Winter nostalgia…

Honouring the good without getting stuck in the past

There’s something about winter that invites reflection.

Maybe it’s the quiet.
The familiar chill in the air (or sometimes, the lack of it).
The way the days wrap themselves in soft light and early darkness.

For many people who are rebuilding after separation, winter can feel like both a comfort and a trigger—especially when memories of how things used to be come creeping in.

A favourite recipe.
A song on the radio during school drop-off.
The smell of a slow-cooked meal on a Sunday afternoon.
A photo that pops up in your phone’s memory feed.

Winter, more than any other season, seems to hold those memories a little closer. And while some bring warmth, others sting with the ache of what’s changed.

My own version of winter nostalgia

I still remember my first winter here in Australia after leaving Germany.

Back home, winters were dark, cold, and deeply rooted in ritual. Snowy evenings. Mulled wine in the market square. Candlelight and Advent calendars and the crisp air biting your cheeks on Christmas Eve.

And then suddenly… there I was, standing under a blazing summer sun in December, with the ocean nearby and no puffer jacket in sight.

At first, it felt disorienting. I missed the magic of winter. I missed the rhythms I’d grown up with.

But instead of letting that sadness pull me under, I started weaving small familiar comforts into my new life.
We still have fondue on Christmas Eve—just like we did growing up.
Even in the heat. Even if the windows are open and the cicadas are buzzing.

It’s not the same. But it’s ours. And it honours where I’ve come from while still making space for where I am now.

You’re allowed to miss the good

So let me say this clearly: it’s okay to feel nostalgic.
It’s okay to miss the good moments you once had—even if they were with someone you are no longer with.

Missing certain moments doesn’t mean you’re stuck in the past. It means you had something meaningful.
Grief is layered. And remembering the soft parts of your old life can be part of making peace with your
new one.

But don’t let nostalgia become a trap

Where it gets hard is when those memories turn into measuring sticks.

“This time last year, we were still a family.”
“The kids used to love this when we were all together.”
“Will it ever feel that special again?”

Suddenly, you’re not honouring the past—you’re comparing it. And in comparison, the present can start to feel like it’s not enough.

You don’t have to erase the past. But you don’t need to live there either.

A gentle way forward

Start small. Choose one or two traditions to carry forward—with a twist.
Let your children be part of creating new rituals.
You could start a new tradition like Friday night “cosy club,” Sunday pancakes in bed, or a “winter light jar” where everyone adds a memory or wish each week.

You can even acknowledge old moments out loud:
“I remember how we used to do this, and I’m grateful for those times.”
Then gently shift into what you’re creating now—your way.

One last reminder

You’re not doing anything wrong by feeling wistful.
You’re human.
You’re healing.
And you’re doing it beautifully.

So if winter stirs up old memories, let them come.
Hold them lightly. Smile at the ones that still bring warmth.
And then come back to this moment—this version of you.
You are creating something new. And it matters.