Winter Depression Epidemic: Citizens Left in the Cold by Weak Policy!
Paul Riverbank, 12/26/2025Cherry Cantrell’s story of battling Seasonal Affective Disorder underscores winter’s profound effect on mental health. Light therapy offers hope, but her openness reminds us: acknowledging the struggle and seeking help are vital steps toward brighter days.
When fall draws its final breath, dragging daylight with it, most people notice the change. For Cherry Cantrell, though, the transformation comes with warning bells. It’s not a subtle melancholy or just a moody stretch — it's the familiar, heavy descent of what she calls her "winter blues." The signs show up quietly at first. Maybe she snaps at her teenager for forgetting the dishes, or glares at the dog for no reason at all. “I get prickly, sometimes downright unreasonable with everyone around,” Cherry admits, running her fingers around the rim of her mug, half-smiling at the memory.
The thing is, what she’s dealing with isn’t run-of-the-mill gloom. Cherry has lived with Seasonal Affective Disorder — SAD, for short — for more than a decade. It’s a recurring ordeal as the calendar edges past autumn, and daylight begins to slip away early. The pervasive grayness isn’t just outside, it seeps into her mood. Scientists believe lack of natural light messes with our internal chemistry; it’s not poetic, but chemical — the kind of deficit that can send minds spiraling toward depression.
But Cherry’s not one to wave a white flag without a fight. Her arsenal, after years of trial and error: a sturdy little SAD light box, square and unflashy, sits right by her breakfast nook. The lamp blasts her face with a bright, artificial "morning" — more intense than any ceiling bulb, but unlike the sun, there’s no risk to her skin. She flips it on each winter morning, even on those persistent drizzly days when an actual sunrise is just a rumor. Most mornings, she props open her paper, takes a sip of coffee, and lets the light work. “I sit there, and things start to clear,” she says. “After about half an hour, I feel just a bit more like myself again.”
She’s definitely not the only one. According to the Royal College of Psychiatrists, about 3% of people in the UK experience serious winter depression. The actual number’s likely higher — plenty never call it what it is, or keep struggling through on their own. That’s partly why Cherry decided to talk openly about her experience, hoping it might nudge someone else to seek help.
What’s behind these curious lamps? It’s really quite straightforward. Normally, sunlight triggers the brain to dial back melatonin, that hormone that tells us it’s bedtime. When daylight vanishes early, bodies can get confused and sluggish. The lamp, with its powerful glow, tricks the brain into waking up properly. There’s nothing mysterious about it — and no, these lamps aren’t the kind you tan with — but enough folks report relief that doctors recommend giving them a try.
“I’ll notice the smallest things start to get under my skin — noise in the house, someone asking a question I’ve heard three times before — and I know it’s that time again,” Cherry says. For her, the light box is a touchstone. She doesn’t travel in winter without it.
Of course, it’s not a complete fix. Psychiatrists and doctors will often recommend light therapy alongside other supports. For some, that means counseling. Others may need medications to reset deeper imbalances. And there’s steady evidence that even just ducking outside for a brisk walk, regardless of the cloud cover, can help bolster a flagging mood.
Yet, across workspaces, group chats, even around kitchen tables, the conversation about winter depression remains awkward, at best. Many folks chalk up their low spirits to personality or stress, waiting it out — stoically, or not. But stories like Cherry’s are beginning to chip away at the silence. “This isn’t just feeling a bit down,” she says, unflinching. “For some people, it’s almost like losing a part of yourself. And that’s not something anyone should have to ignore.”
As shadows lengthen and another winter builds, maybe there’s comfort in knowing you’re not alone — and shelter in a simple, deliberate patch of brightness. Whether it flickers from the low sun or from a chunky little lamp on a crowded kitchen table, sometimes light is more than light. For people like Cherry, it’s proof that the long night isn’t forever — and that spring, at some point, will find its way back.