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As we move gently into spring, I’ve been having several conversations with my clients about how complicated the idea of “renewal” feels right now. Not because people don’t care, or don’t want things to feel different, but because the world feels incredibly heavy.
We are stepping into a new season marked by ongoing global conflict, political instability, economic strain, and deep uncertainty about the future. Many of us are carrying grief, anger, exhaustion, and fear, sometimes all at once. In that context, the familiar invitation to “start fresh,” “be better,” or “transform yourself” can feel disconnected at best, and cruel at worst. For many of the people I work with, the motivation to strive, optimize, or reinvent themselves simply isn’t there. When you turn on the news or click on social media, making change to your own life can feel overwhelming, exhausting and frankly pointless. Yet, rather than seeing that as a failure, I wonder if it’s a reasonable response to the moment we’re living in. Perhaps this season isn’t asking us to reinvent ourselves, but to wake up more gently to what is already here, both within us and around us. When the world itself feels unresolved, it makes sense that self-improvement falls down the priority list. The Limits of “Becoming Better” Spring is often framed as a time of growth, blooming, and new beginnings. But culturally, that growth is often narrowed into something quite rigid: our bodies, routines and productivity. We’re encouraged to mirror the season by becoming a “better version” of ourselves, often in ways that can be measured, controlled, or optimised. However, often this simply serves as a distraction from the wider issue. Focusing on our body asks us to treat it as a problem to solve, rather than a living organism responding intelligently to stress, grief, and survival. It can pull us out of a relationship with ourselves, asking us to override, discipline, or improve rather than listen. For many people, especially those navigating marginalized identities, this message lands on top of already heavy burdens. The pressure to “be better” rarely accounts for context or honoring what people are already carrying. What If Spring Awakening Meant Something Else? What I am suggesting my clients reach for rather than perfection is peace. Instead of isolating and shrinking ourselves down, we reach out to community. Rather than focusing on self-optimization, we find solidarity and support for others. The more people I speak to about this, the more I am noticing a quiet shift happening. A turning away from the idea that we must constantly remake ourselves to be worthy and instead turning toward something slower and more relational that allows us to connect to others on a deeper level. This doesn’t mean we stop caring. It means we start caring differently. Awakening as Relationship As a dietitian, my work centers on relationships, particularly the relationship people have with their bodies. And one of the most meaningful shifts I witness isn’t when someone finally “gets it right,” but when they soften their stance toward themselves. When they stop striving for an imagined better body and begin tending to the one they already inhabit by providing it with nourishment, rest, and care as acts of support rather than punishment or surveillance. Perhaps this year, awakening doesn’t mean shifting our personal narrative. Perhaps it means strengthening the relationship we have both with ourselves and with each other during a time that makes disconnection feel easier. Small Acts of Awakening This might look like small, local acts:
These gestures won’t solve everything, but they can remind us that we’re not alone, and that care still exists in the communities we find ourselves in, despite the world around us. Moving Forward, Gently If you find yourself resistant to resolutions this year, you’re not doing it wrong. You may simply be responding honestly to a world that is asking a lot of you. So perhaps the question isn’t “What should I change about myself?”, but rather “What kind of awaking call for?” It might be something different to what we’re used to: something softer within, less personally pressurizing, which allows us to connect with our bodies as they are and with others, both seeking spaces of safety and care. Maybe that’s enough to begin. Comments are closed.
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November 2025
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