Cold weather and I have a complicated relationship.

I’ve always hated the feeling of being cold — the kind that gets under your skin, stings your fingers, and makes you want to cancel every plan just to stay wrapped in a blanket forever. Before I had my son, I was constantly cold. Even indoors. Even layered. It always felt more painful than peaceful, and I dreaded winter because of it.

I used to literally live by the heater. As much as I hated the spike in the power bill, my little space heater was one of my most cherished possessions during the colder months. I’d drag it room to room like a security blanket, trying to create little pockets of warmth wherever I went.

But here’s the twist: even back then, I loved moving my body in the cold.

Even in my mid-twenties, winter became my favorite time to let off steam — sometimes quite literally. I’d bundle up in leggings and a thick headband over my ears, earbuds in, iPod playing Linkin Park (probably), and run around the block in the dead of winter. It wasn’t about fitness — it was about shaking off the frustration. Trying to run the hurt right out of my body. Or at least, that was the goal.

That same rhythm carried into my love for hiking in the snow.

There’s something about winter trails that pulls at my soul. The crunch of fresh powder under your boots. The crisp air that hits your lungs like a wake-up call. The silence that only snow can bring. Hiking in the cold is the one exception to my cold-weather misery — and weirdly, it’s when I feel most alive.

Layering up just to shed each one as your body warms with movement? It’s one of my favorite feelings. Starting bundled in a jacket, then stripping down to a t-shirt as you climb, cheeks flushed, breath visible. THAT feeling — when the cold is no longer a nuisance, but a companion — it’s perfection.

Since having my son, though, something shifted. I’ve gained a few pounds (thanks, life and motherhood), and I think that might have something to do with it — because while I still get cold, I’m not always cold like I used to be. In fact… I sweat way easier now. But we’ll save that conversation for another time.

The point is, cold weather doesn’t hit me the same anymore. Maybe it’s motherhood, maybe it’s the extra warmth, or maybe it’s just growth — literally and figuratively. I still hate being cold just for the sake of it, but with the right gear and the right mindset, I’ve learned to appreciate it in ways I never expected.

Cold weather used to feel like a punishment.
Now it feels like an invitation — to move, to slow down, to feel.
And out there in the quiet of the snow, I remember that I’ve always belonged to the cold — at least a little.