Comfort Is: Cozymaxxing for the Holidays
Why do we emotionally hibernate during the winter months?
At a certain point — somewhere between the sun setting at 4:30 in the afternoon and your third rewatch of When Harry Met Sally — you give in. Not in a sad, defeatist way, but in a deeply satisfying, cellular-level exhale kind of way. You say no to plans. You go to bed embarrassingly early with no shame. You lean into the kind of comfort that doesn’t just feel good, it feels necessary. This is what the internet is now calling cozymaxxing.
By now, you’ve likely stumbled across some version of it: a candle flickering in the corner of a softly lit frame, someone speaking reverently about the healing powers of a vintage robe, a perfectly brewed cup of tea, the phrase “emotional hibernation” in a softly spoken voiceover. But cozymaxxing isn’t just about the aesthetic. It’s what happens when your body and brain say: enough. It’s cold, it’s dark, and frankly, the world is a lot right now. More than just a vibe, it’s a response to burnout, overstimulation, and the deep need to feel grounded, with some mental health perks too, like lower stress, better sleep, and emotional regulation.
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About as far away from TikTok as you can get, on the blustery British coast, Katherine May, author of Wintering: The Power of Rest and Retreat in Difficult Times, writes of something quite similar. She calls it “wintering,” a season of life where we’re invited (or sometimes forced) to slow down and surrender to the quiet. She reminds us that wintering is cyclical, essential, and deeply human.
Whichever word resonates with you, it’s less about trends and more about instincts. It’s not retreating. It’s recalibrating.
Why We Want to Emotionally Hibernate During the Winter
Blame the sun (or lack thereof). As daylight dwindles, our biology quietly shifts into low-power mode. Melatonin goes up, serotonin dips, and suddenly your 6pm ambitions turn into putting on sweatpants and cozying up on the couch. And that’s before we even factor in the emotional acrobatics of the holidays — you’re avoiding your inbox, the group chat’s impossible to keep up with, and gift-giving feels like a high-stakes personality test. Taking a step back shouldn’t feel revolutionary, it’s just our bodies doing what they’ve always done: helping us survive the cold, dark months with as little energy expended as possible.
“Doing those deeply unfashionable things,” writes Katherine May in Wintering, “slowing down, letting your spare time expand, getting enough sleep, resting — is a radical act now, but it’s essential.”
So yes, that quiet night with a book and a mug of tea? It’s a nervous system reset. A soft refusal to white-knuckle your way through New Year’s Eve, just because the calendar says go.
The Psychology of Sensory Comfort
There’s a reason you’ve rewatched You’ve Got Mail four times this month and suddenly have strong opinions about the proper chew of a molasses cookie. It’s not just nostalgia — it’s nervous system maintenance. These small, sensory rituals? They’re how we regulate. Memory as medicine. Comfort as coping. Soft textures, warm light, the sound of rain or a scratchy jazz record playing in the next room. These are the tools we reach for when the outside world starts to feel like too much. Our homes shift from background to buffer zone. We’re not retreating because we can’t handle life. We’re retreating because we are handling it — intentionally, quietly, one quiet night in at a time.
May reminds us that wintering is often invisible. It doesn’t look productive, but that doesn’t mean nothing is happening. “Wintering brings about some of the most profound and insightful moments of our human experience,” she writes.
Sometimes, that looks like lighting a candle instead of answering another email. Taking a bath instead of tackling your to-do list. Especially during the holidays, which, for a lot of people, are anything but restful. They’re chaotic, emotional, noisy. Lighting a candle isn’t simply checking out. It’s knowing your boundaries (and that you like things that smell nice).
Read more: Seasonal Sadness, Seasonal Joy: Rethinking the Winter Blues
A Softer Way Through the Season
“Plants and animals don’t fight the winter,” writes Katherine May in Wintering. “They don’t pretend it’s not happening and attempt to carry on living the same lives they lived in the summer. They prepare. They adapt.” So why shouldn’t we?
As the holidays ramp up — with the group texts, the gift lists, the travel — there’s something to be said for just… not doing all of it. Not in a “move to a cabin in the woods and delete all your apps” kind of way, but in the quieter, more practical sense. Slowing down where you can. Politely opting out when someone suggests a cookie swap three days before Christmas.
A Recipe for Holiday Cozymaxxing
Create a comforting environment. Limit the digital noise. Rest, but don’t forget to move a little. Say yes to connection when it feels good, and no when it doesn’t. Resist the scroll. Let your attention settle somewhere slower.
Then, layer in the good stuff:
- Start with your bed — organic sheets, a weighty duvet, a pillow so good it makes you cancel plans
- A candle that smells like the season (bonus if it smells like something you’d bake)
- A mug of your favorite tea
- A warm compress or fuzzy socks
- A book or a notebook — something analog
- Your favorite holiday movie, the one you already know by heart
That’s it. No aesthetic perfection required.
May calls wintering “a moment of stillness before the rebirth… a fallow period that allows for growth beneath the surface.” Cozymaxxing is a version of that, with softer lighting. But don’t get caught up in aesthetic perfection, or some aspirational vision of “rest.” Think of it as a way to feel like yourself again, especially when your energy’s getting pulled in every direction. It’s leaning into the urge to slow down, to turn inward, to pile on the blankets and rewatch the holiday movie you’ve seen a hundred times because you know exactly how it ends. And honestly? It’s probably exactly what you need.
Read more: Holiday Guest Room Prep
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