Why I Love the Ukulele

Kate Sloan

Ukulele, small and fierceful
Ukulele, brave and peaceful
You can play the ukulele too –
It is painfully simple
-Amanda Palmer, “Ukulele Anthem“

I’ve been writing songs since before I knew how to play any instruments; it’s baked into me how yeast is baked into bread. But instruments are a big part of how you bring music into the world, and convey to listeners the way you’re hearing your songs inside your head, and so I always wanted to learn to play an instrument, long before I ever did.

A year or more into piano lessons (which I enjoyed, though I begrudged having to practice my Bach and Chopin), I started listening obsessively to indie folk artists on a website called PureVolume (it was sort of like the MySpace of the music industry at the time) and, in particular, found myself drawn to songs written on acoustic guitars. I had an old violin, inherited from a relative and missing a string, and I would sit in front of the family computer plucking out simple chords on this creaky old instrument and sing over them into a USB microphone. Once, my dad walked by while I was doing this, and he remarked aloud, “We gotta get this girl a guitar.”

Playing my first guitar, circa 2008

He did, and it’s still one of the most meaningful acts of love I can recall in my life. He took me to Long & McQuade, arguably the best music shop in Toronto, and I told the salesman I wanted an acoustic guitar. (Electric guitars weren’t really on my radar; the artists I cared about then were all writing on acoustics.) The salesman asked me if I wanted a steel-stringed guitar or a nylon-stringed one, and I didn’t know, so he grabbed one of each. “Nylon-stringed guitars are usually used for classical music,” he explained, playing a bit of fingerpicked flamenco on the one he’d chosen, “whereas steel-stringed guitars are used in folk music.” He played a few bars of music that sounded like folk-rock to me – like the music I’d been listening to on PureVolume – and I said, “That one, please.” My fate was sealed.

I loved my guitar, and took lessons for a few years from a chill-as-hell Irish hipster named Eoghan (pronounced like “Owen”) who was getting a degree in jazz guitar. One December, my mom sent along a box of cookies for me to give him as a Christmas gift, and he was so surprised and flustered by this that he gave me a huge book of jazz standards he happened to have in his guitar case that day. I treasured that book, and still have it.

No matter how many guitar lessons I took, though, it just never felt as natural to me as singing or playing the piano. My fingers weren’t strong enough to play barre chords, or nimble enough to swap quickly between different chords. True, I could have (and should have) practiced more than I did, but it felt like I was hitting an insurmountable wall, limited by my level of physical ability.

My guitar teacher worked out of a music school on top of a music store, and so I would walk through their rows of instruments every time I went to a lesson. And sometime around age 16, I began to notice the ukuleles hanging adorably in a back corner. One fateful day in 2008, I took a couple friends with me to the shop and picked out a bright green Beaver Creek ukulele, paid approximately $40 for it, and walked out holding my musical future in my hands.

It was just so clear to me, so quickly, that I was meant to play the ukulele. I fell in love with it the way I fall in love with human beings: quickly, obsessively, and all-consumingly.

See what happens when you muzzle a person’s creativity
And do not let them sing and scream
And nowadays, it’s worse, ’cause kids have automatic handguns
It takes about an hour to teach someone to play the ukulele
About the same to teach someone to build a standard pipe bomb
You do the math!
-Amanda Palmer, “Ukulele Anthem“

If you’re not familiar, the ukulele differs from the guitar in a few key ways. It’s smaller, and tuned higher; it’s cheaper, and has a thinner but more playful sound. And, crucially, it has only four strings instead of six, so chord shapes are simpler, requiring less nimbleness and coordination of the player’s fingers. Its strings tend to be made of nylon or similar materials, so it doesn’t require as much strength as pressing down on steel guitar strings, which can bite into your fingertips like knives if you haven’t formed callouses there yet.

I wasn’t diagnosed with fibromyalgia yet at that time, and who knows when I actually developed that illness – but the struggles which led me to prefer ukulele over guitar have only deepened over the years, in large part due to my fibro. My hands are weaker than I’d prefer, and often sore. I’m clumsy and prone to dropping things, stumbling, hitting wrong notes on the fretboard. I’m frequently frustrated by an inability to translate the songs I hear in my head into an audible, tangible result that I can share with others. The ukulele, therefore, is perfect for me.

