The Winter Reset, Part 3:
By early February, winter no longer feels new.
The days are still short. The mornings are still dark. And most of us have settled into the quiet rhythm the season asks of us — even if we didn’t mean to.
This is the part of winter where rest stops feeling indulgent and starts feeling necessary.
Somewhere in Europe, they call it hurkle-durkle — taking a little extra time in bed on a cold morning. On my mom’s side of the family, we always called it hatching. I’ve never really heard anyone else use that word, but I’ve always loved it.
Staying tucked in a little longer
When the alarm rings and I hit snooze for five more minutes, I’m hatching.
It doesn’t need explaining. The feeling is familiar.
By February, hatching isn’t about novelty — it’s about listening. Winter has settled in, and our bodies seem to know what they need. A slower start. A warmer bed. A moment before the day asks anything of us.
We’re often told that rest is something to earn. That sleeping in means we’re falling behind. But winter tells a different story. Longer nights and unhurried mornings aren’t signs of laziness — they’re part of the natural rhythm of the season.
The way we rest matters just as much as how long we rest. Clean, breathable bedding. Natural materials that help regulate temperature instead of trapping heat. Layers that feel comforting without feeling heavy. These small details shape how deeply we sleep and how gently we wake.
By this point in winter, routine becomes a form of care. Going to bed at the same time. Waking slowly. Letting mornings unfold without rushing whenever possible. It’s not about changing habits — it’s about honoring the ones that support us.
Letting the morning unfold at its own pace.
Hatching doesn’t mean staying still forever. It means allowing ourselves to gather energy before movement returns. To respect the pause before the pace picks up again.
Winter will loosen its grip soon enough. Until then, there’s value in staying tucked in just a little longer.