40 days and 40 nights (with audio version)
The majority of the eastern United States has seen above average heat for the past two and half weeks. Temperatures are soaring, the sun is relentlessly bright and it’s dangerous to be outside, even for a short period of time. I prepared for what has turned out to be this year’s worst heat wave so far. I went grocery shopping, did the laundry and even cut the grass before the worst of the weather bore down on my hometown. I even hauled the blow-up mattress downstairs so I can camp out in the cool living room instead of running the portable AC in the upstairs dormer bedroom 24/7.
Truth be told, I am miserable this time of year. Two decades ago I thought I was suffering from clinical depression because I could not get out of bed unless I had to teach yoga or feed my pets. I remember lying around reading Dan Brown novels in between crying jags and migraine headaches. After several more years of suffering from Memorial Day until the week after the Fourth of July, I did a little research and learned that I have Summer Seasonal Affectiveness Disorder, the lesser-known cousin of Winter SAD.
As the days grow longer, most people rejoice in the sun setting after nine pm and love the hot weather, perfect if you have a backyard pool. When I was in my twenties and thirties, I used to have a baby pool in the backyard where I would cool off while sunbathing, gardening or taking a long walk in the park at the end of my street. But then perimenopause hit and hot flashes became a reality. Who wants to be outside in the heat when you’re combusting from the inside out?
Every summer, Steve, God bless him, would ply me with lemon ice and keep the house like a vampire’s lair. The house has no shade at all and it’s right next to a bright white duplex that bounces sunshine through the north windows like a floodlight, so we hung room darkening blinds AND shades on every window. Still, it only goes so far.
This year has been particularly difficult. I’m grateful that for most of May, the weather was temperate, even cool. I remember one morning reading on the three-season porch when I told myself, “You enjoy this…and remember it when hot days keep you holed up in the house.” Still, grief has cycled back around again and I find myself crying of the loss of Steve at times that surprise me with their intensity. Being forced to stay inside, in a dark house for days on end has allowed me to dive deeply into what I’ve been feeling for the past three months — and to really meet it without the distractions of hiking and biking and spending time with friends.
The other day as I was really struggling with watching the clock and checking the temperature to see if we had reached the peak for the day, I gently told myself, Kate, this is going to be what it’s going to be. Can you just accept that from June 1 through July 10 you’re going to have to take it one day at a time?
Once we’re into mid-July and the crickets come out, I’m good to go, and by the time August first rolls around, I’m in summer heaven. But until then, I have to deal with the long, hot days that seem to go on forever.
At least I don’t live in Alaska with the midnight sun.
So I’ve reframed my propensity for Summer SAD and am now going to call it my 40 days and 40 nights in the dark wilderness of retreat. Now that we are past the Fourth of July and the fireworks are over, the crickets will once again surface and sing me to sleep. I keep reminding myself it won’t be long until sweater weather. After all, it’s only 77 days until the autumn equinox and while that may not be music to your ears, it’s a symphony for my soul.
Hopefully as the nights get longer and the days grow cooler, I’ll re-emerge recharged and re-energized. Until then, it’s one day, one hour, sometimes one minute at a time.
DO YOU STRUGGLE WITH SUMMER SAD? HERE ARE SOME RESOURCES THAT MAY BE HELPFUL.