With the barrier of insufficient hand strength removed from the equation, I’ve gotten much better at ukulele than I ever got at guitar, even though I took guitar lessons for years and am mostly self-taught on the ukulele. I can play complicated chord changes from jazz or musical theatre, and never (okay, almost never) get so frustrated that I want to throw my instrument across the room. I can strum chords or finger-pick, write songs or learn other people’s songs. It feels easy and natural to me in a way that guitar never did.

There’s a term I love, “access intimacy,” which I learned from some kink workshop at a conference long ago. (I can’t recall who introduced me to this concept, or I would credit them.) It refers to the intimacy you can have with people who recognize and meet your access needs – whether those needs are related to physical disabilities, such as requiring ramps and access to handicapped bathrooms, or mental-emotional issues, such as needing to avoid certain PTSD triggers or needing a slow approach to task-switching due to ADHD.

I genuinely feel that I have “access intimacy” with the ukulele. It meets me where I’m at. It enables me to make music, write music, and feel like I’m a part of the music-making community, even though virtuosic guitar-playing is beyond my grasp.

The cheapness and accessibility of ukuleles is also highly democratizing. As singer-songwriter Amanda Palmer points out in her “Ukulele Anthem,” beginner ukuleles are usually pretty affordable (you can find ’em for $20-50, although I’d recommend spending at least $40 if you want a decent-sounding uke), and the chords are simple enough that you can pick up many of them in just an hour or two of practicing, especially if you have some music knowledge under your belt already. I love knowing that even if I suddenly needed to spend a lot of time away from home – as Amanda Palmer did when she got stuck in New Zealand toward the beginning of the pandemic – I could walk to a local music shop and be reunited with my favorite instrument for less money than a meal at a mid-tier restaurant. It makes me feel safe and secure, knowing I can take my music with me anywhere I go. One of the deepest and truest ways I know my spouse really loves me is that they keep a ukulele in the corner of their living room, even though they don’t play any instruments, simply because they know I’m calmer and happier when there’s a ukulele nearby that I can pick up whenever the whim strikes.

Nowadays, even as I’m mired in seasonal depression and fibro pain and general 21st-century millennial malaise, I keep a soprano ukulele on my bed so it’s always there when I feel like reaching for it. Not next to my bed, not near my bed, but on my bed. It’s small enough that I can do that. And many days, having it there is the difference between feeling sad and listless, and playing songs until I find my smile again.

I’ve taught ukulele lessons, I’ve bought ukuleles for friends, I’ve evangelized about ukuleles to all who would listen – and the reason for all this is simple. The ukulele has changed my life, made it brighter and bolder and easier and more fun. It has made music feel delightful instead of soul-sucking and painful. Every time I hold this little instrument in my arms, I feel grateful to be able to pluck its four strings.

So play your favorite Beatles’ song
And make the subway fall in love
They’re only $19.95; that isn’t lots of money
Play until the sun comes up
And play until your fingers suffer
Play LCD Soundsystem songs on your ukulele
Quit the bitching on your blog
And stop pretending art is hard
Just limit yourself to three chords
And do not practice daily
You’ll minimize some stranger’s sadness
With a piece of wood and plastic
Holy fuck, it’s so fantastic, playing ukulele!
-Amanda Palmer, “Ukulele Anthem“

Mourning Twitter, a Hellsite for the Ages

Kate Sloan

I’ve been very depressed this last week, and I’d be lying if I said it had nothing to do with the imminent demise of Twitter as we knew it. There are other factors, of course, but Twitter is a big one.

It’s been hard explaining this to people whose brains aren’t as broken by Twitter as mine is. I’ve been a user of the site since 2007, when I was 15 years old. I have never been an adult in a world without Twitter, and never really considered the possibility that I would have to. So it’s disorienting, to say the least, that an inept and egomaniacal billionaire is dismantling the site I’ve long considered my digital home-away-from-home.

