‘April is the cruellest month […] winter kept us warm.’ As my fellow English Lit peers may agree, T.S. Eliot is certainly not the most optimistic of writers; yet he does make a key observation about spring in his epic poem ‘The Waste Land.’ The daffodils outside University Library bring promises of sunshine and the end of the academic year, but fears blossom too. When the clocks go forward, is this a setback to our mental health?
“Spring fever” is used to refer to the restlessness or excitement that we may feel with the arrival of spring. Whilst the term has positive connotations, is it a euphemism for our unrealistic expectations and anxieties surrounding the warmer months? Personally, I have annual symptoms of “spring fever,” particularly when listening to Operating Theatre’s Spring is Coming With a Strawberry in the Mouth while wandering through Glasgow Green. The older I get, the longer the winters feel; yet the onset of spring can be illusionary too. The trees are still often bare, the sky continues to be a hazy grey: after all, the rain doesn’t know seasons in Glasgow. Whilst “spring fever” may boost our mood temporarily, it is largely a myth.
Along with that, the season of rebirth brings many pressures for us to grow or become a “better” version of ourselves. Whether it’s the spring cleaning of your flat, or buying new pieces for your wardrobe – let’s be real though, you’ll still need your winter clothes during Glaswegian spring – it feels as though we have to reinvent ourselves to be ready for the season. This eventually leads to the pressure to be perfect during summer, with harmful ideals such as having a “bikini body” on a tropical beach getaway being perpetuated by the media. Just like we expect the weather to suddenly become lovely all of the time, we demand too much of ourselves when spring has sprung.
Above all else, I think the loneliness that the spring and summer months can give rise to should be discussed more openly. While these seasons are associated with buzzing social activity, they can also tear us apart, creating the sense that we have been displaced from our communities. We find our routines or locations changing, which often distances us from loved ones. In Glasgow especially, the majority of students return home during spring and summer, deserting the West End of familiar faces. A 2016 study by the Independent concluded that 25% of teenagers in the UK find summer the loneliest time of the year. As we enter adulthood post-COVID, we still substitute meeting up in person with texting when the sun is finally out. Although going abroad is possible again, albeit factors like the cost of living crisis can continue to impose restrictions, we may still find ourselves experiencing FOMO while “rotting in bed.” In contrast to TikTok’s normalisation of the habit, it can be a vicious cycle that is particularly hard to break when we have more free time. Solitude is romanticised in winter and considered unthinkable in spring, but pervades our digital age in practicality.
If you also struggle with spring and summer, I’d like to reassure you that you’re not alone. Despite independence often exacerbating feelings of loneliness, I ironically prefer spring and summer as an adult as I can make more choices – not just going to beer gardens – about what I’d like to do. Whether that’s finding solace in third spaces such as Pollock Park or indulging in an easy read, this should be a time for us to enjoy simple pleasures rather than striving to meet societal standards. April doesn’t have to be the cruellest month; it can also be a gateway to self-care.
https://www.independent.co.uk/student/student-life/health/mental-health-in-young-people- summer-holidays-one-of-the-loneliest-times-of-year-for-students-a7136351.html
Fleur Kas (she/her)
Image credit: Ramaa Ghatge on Pinterest https://pin.it/2GzDY6WFZ
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