Rooting Deeper in a Slower Season

A quiet winter moment inside our home on wheels — little hands, warm light, gray skies waiting just beyond the glass.

Winter doesn’t just change the weather — it changes the way everything feels, especially when you’re living life on the road.

Anyone else feeling the winter blues? Not just the gray skies and cold weather, but that quiet pressure to be everything, do everything, try everything. Like if I slow down or choose less, I’ve somehow failed. In this season of colder days and closer quarters inside our home on wheels, winter has a way of magnifying that feeling for me.

Maybe it’s the shorter days. Maybe it’s being cooped up more than usual. Or maybe it’s the way winter strips everything back and leaves us alone with our thoughts. When life slows down, there’s nowhere to hide from the expectations we put on ourselves — especially the invisible ones.

Slow mornings and scattered toys, warmed by the glow of our fireplace — life unfolding gently inside our small, moving home.

Living life on the road has taught me a lot about seasons. Not just the kind marked by weather, but the seasons of growth, rest, chaos, and calm. Our home moves. Our backyard changes. Borders blur. But winter… winter still asks something different of us.

When your home is on wheels, slowing down can feel uncomfortable. There’s always another place to see, another road to follow, another memory to make. Add a baby into the mix — naps, routines, teething, tiny socks that never seem to match — and suddenly the pressure multiplies. Be present. Be productive. Be adventurous. Be a good parent. Be grateful. Keep moving forward.

And if you’re not? It can feel like failure.

But maybe this season isn’t asking us to grow faster.

Maybe it’s asking us to root deeper.

Unrushed play and tiny conversations — learning, growing, and simply being together in this season.

Winter in a small space has a way of forcing that. You notice the quiet moments more. The way your baby’s breath slows when they finally fall asleep. The way the world feels smaller, but safer. The way “enough” starts to look less like doing more, and more like staying put — emotionally, mentally, physically — and honoring exactly where you are.

I’ll talk a lot about chasing freedom, crossing borders, collecting stories in this blog. And as a family, we still do. But sometimes the most meaningful part of this life is learning when not to chase. When to pause. When to stay grounded long enough for the roots to strengthen beneath the surface.

Babies don’t rush their growth. They rest, they observe, they stretch when they’re ready. Nature doesn’t bloom year-round. It conserves energy, trusting that spring will come when it’s supposed to — not a moment sooner.

So maybe winter isn’t a setback. Maybe it’s preparation.

Soft daylight spilling in as curiosity takes the lead — small movements, steady hands, and quiet growth.

A season of conserving energy. Of simplifying. Of choosing less without guilt. Of learning that being slower and quieter doesn’t mean we’re falling behind — it means we’re becoming more rooted.

Spring will come. The roads will open up again. The backpacks will get dusted off. The borders will keep shifting. But for now, I’m learning to let this season be what it is — a reminder that growth doesn’t always look loud, and rest is still part of the journey.

Rooting deeper. Waiting patiently. Trusting the process.

Maybe the hardest part of this season isn’t changing how I feel — it’s choosing not to succumb to those feelings. Letting them exist without letting them define me. Learning to sit with the discomfort, the restlessness, the “I should be doing more,” and still be at peace with simply being. Not fixing. Not forcing. Just being present where my feet — and our wheels — are planted.

A familiar pause on the road — hands reaching for the wheel, curious eyes, already sensing the pull of what lies ahead.

And although I know this season of rest is needed, I can’t help but wish for warmer weather, open windows, and the familiar smell of the open road. The kind that reminds me why we chose this life in the first place. What if that longing doesn’t mean I’m failing winter, though — maybe it just means I’m human, holding space for both rest and hope, grounded here while quietly waiting for what’s next.

🌱 #bringonspring

If this season feels heavy for you too, I’d love to hear how you’re slowing down or rooting deeper right now. Leave a comment, share this with someone who might need it, or come along with me as I navigate life, parenthood, and the road — one season at a time.