Don’t get me wrong: Twitter isn’t perfect and never has been. Abuse has always run rampant on it, including a lot of homophobic, biphobic, misogynist and antisemitic abuse, which has felt viscerally frightening to me as a queer Jewish woman. It’s been a hub for disinformation, doomscrolling, and unsettling DMs. It has enabled racists, excluded sex workers, and let hate speech abound unchecked. And that’s just listing a few of the things that were (and are) wrong with Twitter.

But it’s also the place where I met my spouse, and my best friend/podcast cohost, and several other good friends and past partners. It’s the place where I’ve connected with editors, clients, and sources. It’s the place where I’ve shared my silly thoughts, my hot takes, my pain, my fury, and my joy.

The linguist Gretchen McCulloch argues in her book Because Internet that sites such as Twitter are the digital equivalent of a hallway at a high school or in a college dorm; they’re a place where casual, ambient socializing happens – as opposed to socializing that you have to specifically seek out and plan – and they therefore allow you to connect with people you might never have met otherwise. This feels very true to me – where else but Twitter could I chat with Tokyo-based game designers, London escorts and Texan law professors about current events in the course of a single hour?

Twitter was also, notably, one of the more sexually permissive mainstream social media sites. True, I know many people who got shadowbanned or outright kicked off the service for posting about sex work or BDSM, but nudes and porn are specifically allowed on Twitter and that automatically made it feel like a more welcoming place for me and my sex-nerd pals than, say, Facebook or Instagram, where we still have to self-censor with bastardized “words” like “seggs” and “secks” just to keep our accounts up-and-running.

I also maintain that Twitter is one of the best dating sites for demisexuals like me, because it allows you to get to know someone through their words first and their face second (if at all). I have far more Twitter crushes than Instagram crushes (or even IRL crushes) because I crush on people’s brains first and foremost, and Twitter made it easier than any other site for me to connect with people whose brains made my own brain tingle.

I loved Twitter, despite its many shortcomings and mistakes. I won’t be jumping ship immediately, especially since self-promotion is a big part of how I stay afloat professionally/financially so I can’t afford to leave the place where my biggest platform is. But if you’d like to follow me elsewhere – which I’d really appreciate, since I love y’all – here’s where to keep up with me:

  • This blog, obviously. I’m more convinced than ever that maintaining a self-hosted personal blog is the way of the future, given how many social media websites keep betraying us.
  • I’m @girly_juice on Instagram and that’s where I’m most active aside from Twitter.
  • My newsletter, where I send out a little essay on love, sex, and other random topics every week to my premium subscribers (it’s $5/month or $50/year). If you can’t afford a premium subscription, you can still sign up as a free subscriber and you’ll get free dispatches from me a couple times a year or so.
  • On Mastodon, which some people think will be Twitter’s major replacement, I can be found at @girlyjuice@mastodon.social – go follow me!

I love you, I’m glad you’re here, and I’m trying to look forward to whatever comes next.

 

This post contains a sponsored link, ’cause a girl’s gotta eat. As ever, all writing and opinions are my own.

Review: Womanizer OG (A Pressure-Wave Stimulator For Your G-Spot!)

Kate Sloan

Ever since the first Womanizer launched years ago, consumers have had plenty of questions about the pressure-wave technology these toys utilized. How does it work? (It sends out rhythmic pulses of air to create a tapping/sucking sensation on the external clit.) Does it feel better than vibration? (Not “better,” exactly, but different, and some people might like it more.) Are pricey pressure-wave toys worth the money? (Possibly, but you’re better off trying a cheaper one initially to see if you like it.)

Another question that’s often been asked about these toys is: Can this technology be used to stimulate areas other than the clit?

The company that originated the technology proved that indeed it can be used for other purposes when they developed the Arcwave, a pressure-wave toy for dicks that focuses on the frenulum. But now, they’ve expanded the scope of their offerings and launched the Womanizer OG, a toy that uses pressure-waves on your G-spot. Is it any good? Let’s talk about it.

