I love autumn.

I am a self-proclaimed basic white girl when it comes to the fall—except I'm not a good baker, I've never tasted a pumpkin-spice anything, and I don't own Uggs. BUT, I do love blanket scarves, apples, the wet, rusty smell of fallen leaves, knit sweaters and the overall lack of butt sweat that fall brings. And the scary/exciting unknown of a new season.

Please don't misunderstand—I love summer. I especially love how it comes after a frigid winter and a soaking spring, bringing with it the optimism and vitamin D that we so sorely lack in the cold and rainy months. It's just that summer can seem so full. Full of promise but also full of expectation. Summer is not known for its balance—it's known for its experiences. Summer is for doing things, not feeling things.

Which, as you can imagine, is both a blessing and curse for a lost, confused soul such as myself. On the one hand, I didn't have much time to think about my struggles. I didn't have to spend time on my therapist's couch because I didn't have time. On the other hand, I didn't have time to think about my struggles or spend time on my therapist's couch. Double-edged sword.

So even though I actually had a lovely summer, one of the better ones I've had in a while, I didn't really improve myself in any tangible way. Which isn't a problem when you are in the midst of summer bliss and only becomes a problem when you are not. All those same issues still exist and there isn't as much daylight or day drinking to take the edge off of them as there was before. And that can colour the view of the summer you had.

Yes, I loved drinking with my friends by the lake—but I didn't make as many healthy choices as I wished I had.

Yes, I loved reading my book in the sunshine—but I didn't get to put any of my new learnings into practice.

Yes, I loved the hustle and bustle of endless weekend plans—but I didn't get to organize and decorate they way I had planned to.

And yes, I loved that I could ignore my problems for months on end—but I'm no better off than I was five months ago. And that is what chills me. Not the crisp, autumn breeze, but the fact that I am exactly in the same spot. I haven't grown. I haven't taken a step forward. I haven't tried to figure out what I want past what patio I want to get drinks at.

So as much as summer is a respite from the doom and gloom of darker months, it is also a contributor. It's the flashy performer keeping you enticed and entertained while his buddy picks your pockets. But in this case, it's your soul pockets.

And, I mean, all of this is to say that I'm glad fall has rolled around. No, I don't enjoy that it gets darker earlier, and yes, I know what comes after fall, but I'm still happy it's here. I'm happy because I can start to change those unhealthy habits, and I can reread those books, and I can spend time at home organizing my pantry. And, perhaps more importantly, I can spend time dealing with those issues that I put on the back-burner in favour of a great summer.

I hope my therapist's schedule is pretty open. Hah.