Why the End of Summer Feels So Sad
As the days grow shorter and the air turns crisp, many of us feel the quiet, and sometimes not-so-quiet, impact of seasonal change. For those who are highly sensitive or already carrying anxiety, transitions like this can feel particularly tender. Even when we anticipate them, change has a way of stirring up unease. Our nervous systems crave rhythm and familiarity, and when the outer world shifts, our inner world is often shaken too.
Seasonal transitions also carry deeper meaning. They mark the passage of time, awakening reflection, nostalgia, and sometimes grief. For others, it is simply the fading daylight and quickening pace of life that leave them feeling unmoored. However it touches you, your response is valid. Allowing yourself to name and honor these feelings is the beginning of walking through this season with more kindness toward yourself.
Why This Transition Can Feel Tender
When the sun dips earlier, our natural rhythms and schedules are disrupted. We notice sleep changes, mood dips, and energy waning. With less light, the world can feel heavier, and what once felt manageable may suddenly seem harder to hold. The changing environment also brings a host of sensory shifts: cooler air, darker evenings, brisk winds. These can land as jarring rather than refreshing, especially for sensitive souls. The body feels everything, and sometimes it responds with heightened worry or discomfort. At the same time, life often accelerates just as nature slows. Something many of us can relate to is school calendars, work demands, and the slow build toward holidays leaving us stretched thin and struggling to keep pace!
Ways to Support Yourself
Moving through this season with gentleness begins with ritual. Predictability soothes the nervous system, so it can be grounding to keep a steady sleep rhythm, light a candle at dusk, or write in a journal at night. These small practices whisper continuity even when the outer world shifts. Gentle movement also helps restore balance. A walk among falling leaves, a quiet stretch on the floor, or a few minutes of yoga can shift energy. Pairing movement with something you enjoy, such as a song, a podcast, or a view, can make it easier to begin.
Fall also offers natural comforts if we slow down enough to receive them: the warmth of tea, the embrace of a blanket, the glow of candlelight. Savoring these simple, sensory moments is a way of saying to your nervous system, “You are safe here.” When anxiety rises, it helps to speak softly to yourself: “My body is adjusting, just as it has before.” With compassion you might remind yourself, “This is a natural response to change” or “I can move gently through this.” And while it is tempting to withdraw, connection nourishes us. Sending a brief message, sharing a five-minute call, or stepping into a circle where you feel seen can make the weight of the day feel lighter.
Leaning into Wintering
This is also the season when I (Sheva) return to one of my favorite books: Wintering by Katherine May. She writes about the cycles of life as seasons of the soul, times when we are asked not to push through but to turn inward, slow down, and listen. Her words remind us that there is wisdom in honoring our winters, both literal and metaphorical. Reading Wintering each fall is a ritual that helps me soften into this transition, reminding me that the quiet and the difficult are not signs of failure, but invitations to rest, reflect, and restore.
A Final Word
Every person meets seasonal change in their own way. If autumn feels heavier to you, it does not mean you are broken or behind. It simply means your body and spirit are adjusting. With gentleness, ritual, connection, and even the comfort of words like Katherine May’s, this time of year can become less about bracing and more about softening. You deserve the care, tenderness, and spaciousness this season quietly asks of you.
Warmly,
Sheva Rajaee