 

Things I like about the Womanizer OG

  • The OG combines pressure-waves with vibration, which has always been a pretty successful combination when Womanizer’s attempted it before, and is successful here too. They feel good together, though I have some concerns about the fact that they can’t be used separately from one another (more on that below).
  • On that note, the vibration quality is exactly what my G-spot tends to crave: deep and rumbly, no matter which of the three vibration intensities you’re on. This makes it less likely to activate an annoying or painful “need-to-pee” feeling when I press it against my G-spot, and makes blended orgasms easier to achieve.
  • The “mouth” of the toy has been expanded from Womanizers’ typical clit-sized dimensions; it’s longer, wider, and flatter, so as to stimulate your G-spot better. This could also potentially make it better for folks with bigger clits who want a pressure-wave toy they can use either internally or externally (the manual recommends warming up by using the OG on your clit before using it internally).
  • The curve of the toy’s body is well-designed: it’s ergonomic to hold, and to thrust with, but (at least for my particular anatomy) the handle doesn’t get in the way of my clit too much and I can still use a clitoral vibe or touch my clit with my fingers while the OG is inside me.
  • The OG has “Smart Silence,” a feature where the toy shuts off when you move it away from your skin and starts up again when you make contact. This isn’t super relevant for a G-spot toy because it’s (presumably) going to be inside you most of the time that you’re using it, but it’s nice if, for example, you need to suddenly pull the toy out of you and go answer the door for the mail delivery person or something, and don’t have time to hold down the “off” button for a few seconds. Also, Smart Silence can be turned off if you don’t like it.
  • The toy also has an “Afterglow” feature where, if you press the “minus” button for one second, the toy jumps back down to its lowest intensity. This feature is intended to prevent painful overstimulation that can happen during and after orgasm.
  • The manual and promotional materials for the OG are all very clear on two key points: that the G-spot is more of a G-zone, and that clitoral stimulation is crucial for most vagina-owners even if their G-spot is being stimulated well. I genuinely appreciate sex toy companies who provide accurate information to their consumers, instead of constantly hyping up their product’s virtues at the risk of making some users feel “broken” for not experiencing the toy as instantaneously orgasmic.
  • It comes in a few not-especially-gendered colors. The “slate” shade is your best bet if you loathe traditional sex toy pinks and purples.
  • The silicone covering the toy is smooth, soft, and plays well with water-based lube.
  • Like most pressure-wave toys these days, the OG is waterproof, so you can take it in the shower or bath and don’t need to worry you’ll ruin it while washing it.

Things I don’t like about the Womanizer OG

  • Most annoyingly for me, you can’t use the pressure-waves separately from the vibration – and I actually wonder if this was done on purpose, to mask the relative ineffectiveness of pressure-waves on the G-spot. I can’t feel much when the toy is in use aside from the vibration, which (don’t get me wrong) feels good, but isn’t exactly a revolutionary sensation. I asked Womanizer about this and they said the pressure-waves and vibration “are always simultaneous, but if you want to focus on one feature more than the other, you can turn it down to the lowest level,” and indeed, there are three different vibration settings which can be controlled separately from the intensity of the pressure-waves. But there’s no way to turn the vibrations off altogether, and even on the lowest level, the pressure-waves feel drowned out by vibration so I can’t give a definitive statement on whether they actually feel good alone.
  • The OG retails for $199–219 (depending on where you get it from) and I find that price hard to justify, given that – to my seasoned vagina, anyhow – it doesn’t feel that different from a great G-spot vibrator like the Lelo Mona 2 ($169), Swan Wand ($116) or We-Vibe Rave ($113). I understand that the pressure-wave technology must be more expensive to implement, but if it’s barely discernible over the vibrations then I’m not sure it was worth implementing, or that it’s worth paying extra for.
  • The phrase “simultaneous stimulation” is used a lot in the marketing for the OG, which – in conjunction with its almost C-shaped body – might make some consumers think it can stimulate your G-spot and your clit at the same time, which it can’t (or at least can’t do well). The “simultaneous stimulation” being referred to is the vibration and pressure-waves being applied simultaneously to your G-spot.
  • The marketing copy also says that the toy is “flexible,” allowing for “a comfortable, custom fit,” but it is not. I can bend it maybe half an inch, if that, before it starts to feel like I might snap it in half if I push harder. That’s enough flex to potentially make it more comfortable to thrust in and out, but since a lot of people’s G-spots prefer firm, steady pressure, I’m not sure flexibility was a good choice for this toy anyway.
  • The manual notes, “Smart Silence may not work when the stimulation head is wet. Therefore, please make sure not to apply lube into the Pleasure Air head.” This is baffling to me. If you’re designing a toy specifically to go into the vagina, all of its features should work regardless of how wet it gets – and if that’s not possible, that feature shouldn’t be offered on that toy.
  • The big, wide mouth is hard to clean, and inevitably gets caked with vag gunk in short order. This isn’t a detriment operationally because the toy is waterproof and will keep chugging away regardless of how much cum gets into it (except for the Smart Silence feature, as described above), but you will need to have some kind of scrub brush on hand when you wash it after use (an old toothbrush works great) and it can be hard to tell if you’ve actually cleaned it thoroughly or not.
  • Speaking of the toy’s mouth, it’s not well-shaped for clitoral stimulation (at least for my clit, which I’d say is on the larger end of average but not large-large), so despite what the toy’s manual recommends, I haven’t been able to get myself turned on for an OG session by first using it on my clit. It just doesn’t form a seal the way normal clitoral Womanizers do for me, so the stimulation is almost imperceptible.
  • The name is bad. “Womanizer” in itself is still a pretty shitty brand name, and “OG” (presumably a reference to “original gangster,” yikes) doesn’t make sense as a name because usually it means that something is “the original,” the first iteration of itself, whereas the OG is a much-evolved pressure-wave toy that bears little resemblance to the first Womanizers. But I’m a pedant, so.

