After a long winter in New York City, spring has sprung. The sun is shining, the birds are chirping, and you’re on your way to brunch at that Insta-worthy restaurant patio. It’s the season in which many of us optimistically emerge from the darker, colder months to the brighter days ahead. Not me. I am inside, waiting for dusk. Too dramatic? Allow me to explain.
I have summertime sadness. No, not Lana del Rey’s 2012 hit song. I have reverse seasonal depression. I don’t share the same optimism that others feel when the flowers bloom and temperatures rise. My friends laugh at me when I tell them, “I’m the best version of myself during the last three months of the year.” I’m the one anxiously waiting for the first leaf to fall, for the first hint of a breeze that warrants a jacket. I get excited for November’s Daylight Savings Time and sunsets at 4 p.m. Temperatures drop and light dims, and I feel deep comfort. I know this sounds bizarre. I can’t help it; I love seeing rain outside my window and I’m ambivalent when sunlight creeps in. Am I a freak of nature? Am I the only one who feels this way? To better understand this seasonal quandary, I spoke with Madeline Lucas, LCSW, Therapist and Clinical Content Manager at Real.