The colours of change: finding hope in autumn's transformation
There's something extraordinary happening in the trees right now. Walk through any park in England and you'll see it: green giving way to gold, amber, and deep crimson. Leaves that have worked quietly all summer are now putting on their most spectacular show before they fall.
We often speak about autumn as an ending, a retreat into darkness. But perhaps we've been looking at it wrong.
When winter feels endless
In the therapy room, I often sit with people who describe feeling stuck in what seems like perpetual winter. Burnout creeps up slowly, disguised as dedication. Anxiety becomes a constant companion, and depression settles in like fog that won't lift. They understand the theory of recovery, but living it is entirely different. Colour can't be seen anywhere. Everything feels grey, unchanging, and endless.
They keep waiting for spring to arrive, and think recovery will feel like sudden warmth, like emerging from darkness into light. But that's rarely what happens.
The wisdom of autumn
Recovery, when it comes, often arrives in autumn colours.
The change begins not with new growth, but with letting go. With acknowledging that some ways of working, some patterns of thinking, some versions of ourselves need to fall away. And here's what surprises people: that process isn't just necessary - it's beautiful.
Those autumn leaves aren't dying in despair. They're putting on their finest display precisely because they're changing. The tree isn't losing something; it's preparing for what comes next. It's conserving energy, redirecting resources, getting ready for new growth that won't come until spring. But autumn isn't the waiting room for spring. It's its own season, with its own purpose and its own beauty.
What autumn teaches us about change
The trees don't resist autumn. They don't cling to summer or rush toward spring. They fully inhabit the season they're in.
In recovery, people need to learn this too. Change doesn't mean everything suddenly becomes better. It means learning to be present with transformation itself. It means finding the gold and crimson in the process, not just in the destination.
Through the therapeutic journey, people discover that:
Setting boundaries isn't selfish withdrawal - it's necessary preparation for sustainable work. Acknowledging limitations isn't failure - it's wisdom. Taking time to rest isn't lost productivity - it's essential conservation. Letting go of old patterns isn't giving up - it's making space for something new.
For those in their own winter
If you're reading this from your own grey season, there's something important to know: winter doesn't last forever, even when it feels like it will. And the change that comes might not look how you expect.
It might not feel like sudden spring sunshine. It might feel like autumn first - a season of transition, of letting things fall away, of discovering unexpected beauty in the process of change itself. And that's not just okay. That's exactly how transformation works.
The trees are showing us something profound right now. They're demonstrating that change can be both difficult and beautiful. That letting go can be a spectacular act. That transitions have their own worth, not just as bridges to what comes next, but as valuable seasons in their own right.
Moving through seasons
As a therapist, I've come to understand that healing isn't linear and it isn't seasonal. We don't simply move from winter to spring and stay there. We cycle through seasons throughout our lives. But each time we do, we carry the wisdom of previous cycles with us.
The difficult experiences people face - burnout, anxiety, depression - teach things that can't be learned any other way. They teach empathy that no textbook can provide. They demonstrate that vulnerability isn't weakness and that asking for help is courage. They show that sometimes the most important thing we can do is simply keep going, one day at a time, trusting that seasons change even when we can't see how.
Your autumn
So if you're in transition right now, look at the trees. Notice how they don't apologise for their transformation. How they don't dim their gold and crimson because someone might prefer eternal green. How they trust the process even though they can't see spring from here.
Your autumn might be just beginning. Or you might be deep in it, with leaves falling all around you. Either way, know this: there is purpose in this season. There is beauty in this change. And when you're ready to notice it, there are colours everywhere.
The trees know something we often forget: transformation isn't the absence of beauty. Sometimes, it's where beauty lives most vividly.
If you're struggling with burnout, anxiety, or depression, please reach out. Change is possible, and you don't have to navigate it alone.