A Spring Reset; On Decluttering, Rituals, and Making Peace with the Season

Notes from someone who has never loved spring

I have never loved spring the way the people around me seem to. Growing up in Italy, spring meant Easter, family lunch, church, a particular quality of light I associate entirely with home. Moving abroad made that absence more noticeable. And to make things worse, spring is reliably the season I get the most sick. Not winter, not autumn, spring. Every year without exception.

For a long time I thought this was just me. But it turns out spring melancholy is more common than people think. Studies show that anxiety and depression actually peak in April, not in the dark months of winter as most people assume. It even has a name, reverse SAD, or reverse Seasonal Affective Disorder. The change in weather, the shift in light, the sense that everyone around you is blooming while you are still finding your footing. It is more recognizable than I expected when I first read about it.

Knowing the feeling has a name made me take my own rituals around this time of year more seriously, not as things I do to perform wellness, but as things that genuinely help.

The Declutter

The one thing that helps most, and the one I look forward to most, is the spring clean.

Every year, usually in March or April, I go through my apartment properly. Wardrobe, surfaces, drawers, the corners that have been quietly accumulating things since autumn. I get rid of what no longer fits, what no longer feels right, what has simply been taking up space without serving any purpose.

There is real psychology behind this. Clutter weighs you down mentally, not just physically. It overwhelms your senses, reminds you that things are unfinished, and creates a low level of stress that is easy to ignore until it isn't. When you clear your space, you are also exercising a kind of control over your environment, and during a season that can feel like it is happening to you rather than with you, that matters.

Spring cleaning is also one of the oldest rituals we have. It dates back centuries, to the days when homes were heated by wood and lit by lanterns that left layers of dust and smoke residue on every surface. When spring arrived, people opened the windows, took the rugs outside to clean them, and scrubbed everything from top to bottom. It was practical then, and it is still practical now, but it has also become something more a symbolic reset, a way of stepping out of one season and into another with intention.

For me it is both. The apartment feels lighter afterwards. And so do I.

The Wardrobe

Spring is also when I rotate my wardrobe. Putting away the heavy layers and bringing out lighter things (not all of them, I live in San Francisco!). This sounds like a small thing but it actually changes how I feel. When you open your wardrobe and see clothes that match the season you are in rather than the one you just left, something shifts.

I also use this as a moment to edit. Anything I didn't reach for all winter, anything that doesn't fit well or doesn't feel like me anymore, it goes. A smaller, more considered wardrobe is easier to live with than a full one. Getting rid of things you haven't used gives you peace of mind. It simplifies the daily decisions that quietly drain your energy.

Getting Outside

One of the rituals that has helped most is making a point of being outside more during spring. Visiting botanical gardens or parks where flowers are blooming. Sitting in the sun for a few minutes in the middle of the day. Walking somewhere slowly without a particular destination.

Sunlight matters more than we give it credit for. After months of weaker winter light, spending time outdoors in spring helps restore serotonin levels and energy in a way that is hard to replicate indoors. Even ten or fifteen minutes outside in the middle of the day can shift how the rest of the afternoon feels.

Botanical gardens have become a personal favorite. There is something about seeing things bloom in a contained, quiet space that feels grounding rather than overwhelming. It is nature at a pace you can actually follow.

Fresh Flowers at Home and Gardening

Bringing fresh flowers home has become one of my most consistent spring habits. I love seeing a fresh bunch in my apartment, it reminds me that the season is slowly shifting, and it genuinely changes the feeling of a room.

There is something about having something living and blooming in your space that connects you to the season in a gentle way, on your own terms, at your own pace. As a child, spring was also the time I would help my family with gardening, planting flowers and tending to things outside. I hadn't thought about that in a long time, but recently I have been reconnecting with how much joy those moments brought me.

I live in the city and don't have a garden, but there are still small ways to bring that feeling back. Potting a new plant, picking up fresh flowers at the market, keeping something alive and growing on a shelf by the window. It doesn't take much. But it connects you to something that feels older and quieter than the season itself.

The Mornings

Spring mornings are when I notice the season most. The light arrives earlier and has a quality that winter mornings don't. I have started paying attention to that, opening the windows first thing, stepping outside briefly before the day starts, making matcha and sitting near natural light rather than rushing straight into a screen.

These are small things. But small things are usually what make the difference between a season that passes you by and one that you actually inhabit.

A Note on the Melancholy

I don't think the sadness of spring is something to fix. It is partly nostalgia, partly distance from home, partly the particular weight that Easter carries when you are far from family and the rituals that shaped you. It comes every year and I have stopped fighting it.

What the rituals do is give the season some texture beyond that feeling. They don't replace what is missing. They just make sure there is also something present, something to look forward to, something to do with your hands, something that connects you to where you are rather than only to where you are not.

Spring will never be my favorite season. But I have learned to meet it halfway.