If we were truly practicing Traditional Chinese Medicine the way it was intended, January would look very different.
There would be later mornings.
Less output.
More soup, more rest, more quiet storage of energy.
Instead, January in acupuncture school is packed with exams, dense theory, clinical hours, memorization, and long days that start before the sun comes up. It’s the most yang version of winter imaginable, and every body in the room can feel it.
From a TCM perspective, it’s almost comical.
Winter is governed by the Kidneys. It’s meant for conserving Jing, protecting warmth, and moving slowly. The body is supposed to turn inward, not perform. Yet here we are, asking our nervous systems to fire on all cylinders while nature is very clearly saying, “Absolutely not.”
By the last week of January, the mismatch shows.
People are tired in a way sleep doesn’t fully fix. Focus is harder. Digestion gets sluggish. Old aches flare up. Emotions sit closer to the surface. None of this is personal failure. It’s physiology.
Most mornings start in the dark. Notes spread across the table. Tea going cold while you try to remember pulse qualities or treatment principles. We’re learning how to read depletion while actively living inside it.
I feel it in my body especially because I’m away from home.
Winter in New Brunswick asks something very different of me. Carrying water. Hauling firewood. Composting toilet buckets. Gently walking up Brighton Mountain with my closest friends to get my blood moving and my lungs full of fresh air. But mostly I spend my NB winters drinking tea by the fire, crocheting, and simmering warm meals on my woodstove. That kind of work is deeply yin in the right way, slow, heavy, grounding, honest.
Here, winter is quieter but somehow more exhausting. Less physical output, more mental strain. My body misses the rigors that kept me regulated without me having to think about it.
From a TCM lens, this makes perfect sense. When movement is replaced with constant mental effort, Qi stagnates. When warmth and nourishment are inconsistent, the Kidneys feel it first. When rest is delayed, the cost shows up later.
So the practice becomes one of gentle rebellion, even inside the structure we can’t change.
For me, that looks like returning to simple, sustaining food. Prioritizing warmth. Respecting earlier bedtimes when possible. Letting January be unimpressive. Letting my body lead instead of forcing it to keep up with my calendar.
This season of training is teaching me something no textbook can.
That good medicine isn’t about pushing through. It’s about timing. About knowing when to store instead of spend. About recognizing that winter bodies need winter care, even when the schedule says otherwise.
This is the part of acupuncture school no one glamorizes, but it’s the part that makes better practitioners. The kind who won’t pathologize exhaustion. The kind who understand that sometimes the most correct treatment is rest, warmth, and patience.
January isn’t asking us to do more.
It’s asking us to listen.
If you’re feeling it too, you’re not failing. You’re responding exactly as a winter body should.
If this resonates with you (if your body feels tired, cold, wired, foggy, or just out of rhythm) this is exactly the kind of thing I work with in clinic.
I’m currently booking at the CCATCM student clinic, offering acupressure massage, cupping, and gua sha. Treatments are thoughtful, unrushed, and grounded in seasonal care, with the added bonus of student clinic pricing.
If your nervous system needs a place to land this winter, I’d love to work with you.
A Gentle Note: I’m a student of Traditional Chinese Medicine, and this space reflects my learning as it unfolds. TCM is deep, layered, and complex, and I’m still finding my footing within it. I will refine my understanding over time. I will make mistakes. That’s part of doing this honestly. What I share here is my current perspective, shaped by my teachers, clinical training, lived experience, and my own biases. It’s not absolute, it’s evolving. I welcome thoughtful conversation, shared insight, and respectful correction along the way. I humbly welcome your insight. Let’s learn together. You can always find me over on Instagram to keep the conversation going.