Final thoughts

Don’t get me wrong: I can orgasm easily and consistently with the Womanizer OG, when it’s paired with a clitoral vibe. If you like G-spot vibrators, or have reason to believe you might, then you’d probably like the OG.

The problem is, I just don’t think it feels different enough from any other good-quality G-spot vibrator to warrant its hype and high price tag. Or maybe my G-spot just isn’t sensitive enough to detect a difference – but if that’s the case, I imagine that’s true of most people’s G-spots, since that area isn’t nearly as enervated as the external clitoris to begin with.

As with the Arcwave, I have to commend Womanizer for taking a big risk on a new and innovative way of utilizing pressure-waves, but I’m just not sure it works as well as they hoped. If they choose to make more pressure-wave G-spot toys in the future, I hope they’re able to focus on the pressure-waves themselves, not just vibrations, so that users can actually feel the fancy technology they’re splurging on.

If you want a fantastic Womanizer, get the Premium 2 and put it on your clit. If you want an excellent G-spot vibrator, get a Lelo Mona 2. If you want to feel pressure-waves on your G-spot and have some cash to spend, feel free to give the OG a shot – but I’m hopeful that this isn’t the last we’ll hear about G-spot pressure-waves, and that future iterations will emphasize the pleasures of pressure-waves instead of overpowering them with vibration, rumbly and pleasurable though it may be.

 

Thanks to Womanizer for sending me this toy to try! They didn’t pay me to write this review. As always, all writing and opinions are my own.

I Got a Tattoo of an Iconic Sex Toy!

Kate Sloan

This year, more than any other year of my career so far, my work has focused almost exclusively on sex toys. Whether I was writing for GQ, MEL, SELF, smaller clients, or this blog, most of the articles I’ve cranked out this year have been about vibrators, dildos, butt plugs, cock rings, and the like.

As such, when my nearly-annual craving for a new tattoo hit me, I began to wonder why I hadn’t yet gotten a sex toy tattoo. I think there were a few main reasons for this:

  1. I am always worried about incorporating actual brands or products into my tattoos incase their creators do something egregious in the future. Like, imagine if I got a dildo tattooed on me and then its maker was outed years later as a misogynist, homophobe or transphobe. If you think that sounds unlikely, that’s sadly probably because you haven’t been in this industry for as long as I have. I’ve seen some shit, man. ☹️
  2. Since they’re gonna remain on my skin for the rest of my life, I’ve been relatively careful about only getting tattoos that were “appropriate” enough that I wouldn’t be embarrassed if, say, a member of my extended family was to see them on me during a beach day. Sex toy tattoos don’t quite fall into that category, although I’m nowhere near as embarrassed about them now as I would’ve been a few years ago, because of the success I’ve attained writing about them and the internal work I’ve done in therapy on confidence and agency. (And also, I can’t say that I do beach days with my extended family very often.)
  3. I didn’t know which sex toy I wanted to get tattooed on me. Many have been meaningful to me in different ways.

