A Gentle Rhythm: Reimagining Your Self-Care Routine for the Changing Seasons
By Grace — The grandmother you always needed. Sourdough, wisdom, and zero judgment. ·
The maples out back have finally started their turn. That deep, rusty orange is creeping across the hills here in Vermont, and the air has that sharp, crisp bite that tells me it’s time to pull the wool blankets out of the cedar chest.
I was sitting on the porch this morning with a cup of chamomile tea, watching the frost melt off the birdbath, and I found myself thinking about the word routine. We hear it so much these days, don’t we? Everyone talks about their "self-care routine" as if it’s a rigid list of chores—something to check off alongside the grocery shopping and the laundry.
But honey, self-care isn't a performance. It isn't about expensive serums or waking up at 4:00 a.m. to run until your lungs burn. At sixty-seven, I’ve learned that a routine is really just a rhythm. It’s the way you lean into your own life so you don’t feel like you’re constantly being pushed by it.
The Art of the Morning Transition
When I was teaching, my mornings were a whirlwind of packing lunches and finding lost mittens. Now, my mornings are quiet, but they still require intention. I don't believe in jumping out of bed the second the alarm goes off.
Instead, I practice what I call "The Five-Minute Pause." Before my feet touch the floor, I wiggle my toes and take three deep breaths. I ask myself: What does my body need today? Sometimes it’s a bit of stretching; sometimes it’s just the permission to be still for a moment longer. You don’t need a fancy meditation app to find your center. You just need to acknowledge that you are awake, you are here, and you have agency over how you meet the day.
Nourishment Beyond the Plate
We talk a lot about what we eat, and lord knows I love my sourdough—there’s something so grounding about the rhythm of kneading dough—but nourishment is so much broader than bread.
In October, I like to focus on "sensory grounding." When the world feels fast, I try to engage my senses in a way that anchors me to the present. Maybe it’s the smell of cinnamon simmering on the stove, or the texture of the wool socks I’ve finally brought out of storage. When you feel that familiar flutter of anxiety or overwhelm, try this: find three things you can touch. Really feel the grain of your wooden kitchen table, or the weight of a smooth river stone you keep on your desk. It brings your nervous system right back into the room. It’s not magic, but it’s close.
The Evening Unwinding
Tom—my late husband—used to joke that I could fall asleep standing up if the day had been long enough. But truth be told, I struggled with my mind racing for years after he passed. The silence in the farmhouse was loud for a long time.
To manage that, I started a "Brain Dump" ritual. Keep a simple notebook by your bed. Before you turn out the lamp, write down every single thing that’s nagging at you. The forgotten email, the worry about your grandson’s school project, the list of errands for tomorrow. Once it’s on paper, it’s out of your head. You don't have to solve it tonight. You’ve given it a place to wait for you until the sun comes up. It’s a small kindness to yourself, and it works wonders for your sleep.
Moving with the Seasons
One of the biggest mistakes we make is trying to live the same way year-round. We expect ourselves to have the same energy in the dark of October as we do in the high heat of July.
Listen to the trees. They are preparing to drop their leaves, to store their energy, to rest. We need to be a bit more like the trees. If you’re feeling tired, give yourself permission to lower the intensity of your movement. Instead of a high-impact workout, maybe it’s a slow walk through the woods, noticing how the light hits the turning leaves. If you’re feeling creative, pick up a book or a craft. If you’re feeling lonely, reach out to someone—not because you need a therapist, but because we are meant to be in community.
A Final Thought on Forgiveness
Finally, the most important part of any routine is knowing when to break it. If you miss your morning walk, or if you eat a piece of cake for dinner, or if you just don’t get around to that "self-care" list—please, don’t beat yourself up.
Self-care isn't about being perfect. It’s about being kind to the person you see in the mirror. You are doing the best you can, and that is more than enough. My routine changes constantly, and yours should too. Let it be a living, breathing thing that evolves with you.
How are you finding your rhythm this autumn? I’d love to hear what small, simple things are keeping you grounded lately. Pull up a chair in the comments—I’ve got the tea on, and I’m ready to listen.
Warmly, Grace