It only took two warm days for me to forget that winter exists.

Two days of sun and suddenly I’m emotionally invested in humanity again. The flowers are sunbathing like influencers on a luxury holiday. The bugs are back from the dead. The birds are screaming motivational speeches at 5 a.m.

Spring is a manipulative little optimist.
And I fall for it every year.

In the garden, everything leaned toward the light as if it had survived something dramatic. Tiny green things pushing through the soil with unreasonable confidence. The air smelled like new beginnings and mild delusion.

It was an office day. I spent hours watching ships transport goods along the Rhine River, long, patient vessels carrying containers full of things people urgently ordered online at 2 a.m. Meetings stacked on meetings. Words like “alignment,” “priorities,” and “let’s circle back” floated through the air.
Very adult. Very responsible. Mildly soul-draining.
By the time I came home, darkness was already stretching across the sky. Spring may flirt during the day, but it still leaves early.
And yet, no matter the state of global trade or my mental energy, the daily sausagedog walk had to happen.

Our dog does not believe in solo adventures. She is small, elongated, and emotionally high-maintenance. One human is suspicious. Two humans feel safer. Three humans? Ideal. A full security detail for 5 kilograms of determination.
Usually, I have to drag one child with me like an unpaid intern.
This time, both teenagers joined.
No negotiations. No sighing. Just jackets on and out the door.

And you know how walks are. To break the boredom, you talk. Or rather, they talk. And you pretend you’re not quietly collecting their words like precious artifacts.
I held the leash.
They held entire universes.

They talked about school. About friends. About teachers who clearly underestimate their brilliance. About plans for the future that involve changing the world, or at least surviving math class.
And I just listened.

Somewhere between the streetlights flickering on and the dramatic inspection of every single blade of grass, I felt it.

That quiet, dangerous happiness.
The kind that sneaks up on you. The kind that makes your chest tight in a good way. The kind that reminds you why you keep fighting through harder seasons.

Core memory unlocked.

These are the moments I store deep inside, like emotional emergency supplies for darker days. These are the reasons my heart keeps negotiating with life. The reasons I keep showing up. The reasons I want more time.

Spring is here.
Hope is back.
The flowers are sunbathing.
The birds are screaming optimism.
The bugs are rebuilding their tiny empires.
And I am walking behind a suspiciously shaped dog, listening to my children walk their way through life.
It’s ordinary.
It’s fragile.
It’s everything.
Two days of warm weather, and somehow, that was enough to remember why I love being alive.

I’m currently burrito-wrapped in blankets, perfectly cuddled into bed, with a sausage dog guarding my legs like a very low-budget security system. My husband is already asleep, a talent I deeply respect and mildly resent, the kids are tucked away in their rooms, and the cat has claimed her tiny throne like the fluffy dictator she is. The house is quiet. Suspiciously quiet. The kind of quiet that makes you wonder if someone is plotting something…

Outside, it’s snowing.

Yes. Snowing. In mid-February. It should be raining, or at least pretending to be spring. But no,  I went to the sauna today, so apparently the weather decided to perform interpretive drama again. Six months ago it was hail. Two months ago, wind strong enough to question my life choices. Today? Snow. I’m starting to believe I personally trigger climate chaos every time I step into a sauna.

And honestly? Bring it on.

Because this ritual,  this weekly sauna escape, stopped being about detox a long time ago. Now it’s about fun. About spending time with myself without guilt, without a checklist, without trying to fix the universe before breakfast.

Today felt different though.

Today felt… lucky.

The kind of day where laughter doesn’t come politely,  it explodes out of you, full body, messy, real. The kind of warmth that doesn’t just sit on your skin but travels inward, like you swallowed a tiny piece of the sun and it decided to stay.

For someone who spent last year navigating the dark maze of chronic illness, feeling this good almost feels illegal. There were days when the only plan was survival. Days when the ceiling was my main social interaction. Days when the future felt like an optional feature I wasn’t sure I wanted to install.

And yet… I kept going.

Somewhere along the way, I stopped trying to be the hero in everyone else’s story and started becoming the main character in my own. Turns out the world doesn’t collapse when you say no. The planet keeps spinning even if you stop over-functioning for everyone around you. Revolutionary concept, I know.

Now I smile more. I joke more. I say “unapologetic” things that once lived only inside my head. First, I take care of me. Second… maybe I take care of others. Maybe. If I feel like it. Growth.

I learned to advocate for myself. To trust my instincts even when they were inconvenient. To search for my own healing instead of waiting politely for permission.

And here I am — a year after spending most days in bed,  doing what I love, when I love, with enough energy to spare. It still feels surreal sometimes.

Yes, hormonal replacement therapy is working its magic. Yes, perimenopause tried to wrestle me into submission, and yes, I’m stubborn enough to wrestle back. I feel like myself again. Not the exhausted version, not the survival version,  but the warm, loud, slightly sarcastic version who laughs too much in the sauna and comes home feeling like life just pressed a reset button.

So let it snow.

Let the weather be dramatic.

I’m done with sickness being my personality trait. Done with sadness being the default setting.

This year? I’m choosing warmth. Chaos. Laughter. And a sausage dog glued to my legs while the world outside decides whether it’s winter, spring, or a full emotional breakdown.

Unapologetically me.