Finding Sanctuary in Stillness
During the holidays, I had the opportunity to return to our cottage in the Highlands for about two weeks. It was a beautiful and secluded getaway where I could disconnect from the world, focus on my writing, and explore my other sacred sanctuary practices.
While I was there, decorating the space and settling into a new, slower, more mindful daily routine, I was reminded of something I’d love to hear us talk about more: wintering.
Wintering is a concept that fascinates me. I first heard about it from a book by Katherine May called Wintering: The Power of Rest and Retreat in Difficult Times. In it, May writes, “Plants and animals don’t fight the winter; they don’t pretend it’s not happening and attempt to carry on the same lives they lived in the summer.” During the colder months, we see trees shedding their leaves to conserve energy, squirrels retreating to their nests to stay warm, and frogs burying themselves in mud to wait out the frost.
That line resonates deeply with me. As I adjust to the natural rhythms of the season, I realize that, in my own way, I was doing what nature teaches us—pausing, resting, embracing the change, and allowing space for renewal. Wintering, I realize now, is one beautiful interpretation of what sanctuary is.
Despite how frequently I discuss the importance of sanctuary, this slowing down that wintering calls for can be surprisingly hard to find. The craziness of our work during Florida’s busy winter season often keeps me on the hamster wheel more than I care to admit. And, like it had for so many others, the end of 2024 brought its own challenges that preoccupied much of my mental space.
But in the North Carolina forest, away from the constant buzz of Wi-Fi and work, I felt it—a quiet invitation from my surroundings to embrace stillness. My environment, carefully designed as a haven, spoke to me, and soothed me. The soothing textures of natural wood, the warmth of a crackling fireplace, and the soft, layered lighting created a cocoon of tranquility. I was able to listen to what my environment was saying: slow down, breathe, and simply be.
This holiday season was, for me, an opportunity to learn not just about myself but about sanctuary as a whole. My understanding of sanctuary continues to deepen, even after all of these years. As a designer, creating sanctuaries for others is my life’s work—but ironically, that process isn’t always an act of sanctuary itself. Yet, this concept of wintering illuminated something new for me about my work. It’s a reminder that the spaces we create must invite and support moments of pause and reflection, offering both beauty and a sense of ease that intuitively calls us to rest.
This time in the Highlands reminded me that we don’t have to fight against difficult seasons. When we embrace them, allowing ourselves to pause and rest, we grow stronger, more resilient, and more in tune with who we are. By leaning into our intuition, we find the grace to return renewed, and ready to blossom in the spring once again.
How were your holidays? Did you take time to slow down at all? I’d love to hear.
With love and gratitude,
Lisa