There are things we carry into the new year not because they help us grow, but because they’ve become familiar. They feel like home base, even when home base is uncomfortable.

We all bring something into the New Year—habits, patterns, beliefs, fears, relationships, expectations, unfinished healing, unfinished conversations, and unfinished growth.

The real work is deciding what actually deserves to come with us. Because not everything does.

This is the part of winter no one talks about — the in-between. The space where you’re not closing the year anymore, but you haven’t stepped into the next one either.

It’s quiet, almost uncomfortably so, and it has a way of bringing up things you didn’t exactly schedule time for.

Winter doesn’t just happen inside individuals.
It happens between people, too.

Between co-parents trying to keep routines steady while juggling everything else.
Between colleagues who care about each other but are running on fumes.
Between family members moving around the same house but feeling worlds apart.

Children have their winter signals. But adults? Ours tend to be disguised as being “fine.”

You keep going, showing up, and managing schedules, emotions, meals, projects, relationships—until one day you realize you're running on the same 2% battery you’ve been ignoring for weeks. This is the grown-up version of wintering.

December can be a full season—full of change, excitement, overstimulation, unpredictable schedules, emotional memories, and expectations they can’t quite name. Kids don’t have the words, so their bodies and behaviors speak for them.

It’s not misbehavior, attitude or “regression.” It’s their nervous system whispering, “Something is too much right now.”

Wintering asks us to listen—not just to what children need, but to what we need as well.

Because when adults model slowing down with intention, children experience something powerful: rest is not a reward—it's a rhythm.

A listening school isn’t one with the loudest programs or the most polished newsletters—it’s one that practices curiosity and empathy in every interaction. It’s where families feel safe to ask, share, and even disagree, without fear of being dismissed.

A true partnership means seeing each other not as “sides,” but as part of the same team—both committed to helping a child thrive. Parents bring deep knowledge of their child’s personality, strengths, and home life. Teachers bring expertise in learning, structure, and growth. When those two come together, we see the whole child. It’s not about who’s doing it “right.” It’s about staying connected enough to work through challenges with empathy and respect.

A strong village—a network of parents, teachers, and communities—provides what screens can’t: human connection, empathy, and guidance. It reminds kids they’re not alone in navigating the noise of the world.

Teaching from the back of the room isn’t about doing less. It’s about doing differently. It’s about planting seeds of learning in such a way that long after your students leave, they still carry the roots with them.

Teaching from the back of the room isn’t about doing less. It’s about doing differently. It’s about planting seeds of learning in such a way that long after your students leave, they still carry the roots with them.

Teaching from the back of the room isn’t about doing less. It’s about doing differently. It’s about planting seeds of learning in such a way that long after your students leave, they still carry the roots with them.

Teaching from the back of the room isn’t about doing less. It’s about doing differently. It’s about planting seeds of learning in such a way that long after your students leave, they still carry the roots with them.

Teaching from the back of the room isn’t about doing less. It’s about doing differently. It’s about planting seeds of learning in such a way that long after your students leave, they still carry the roots with them.