Q. I’m 68 and each winter (for at least the last 50 but I’ve lost count) I feel myself slipping into a darker mood. I consider myself to be competent, rational and generally in control of myself but once the clocks go back I’m tired, irritable and withdrawn and start avoiding social things that I usually enjoy. I’ve read about seasonal affective disorder and it seems to fit exactly.
My father used to be the same. Every winter he’d retreat into himself, barely speaking and snapping at everyone for no reason, then come spring he’d come back to life. Is this genetic or have I just learnt to behave this way from watching him? I do not come from an emotionally open family and so his moods were never discussed.
I want to find a way to push through. I need to deal with all this but the truth is I can’t seem to. My wife is getting irritated as I don’t want to talk — I know that’s unkind of me. She says she loses me for half the year. I’m not sure I could do therapy so what else can I do to stop winter taking such a toll?William
A. What you describe sounds like seasonal affective disorder (SAD), a subtype of clinical depression that cycles with the seasons — appearing as daylight hours reduce and lifting with the springtime return of longer days and natural light. Estimates range from 1 in 15 to 1 in 30 people being affected each winter.
Because light synchronises our circadian rhythms — the internal clocks governing sleep, metabolism, and mood — SAD is a biological chain reaction that is set off as the nights draw in. When daylight fades, the hypothalamus (which regulates this rhythm) drifts out of sync, prompting prolonged melatonin release that causes fatigue. At the same time, serotonin production and receptor activity drop, lowering mood, motivation and appetite.
While this biological response to reduced daylight may seem like a design flaw, it’s likely that it evolved to conserve energy during winter scarcity. In modern life, however, where constant productivity is expected, this creates an uneasy mismatch between our ancient biology and our demanding environment.
Given that your father experienced the same seasonal pattern, you ask whether there’s a genetic link to SAD. Twin and family studies suggest heritability rates for major depression of about 30 to 40 per cent, so it’s plausible that relatives share a biological sensitivity to changes in light, leading to similar drops in energy and mood. However, whether those dips develop into full winter depression also depends on environmental factors and learnt behaviour, particularly the coping strategies modelled within the family.
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You describe your family as not being “emotionally open” and wonder if you “just learnt to behave this way from watching” your father, and the answer is very likely to be yes. A helpful way to think about nature and nurture is that nature loads the bullet while nurture fires the gun. Your inherited sensitivity may have been reinforced by growing up in a family where emotions were played down or dismissed. In effect we inherit our DNA and what a family therapist would call “emotional scripts” — the unspoken rules about what’s acceptable to feel and express. The good news is that while DNA is fixed, emotional scripts are learnt and learnt patterns can be changed.
To rewrite your script means viewing your SAD differently and developing new ways to respond to it. I suspect you resist “doing therapy” because talking openly about feelings feels unfamiliar and unsafe. Yet while mood management includes practical steps, it also depends on emotional expression. Naming feelings activates the prefrontal cortex (reasoning and self-control), which calms amygdala-driven stress responses (the fight-flight system releasing adrenaline and cortisol). This process, known as affect labelling, turns raw emotion into conscious understanding, helping to restore perspective and regulate mood.
I’m struck by your belief that you should “just deal with all this” — a pattern learnt from your father that leaves you vulnerable to the same seasonal mood crash. Men are less likely than women to seek help for mental health challenges yet more likely to die by suicide, despite similar levels of distress. This reflects cultural and psychological factors. For instance in previous generations especially, boys were often taught that strength meant stoicism, so emotional suppression became self-protection, with distress manifesting, as you describe in yourself, as irritability, frustration or withdrawal.
How we interpret our emotional state has a powerful influence on how we manage it. Your instinct to “push through” is a coping style that relies on cognitive suppression rather than emotional processing, keeping underlying distress unresolved. Emotional expression clearly threatens your sense of self, especially since you describe yourself as “competent, rational and generally in control of myself”. I see this as internalised stigma, blocking the chance to recognise and address what’s happening, even though the capacity to tolerate and express vulnerability is necessary for healthy emotional regulation. Opening up to a trusted person, such as your wife, lowers physiological arousal, re-engages prefrontal regulation and allows emotional processing to replace avoidance.
Given your hesitation about therapy, let’s begin with approaches that feel practical and manageable. Natural daylight is the most powerful regulator of mood, so aim for 30 to 45 minutes outside within two hours of waking, ideally with full-spectrum light on your face (even on overcast days, outdoor light intensity exceeds indoor bulbs). If that’s not practical — or in addition — a light therapy lamp (10,000 lux) used for 30 minutes each morning mimics missing daylight (I’ve got mine on next to me as I write this); research shows that 60 to 80 per cent of people with SAD improve within weeks. Dawn-simulating alarm clocks, which gradually increase light before waking, also help to recalibrate circadian rhythms.
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Depression disrupts routine and structure, which can also be compromised by shorter days that compress time and disrupt circadian patterns. Keeping consistent wake-sleep times, eating at regular intervals and scheduling meaningful activity create external anchors when our internal clock becomes desynchronised. Central to these is movement: exercise boosts endorphins and serotonin (brain chemicals that lift mood, reduce stress and promote emotional balance), while stabilising sleep and appetite. Research shows exercise can be as effective as antidepressants in mild-to-moderate depression. Outdoor movement is best but even indoor routines, eg yoga, cycling, bodyweight exercises, can help.
You describe how you “start avoiding social things that I usually enjoy” and this is a red flag. Social withdrawal is both a symptom and a perpetuator of SAD. Isolation increases rumination, the mental looping that deepens low mood. While it will feel difficult, plan contact deliberately as part of your daily routine. Regular social interaction stimulates dopamine and oxytocin pathways (brain circuits linked to motivation, reward and social bonding), strengthens prefrontal regulation of mood, and counteracts the isolation that sustains depression.
Rather than dreading this time of year, it might help to reframe winter as a time of the year with its own unique tempo, a time of reflection and restoration before the renewal that comes with spring. Another necessary thing to reframe is how you perceive your reaction to winter — not as a personal failing but an inherited vulnerability that many people experience as daylight declines.
If, despite lifestyle adjustments, you notice persistent low mood, speak to your GP. Professional support — for example talking therapy, structured CBT for SAD, or other interventions including medication — can make a profound evidence-based difference. Working with a therapist to explore your insights, such as your inherited emotional style, will not only help you manage SAD but also strengthen how you understand and care for yourself throughout the year. Therapy isn’t about dismantling your competence, it’s about developing the same confidence with feelings that you already have with facts. See nhs.uk. I wish you well.