The more that I thought about it, though, the more that the Magic Wand made sense to me as a potential tattoo. It’s a truly iconic sex toy, one that is deeply entangled with the history of sex-positive feminism. From its popularization at Betty Dodson’s Bodysex workshops in the ’70s and beyond, to its prevalence in queer and straight porn alike, to the dramatic takeover of its distribution by Vibratex in 2014-2015 when Hitachi wanted to stop making it, this vibrator has a story that is so much bigger than just the toy itself – which is part of why I felt like it’d still be okay for me to have it on my skin even if its makers fucked up in some major way. (Having interviewed the lovely Shay Martin, owner of Vibratex, though, I doubt that would ever happen.)

So I emailed my go-to tattoo artist, Laura Blaney, who’d previously done the pink bows on the backs of my thighs, the flowers on my right arm, and the pen and pencil on my left arm. I told her I wanted to get the Magic Wand with some flowers I associate with love and joy, roses and daffodils. (Flowers are one of Laura’s specialties as an artist.) We had to put off the appointment for a few months because she was on maternity leave, which just gave me more time to sit with the tattoo idea and decide that I did indeed really want it on me.

Immediately after finishing the final session. And yes, of course I wore underwear that matches the tattoo. Who do you think I am?!

As it turned out, this tattoo is the largest and most involved one I’ve ever gotten. It takes up most of my thigh, but is positioned such that I can easily hide it with a skirt or shorts if need be.

Process shots: stenciled, outlined, and what it looked like at the end of the first session

Because it’s so large, it took two sessions to complete: three and a half hours were spent on outlining all the shapes, doing the daffodils and the shading on the wand, while another five-hour session was devoted to the roses and filling in color on the wand. I had initially wanted the wand itself to be light pink, because I thought white seemed a little boring for my tastes, but in talking to my spouse about it, eventually I decided it made more sense to leave it white; it made it more instantly recognizable as the iconic sex toy that it is, and also contrasted nicely with the brightness of the flowers.

As per always, the tattooing process with Laura was smooth and easy. There were definitely times when it was painful but those were few and far between; for the most part I was able to just breathe through any discomfort and focus on various distractions instead. (I was reading a Nick Drake biography during our first session and Leslie Jamison’s addiction recovery memoir during our second session; the other tattoo artist also put Back to the Future and then Seinfeld on the TV while we were working and those were enjoyable too.)

I’m absolutely in love with this tattoo, as I’ve been enamored with every other tattoo Laura has given me. Her work is just beautiful, and she’s extremely detail-oriented and focused on clients’ comfort.

What it looked like before and after removing the Saniderm (you can see that there’s some dried excess ink under there, which is normal)

She used Saniderm on my freshly-done tattoo, which I’ve had used on me a few other times before; it’s a clear bandage that goes over the tattoo and keeps bacteria out while still letting the skin breathe, so that it’s protected during the first few crucial days of healing. I would highly recommend Saniderm if your artist offers it as an option; it’s always amazing to me how close the tattoo is to looking healed by the time I gently and carefully peel off the bandage with the help of some Dove soap on the third or fourth day after getting inked.

I’m thrilled to have a permanent reminder on my skin of the importance of self-love, self-care and self-pleasure, as well as the history of the sex-positive feminist movement which is so close to my heart (and, now, my junk). Thank you to Laura and also to everyone involved in the Magic Wand’s storied ascent to being one of the most popular and iconic sex toys of all time!

 

Previous posts about my tattoos:

How I Get Through the Winter with Seasonal Depression

Kate Sloan

Here in Toronto, we’ve just turned back our clocks to mark the end of Daylight Savings Time, and if you’re prone to seasonal depression like I am, you might be worried that those low moods are just around the corner (or are already here). I know I always get a little nervous when the time changes, afraid of the possibility of descending into a black cloud of depression as I have during some previous winters.

However, seasonal affective disorder (SAD) is my oldest mental health diagnosis, so I’ve had over 15 years to hone my methods of getting through the most difficult season. Here are some suggestions I have for other folks who struggle with SAD or who just find that their mood tends to dip when it’s cold and gloomy out.

