The first time I heard the term rotting, I nearly dropped whatever I was holding.

My kids were talking about college friends who, to save money on food (or to drop a few pounds), would just… rot.

I said, “I’m sorry — WHAT?”

Apparently, to rot means staying in bed, expending as few calories as humanly possible so you’re not as hungry. A day or two. Minimal movement. Maximum stillness.

I had a brief moment where I wondered if I’d failed as a parent.

And then, recently, I heard the term again—this time in a completely different context.

Someone was talking about how, in nature, winter is a rotting season.

Not in a gross way.
In a necessary way.

Everything slows down.
Energy is conserved.
Rest happens underground and unseen.

Roots don’t push.
Seeds don’t sprout.
Perennials don’t perform.

They wait.

And it hit me how wildly out of sync modern life is with that reality.

January rolls in and suddenly we’re supposed to overhaul everything: new habits, new bodies, new goals, new energy.

Go, go, go.

Clean it out.
Start fresh.
Hustle harder.

Meanwhile, my body and brain are over here quietly saying,
“Ma’am. Absolutely not.”

What I actually want to do is slow down.

Eat my sourdough bread.
Binge-watch television (if only there were better things to binge).
Do only what is absolutely necessary—and nothing more.

And honestly? I’m done feeling guilty about that.

I welcome rotting.

I also fully recognize the privilege in being able to do so. Not everyone gets to rest when they need it. That matters. It deserves acknowledgment.

And yes—before winter ends, I will have to get off my a$$ and bring some order back to this house. The chaos cannot reign forever.

But for now?

I’m taking my cues from the land.

Because on the flower farm, winter isn’t lazy.

It’s strategic.

The beds look empty, but everything important is happening below the surface.

Energy is being stored.
Systems are resetting.

Nothing is wasted.
Nothing is rushed.

This is something you really come to understand when you run a small, seasonal flower farm. Spring flowers don’t happen because we hustle harder in January. They happen because the plants—and the people—are allowed to rest when the season demands it.

So if you find yourself moving slower than usual… craving rest… wanting to “rot” a little more than society says you should, maybe you’re not falling behind.

Maybe you’re just doing winter correctly.

And come spring?

We’ll all get back to work.