Winter hasn’t always been my favorite season. But in the last few years, I have developed a deep respect for this season and the lessons it brings. It’s the quiet invitation to slow down, listen, pull inward, and tend to the spaces we’ve neglected—both within ourselves and around us. There’s a stillness to winter that whispers a reminder: life doesn’t have to look busy to be meaningful. Beneath the surface of all that seems frozen, unseen work is happening. The soil is resting and preparing itself. Trees are conserving energy, pulling nutrients deep into their roots. And if we’re paying attention, winter calls us to do the same.
I often think of recovery as “The Work of Winter.” It’s the work that doesn’t scream for attention, the kind of healing that’s quiet and deep. It’s not glamorous, but it’s vital. Wintering—both literally and as a metaphor for our recovery journey—is about making space. Space to dream. Space to imagine. Space to breathe. And perhaps most importantly, space to envision a life that looks expansive and free.
The Pull Towards Imagination
If you’ve been in recovery for a while, you’ve probably felt the pull toward imagination. Maybe it started as a quiet nudge, a wondering: “What if my life could look different?” It’s a brave question, and it’s one that requires room to explore. In addiction—whether to substances, patterns, or attachments—our lives often feel cramped. We’re confined by stories that keep us small: “This is all I deserve.” “I’ll never be good enough.” “This is just the way things are.” But imagination is a kind of defiance against those narratives. It’s saying, “I choose to see what else might be possible.”
Dreaming and imagination in recovery aren’t just luxuries; they’re necessities. I’d go so far as to say they’re a form of prayer. When we dream, we’re making an offering of hope. When we imagine, we’re planting seeds of possibility. And like prayer, these acts require faith. Faith that something new can grow. Faith that what’s unseen isn’t unimportant. Faith that we’re worthy of more than the life we’ve settled for.
Think about how children dream. They’re not constrained by what’s realistic or practical. They’ll tell you they’re going to be astronauts or artists or dinosaur doctors, and they’ll mean it with their whole hearts. Somewhere along the way, though, most of us lose that kind of wild imagination. We’re taught to be “realistic” and “practical,” which often means shrinking our dreams to fit into boxes someone else made. But recovery is about reclaiming what’s been lost. It’s about recovering the parts of ourselves that addiction dulled or denied. And one of those parts is our ability to dream without limits.
With its long nights and soft quietude, winter offers the perfect setting for this kind of dreaming. It’s a season that’s inherently reflective. The bare branches and gray skies remind us that not everything needs to be in full bloom to hold beauty. There’s a kind of magic in the stillness, a reminder that growth often begins where no one else can see it. Beneath the frozen ground, bulbs are gathering energy. Inside the roots, life is stirring. And in the same way, our recovery requires this unseen work.
Recovery is “The Work of Winter”
This is why I call recovery “The Work of Winter.” It’s the slow, steady tending to our inner world. It’s learning to sit with discomfort instead of running from it. It’s allowing ourselves to rest and resist the cultural push to always be doing. And it’s carving out the space to dream—not just about what’s next but what’s possible.
Imagination, in this context, is revolutionary. It’s a quiet rebellion against the forces that try to keep us stuck. Addiction often thrives in cycles of despair, feeding on the belief that change isn’t possible. But imagination disrupts those cycles. It says, “What if?” and then dares to answer. In my own recovery, I’ve found that the most transformative moments didn’t come from trying harder to fix myself. They came from getting softer with myself, allowing my mind and heart the freedom to wonder. What if I’m already enough? What if healing doesn’t look like perfection but like wholeness? What if joy is an option, even here?
These questions are a kind of dreaming, and they’re not frivolous. They’re the very essence of recovery. To recover is to reclaim what’s been lost, stolen, or forgotten. And imagination helps us remember. It helps us see beyond the stories that addiction wrote for us. It helps us envision lives that feel big, bold, and free. Lives that aren’t constrained by shame or fear but are instead marked by possibility.
But let’s be honest: dreaming isn’t always easy. Recovery, especially in the early stages, can feel almost impossible. The world might still feel heavy, and imagining something better can feel like too much. That’s okay. Winter teaches us that growth doesn’t have to be immediate. The work happening beneath the surface—the resting, the rooting, the quiet—is just as valuable as the visible bloom. If you’re in a season where dreaming feels hard, start small. Imagine what it might feel like to experience peace, even for a moment. Imagine what it might look like to take one step toward the life you want. Those small dreams are seeds, and they’re enough.
The beauty of wintering is that it reminds us to trust the process. Just as the earth knows when to rest and when to bloom, our recovery has its own rhythm. We don’t have to rush it. We don’t have to force it. We simply have to keep showing up—to the work, to the quiet, to the dreaming. And over time, those dreams begin to take root. They begin to grow into lives that feel expansive and true.
Profound Lessons
One of the most profound lessons I’ve learned in recovery is that imagination isn’t about escaping reality; it’s about expanding it. It’s not about pretending the hard things don’t exist; it’s about daring to believe that they’re not the whole story. When we dream, we’re not running from our pain. We’re reclaiming our power. We’re saying, “This isn’t the end. There’s more to come, and I’m willing to see it.”
Winter invites us to lean into this kind of dreaming. It’s a season of quiet defiance, a time to push back against the world’s noise listen to what’s stirring within us. It’s a time to ask, “What do I want?” and then give ourselves permission to answer honestly. It’s a time to remember that recovery isn’t just about leaving something behind; it’s about stepping into something new. And that stepping in begins with imagination.
So, as these winter days stretch before us, let yourself dream. Let yourself imagine a life that feels wide and wild and beautiful. Let yourself rest in the quiet assurance that the work happening beneath the surface is enough. And know that this—this quiet, unseen work—is the very heart of recovery. It’s The Work of Winter, leading you toward a bigger, freer, and more expansive life than you’ve dared to dream.
THIRSTY FOR WONDER: Anne Marie Cribben is a passionate recovery coach and spiritual companion based in Washington, DC. As the founder of Thirsty For Wonder, she offers 1:1 coaching, spiritual companionship, and recovery support rooted in compassion and empowerment. Creator of The Wellspring: A Celtic Recovery Journey, Anne Marie blends the Celtic calendar with sobriety, connecting participants to ancient wisdom and nature’s rhythms. A fierce advocate for sobriety as liberation and self-love, Anne Marie challenges the targeted marketing of alcohol to women and promotes authentic, joyful living. Her approach goes beyond addiction recovery, fostering a life of vibrancy and fulfillment.
In her personal life, Anne Marie enjoys baking, cooking, poetry, being a Swiftie, weight lifting, reading, embroidery, and creating mocktails. She treasures time with friends and embraces creativity in all forms.
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