 

Therapy, meds, etc. If these things help you, or if you think they might, now is a great time to make use of them, or to re-commit to them after some time away. I have a trauma therapist who I speak with every 2 weeks and I’ve been on a daily dose of Wellbutrin for a few years, and both of those things have helped my mood and energy levels immeasurably.

Supplements. Vitamin D is the obvious one, to compensate for the lower levels you might be taking in if you’re spending more time indoors. I also take iron pills because I’m anaemic and they help a lot with my energy, and in the past I’ve sometimes found that 5-HTP helped boost my mood. This is also an especially good time to get some bloodwork done so your doctor can determine whether there are other vitamins and nutrients you could use some more of.

Light therapy. One of the treatments that’s been most conclusively proven to help with seasonal depression is the use of a SAD lamp, and it’s also one of the things that’s personally helped me most, in terms of both energy and mood.

The brand I would most recommend for this is Day-Light: they made my first SAD lamp, which my parents bought me in 2006 and which lasted me for over a decade without even needing to replace the bulbs! I used to keep it on my nightstand so I could blast myself in the face with light immediately upon awaking every day, which helped a lot with the extreme morning grogginess I experience in the winter.

Eventually I upgraded to a newer model, the Day-Light Sky Bright (cute name), and I truly love it. Its body and neck are slim enough that it fits in nicely behind my computer monitor and can shine down on me while I’m working at my desk. I also have a small, travel-sized SAD lamp that I use when I’m staying at my partner’s house. Generally the recommended “dosage” is 30-60 minutes of sitting in front of the light (but not looking directly at it) every morning in the winter, but check with your doctor and read the instructions of your particular lamp to see if their recommendations differ from that.

Stay active, physically and socially. Sure, exercise helps with mood and energy, but I also mean stay socially active if you can – go out, see friends or family, attend events you’re excited about, etc. if you feel able to do so. (I know COVID safety protocols make this tricky, but do your best.) Social connection can work wonders for depression, and while it’s easy for a depressed person to fall into a vicious cycle of thinking no one wants to see you and therefore never trying to see anyone, it’s worth making an effort to stay in touch with your loved ones throughout the winter, even if just via phone calls or Zoom chats. I often find that having plans keeps me more physically active as well because I tend to walk to wherever I’m meeting up with my pal(s).

Stay warm. Related to the above point, I’ve found in some previous years that the thought of going out in the cold was so absolutely despair-generating for me that I often couldn’t even face it. What has helped me most with that problem is buying better winter gear, so that even while I’m trudging through snow on a grey day, I feel relatively cozy. Shearling-lined Bean boots, a goose-down coat and a super-warm knit beanie are all must-haves for me in the winter.

Dress bright. While I’m talking about clothes – I’ve had a loud, bright personal style since I was a kid and I think winter is an especially important time for it. I just can’t be sad (or at least, can’t be as sad) when I’m wearing a dress with a wild, colorful print on it, or blue metallic Doc Martens, or hot pink lipstick with teal eyeshadow. A nice thing about doing this is that you’ll brighten up the days of anyone who sees you, too!

Get excited about something. It’s hugely useful for me to have some kind of “project” or “obsession” that propels me through the winter. Sometimes this has been an old TV show I’ve marathon-watched in its entirety over a month or two and then started reading/writing fanfiction for. Sometimes it’s been working my way through several books by a particular great author, like Oliver Sacks or Stephen King. Sometimes it’s been embarking on a creative project like writing a book, learning to paint, or recording an album at home. Whatever you decide to focus on can be helpful because depression so often saps us of our passions, and that phenomenon can be actively fought against by seeking out new passions and committing to them.

Get your sleep schedule in order. Sleep is vital to our overall functioning, and I find this is especially true when I’m already struggling, whether mentally or physically or both. I always wear a great eye mask to block out light when I sleep, and use a white noise app to play soothing, monotonous sounds that drown out the construction noise and cat-yowling that might otherwise awaken me before I want to be awakened. Some people also find it helpful to take melatonin at night and/or to phase out caffeine.

 

Fellow SAD-sufferers, what helps you most with the bleakness of winter?