Winter Roses

A Reflection on Resilience

Pulling my cardigan closer, I step out my back door this January morning and breathe in the cold winter air. An inversion of fog has hung around for what feels like weeks. Even months. These short days and lack of sunlight press down with a tired longing that threatens to pull me under. It’s winter in the Pacific Northwest—the three inches of new snow added overnight are expected. The bright pink blooms of a tiny rose fighting through the ice that threatens to destroy it, are not. These rosebushes are normally barren this time of year.

Two pink buds of a wild rose hedge are surrounded by snow and ice.

Earlier in the morning, I’d published an essay about handling all the ashes of my deceased family—six bodies, one by one, leaving me alone to face the darkness of generational trauma, abuse, and pain.

“I’ve gotta get my camera,” I holler through the door to my husband as I run up the steps to grab my cell phone. I have to write about her strength, I think as I capture the moment.

Through the camera lens, the stigma and stamen in her bright yellow center come into focus. Her pink petals against the background of gray demonstrate her defiance—her choice to keep existing and ignore the rules of the land that demand she give up.

The petals of a pink wild rose are surrounded by ice.

As I lower the camera, I realize I’m not just capturing her story—I’m capturing my own. In her defiance, I see the fight that has carried me through the ashes and darkness of my past. Like her, I could have given up, to let the weight of the world smother me. And like her, I’ve refused.

Her strength is mine, and her light reminds me that even in the coldest, grayest seasons, life insists on blooming. I, too, will continue. I, too, will share my light with the world.

I wonder—are you facing a long, dark winter? Is it grief, loss, or the weight of the unknown? Even in the harshest seasons, light exists if we look for it—a kind word, a quiet moment, or the decision to take one more step. Where might you find the strength to bloom despite the frost?

It’s okay if finding light feels hard right now. Some days, simply holding on is enough. Choosing to keep going, to seek the smallest glimmers of hope in the darkness, is an act of courage. I promise, you have the power to rise, to bloom, and to show yourself and the world that beauty and strength can endure, even in the harshest of winters.

Edited to add: I wrote this short piece in one of the writing exercises during an online writing Resilience Writing class from

Laura Lentz

. I am working through her writing workbook STORYquest: the Writer, the Hero, the Journey now, so you’ll likely see more of her influence in the future.

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