offer pine-cold-winter-forest vibes. And every time I reach that spot, I inhale deeply and feel this small spark of excitement. I just cannot help but smile. It’s a kind of sensory aliveness I didn’t know was possible until I moved here.

What’s funny to me is that before I even stepped outside, I had the quick, familiar thought: It’s cold. It’s foggy. Maybe I won’t go today.
Just a moment of hesitation. A micro-second of negotiation.

But I went anyway — mostly because the pups needed to do their business. And truly, I can’t think of a single walk I’ve regretted, even when the weather is miserable or the trail feels a little too dark.

And that’s really where this entire reflection lands:
Habits are built in the tiny moments where comfort tries to win.

This time of year, so many of my clients share that they feel unmotivated, sad, disconnected from their routines. They long for the warmth of summer — long days, open windows, easy light. But there’s a different kind of medicine in the darker months. Yes, it’s quieter. Yes, it takes more internal encouragement to step outside. But it also offers landscapes and pockets of peace that only exist this time of year. This season asks us to meet the world exactly as it is — foggy and cold and imperfect — and find beauty inside of that.

The Science of Habits — and Why They Matter More Than Motivation

We tend to believe habits are built on motivation, but research tells a different story. Habits form through repetition and emotional reward. They’re encoded in the basal ganglia — the part of your brain responsible for automatic behaviors — which means that once something becomes a habit, it stops being a negotiation.

That hinge moment at the door?
The one where you weigh the fog, the cold, the effort?
That’s the moment that builds the habit.
It’s also the moment that reinforces the identity you’re trying to create.

And when it comes to depression, these small repetitions matter even more.

1. Habits give structure when your internal world feels chaotic.

Depression often creates this fog-like disorientation — days blend together, motivation evaporates, and time feels slippery. A daily ritual cuts through that. It gives your brain rhythm. Even if the habit isn’t easy, simply beginning creates psychological traction.

2. Habits reduce the energy required to start your day.

Depression makes everything feel like climbing a hill. But once a habit becomes automatic, your brain needs far less energy to begin.
It’s the difference between:
“I should walk.”
and
“I’m someone who walks.”
One is negotiation.
The other is identity.
Identity wins — even on the low days.

3. Habits create positive somatic feedback — even when emotions are flat.

Depression numbs emotional experience, but the body still feels:
cold air,
wet evergreens,
the rhythm of your steps,
the sound of moving water.
These sensations bypass emotional blunting. They tell your nervous system: You are alive. You are here.

4. Habits interrupt depressive spirals before they gather momentum.

Depression often builds from lack of movement:
no walk → more rumination → more fatigue → more shame → even less movement.
But when a ritual is already “scripted” into your morning, it breaks the first step of the cycle — and that’s often all you need.

5. Habits increase behavioral activation — one of the strongest evidence-based treatments for depression.

Movement changes brain chemistry. Even a simple walk boosts dopamine and improves neural activation in the circuits tied to motivation and mood.

6. Habits rebuild self-worth through lived proof, not affirmations.

Depression corrodes self-trust.
But every time you keep a small promise to yourself, you create a counter-narrative:
Look what I can do.
That is your nervous system healing itself.
That is the slow rebuilding of a self you can rely on.

By the time I headed back home, I realized how much this habit has shaped me. Walking in nature meets me every day with the same honest invitation: Here is the world, exactly as it is. Here is your body, exactly as it is. And out there? There is a moment of peace you will never regret choosing.

These daily rituals aren’t “nice-to-haves.” They’re anchors. Every time you practice one, your body gets another moment of consistency it can trust. In a world where so much is unpredictable, that matters.

And the more you ground yourself in environments that aren’t traditionally cozy, the more flexible your nervous system becomes. You stop needing perfect conditions to feel okay. This is one of the most powerful forms of mental health resilience: recognizing you can feel safe and steady in more than one type of environment.

This is how people move from survival mode into regulation — not through massive life changes, but through small, reliable, repeated behaviors that rewire the body from the inside out.

This walk has become one of the quiet anchors of my life. I think about my clients a lot out there — the conversations we’ve had, the things they’re working through, the little breakthroughs tucked into ordinary moments. But I’m still fully present as I walk; the reflection just naturally finds its place. And this morning, that mix of reflection and presence made me realize that this message needed to be written today. This habit keeps showing me that beauty isn’t limited to bright seasons. Sometimes the deepest, most regulating moments happen when you walk straight into the fog and let the world be exactly what it is.

What is one gentle step outside your comfort zone that could support your well-being this season?