When Summer Starts to Change: What the Turning Season Can Awaken in Us

 When Summer Starts to Change: What the Turning Season Can Awaken in Us

There is something about this time of year that I always notice. Summer hasn't quite left us, but it is beginning to change. The mornings feel a little cooler, the evenings are drawing in, and there is a different quality to the light. We may still have warm days and moments when summer seems determined to hang on, but there is a sense that something is shifting. I find it fascinating that, often, before we consciously acknowledge the change around us, we can begin to feel a change within us, too.

We are not separate from the seasons, although modern life sometimes encourages us to behave as though we are. We expect ourselves to maintain the same pace, productivity, energy and emotional state regardless of what is happening around us. Yet our bodies are constantly responding to our environment. Changes in daylight, temperature, routine, sleep and activity all provide information to our nervous system. So, when the seasons begin to turn, it isn't unusual to feel different. We may feel more tired, reflective or unsettled. We might suddenly want to reorganise the house, change our routines, withdraw a little, or find ourselves thinking about things we haven't thought about for months.

For some people, the end of summer can bring a surprising sense of sadness. There can be a feeling that something is ending, even when we cannot quite identify what we are grieving. Summer often represents freedom, openness, holidays, longer evenings, gardens, beaches, conversations outside and a little more spontaneity. As those things begin to change, our world can start to feel as though it is becoming smaller again. We close the windows, reach for a jumper or sweatshirt and begin spending more time indoors. That physical movement inward can sometimes create an emotional movement inward too.

It can also make us think about time. Another summer has passed, and suddenly the end of the year doesn't seem quite so far away. I think this is one reason seasonal transitions can make us reflective. Without consciously deciding to conduct a life review, we start noticing where we are. What has changed since last year? What hasn't? What did we think we would have done by now? What have we survived, achieved, lost, learnt or outgrown? Sometimes those questions are uncomfortable, but they can also tell us something important about where we are heading next.

Our nervous system can play a significant part in how we experience these transitions. If life has already been stressful, uncertain or demanding, even relatively small changes can be experienced by the body as another thing it needs to adapt to. We might notice ourselves becoming more irritable, restless or anxious. We may struggle to settle, feel more emotional than usual or find ourselves wanting to retreat from everything. These aren't necessarily signs that something is wrong. They may simply be signals that our nervous system needs a little more support while it adjusts.

This is where nervous system regulation becomes important. Regulation isn't about forcing ourselves to be calm all the time, and it certainly isn't about suppressing difficult emotions. It is about helping the body experience enough safety to move flexibly between activation and rest. Sometimes that can be remarkably simple: getting outside in natural light in the morning, walking, breathing more slowly, stretching, listening to music, spending time with people who make us feel safe, putting our feet on the ground or simply noticing what is happening in our body without immediately trying to change it. These small practices can send reassuring messages to the nervous system: I am here. I am safe enough in this moment. I can slow down.

There is also something about autumn that invites us to think differently about letting go. Nature doesn't seem to fight particularly hard against the change. Trees don't desperately try to keep every leaf because those leaves were once important. They release what has completed its purpose and conserve their resources for what comes next. I think there is a lesson in that, particularly for those of us who have become very good at carrying things.

We carry expectations, responsibilities, relationships, disappointments, old versions of ourselves and sometimes other people's problems. We can become so accustomed to carrying them that we stop noticing how heavy they have become. Our nervous system notices, though. It notices the constant vigilance, the endless mental lists, the conversations we replay and the situations in which we repeatedly override what our body is telling us. Sometimes we call that resilience, when actually what we need is permission to put something down.

Letting go doesn't mean that something didn't matter. It doesn't mean giving up, forgetting what happened or pretending that difficult experiences were somehow necessary for our growth. Some things hurt because they hurt. Some experiences changed us because they were difficult. Moving forward is not about rewriting that history; it is about deciding how much of our present and future it is still allowed to occupy.

Perhaps this changing season gives us an opportunity to pause and ask ourselves what we actually want to carry forward. Not in the dramatic sense of reinventing ourselves or creating an entirely new life before Christmas, but in a quieter and more compassionate way. What is working for me? What is draining me? Where do I feel most like myself? Which people allow me to exhale rather than brace? What does my body do when I walk into certain spaces or have conversations with certain people? Our nervous system is communicating with us constantly, and sometimes our body recognises what feels safe, unsafe, nourishing or exhausting long before our conscious mind is ready to admit it. For me, it has been a particularly reflective and reevaluative time.

Moving forward can also mean making space rather than immediately filling it. We are often encouraged to replace one thing with another: a new goal, a new habit, another project, another commitment. But empty space has value too. It gives the nervous system room to settle and allows us to discover what we actually want rather than automatically moving towards the next thing we think we should be doing.

So perhaps, as summer begins to change, we can allow ourselves to change with it. We can pay attention to our energy rather than constantly overriding it, spend time outside while the light is still with us, create routines that help our bodies feel grounded, and become curious about what we are ready to release. Not everything needs to be solved, and not every decision needs to be made immediately. Regulation often begins when we stop demanding an instant answer from ourselves and create enough internal space to listen.

I think there are three questions worth carrying into the changing season: What am I ready to leave behind? What do I want to carry forward? And what would I like to make space for? The answers don't have to come immediately. Sometimes we need to sit with a question for a while before our body and mind catch up with each other.

Nature doesn't change seasons overnight. The leaves turn gradually, the temperature shifts, the light changes by minutes, and eventually we realise that the landscape around us looks different. Maybe we can offer ourselves the same grace. We don't have to rush transformation or force ourselves into becoming somebody new. We can regulate, reflect, release what no longer belongs to us and take the next step when we are ready.

And perhaps that is the real invitation of the changing season. Not simply to ask what we need to let go of, but to become curious about what might have room to grow when we finally stop carrying quite so much.

With love Caron 💜💛