I Really Don’t Like Summer, and That’s Okay

There. I’ve said it: I don’t like summer. This one has been outrageously long and hot, I’ve had enough, and apparently there are more heatwaves to come in September. Revolting.

I wrote about this last year, then deleted the post almost immediately because I worried people would think I was ‘weird’ or ‘over-sensitive’. I’m returning to it now because the older I get, the less I’m being governed by what other people might think.

I think I’ve spent a lot of my life believing I should like summer. Everyone else seems to and will look at me like I’ve got three heads if I say I don’t like it. Sunshine is supposed to make us happy, warm evenings are for going out and long days are for making the most of them. Summer means barbecues, parties, festivals and concerts, and if you don’t particularly want any of that, well… what’s wrong with you?!

When summer feels like too much

I don’t dislike every part of summer. Warm days can be lovely when they aren’t unbearably hot, particularly if I’m somewhere near water, there aren’t too many people around and I can retreat somewhere cool afterwards, and it stays cool overnight. It’s everything that seems to come with summer that I find difficult: the heat and brightness, crowds and traffic, open windows and noisy neighbours, changes to routines and the sense that everywhere has suddenly become frantic. I’d much rather enjoy the beach in autumn and winter.

As someone who is very introverted and experiences things intensely, summer can sometimes feel frazzling and oppressive rather than joyful. Running is also one of the main ways I look after my mental health, and hot weather can make it harder or impossible to run at the time I normally would. Hot nights disturb my sleep and, when I’m too hot and tired, I generally can’t think straight.

I don’t particularly enjoy having to wear fewer clothes either. I like jumpers and coats and boots. I don’t necessarily want more of my body on display because it happens to be 25 degrees, particularly when some people seem to think it gives them permissions to make comment on bodies that they would be better off keeping to themselves.

So there are plenty of practical reasons why summer doesn’t suit me, but I think there is something deeper going on too.

Summer and the feeling of being judged

Summer brings back shudders of sports days, fetes, exams and speech days: all those occasions where I felt watched, judged and expected to perform in a particular way. There was a constant sense that I needed to live up to expectations I was never quite going to or wanting to meet.

When I expressed discomfort or struggled with things that seemed easy for everyone else, I was often met with some version of Stop making a fuss and just get on with it. So I tried to, and I think I learnt to mistrust my own experience. Perhaps that is partly why summer can still bring up that old feeling of everyone else seems to be coping with this, so why can't I?

The interesting thing is that I’ve started noticing more people talking openly about finding summer difficult. I’ve even discovered lots of like-minded autumn-loving souls popping up on Instagram. It turns out I may not be quite as weird as I thought. Who knew?!

Where am I supposed to hibernate?

One of the things I find particularly strange about summer is that there doesn’t seem to be the same socially acceptable way to retreat. If it’s cold and dark, nobody thinks twice about staying home, having a hot bath, putting your pyjamas on at six o’clock and settling down with soup and a book/netflix. But in summer, staying home can feel like you’re somehow wasting the day, you’re supposed to be out.

This year, I’ve realised I still haven’t listened carefully enough to what I actually need. I’ve done more socialising than I wanted to, probably because of that old conditioning: It’s summer. I should get out. I should do things. I should see people. I should make the most of it.

But a need doesn’t become less valid because it is inconvenient, or because somebody else doesn’t have the same need. So I’m making some changes, I’m going to have a quieter autumn and winter, and I’m already cancelling things in the diary. I’m looking forward to a much less crowded social calendar, particularly over Christmas, and I’m giving myself permission to say no when I don’t have the energy or inclination to go out or when people want to come over. Not because I’m avoiding life, but because I’m actually listening to myself. Although I need to make sure I get the balance right here, connection with others is important too.

Maybe I don't need to fix it

This year I had an air-source heat pump fitted, which provides cooling in summer as well as heating in winter. It may be one of the best things I have ever spent money on. I am perfectly happy sitting in my lovely cool house while the world outside melts.

And next summer, I’m going to do more of that kind of thing: organise my life around what actually works for me rather than what I think I should be able to tolerate. If I don’t want to go out, I don’t have to. If I need a quiet evening, I’ll have one. If I want to exercise much earlier or later because it’s cooler, I’ll do that. I’ll pay attention to hydration, electrolytes, rest and what my body needs rather than deciding I ought to cope better because other people seem to.

The therapeutic theme underneath all of this is….

The pressure to enjoy what everyone else appears to enjoy can make us mistrust our own experience.

Sometimes we don’t need to challenge the experience; sometimes we need to listen to it. Maybe I don’t need to turn every preference into a problem that needs fixing. Maybe I’m simply someone who likes quiet, cool, predictable environments. Maybe I really don’t like summer. And maybe that’s okay.

Bring on autumn

Because I absolutely love autumn. I love the first cool morning after months of heat, pulling on a jumper, darker evenings, crumbles, stews and soups, frosty morning runs, conkers, pumpkins and cinnamon. Lots and lots of cinnamon. And blackberries. Tons of blackberries. Every blackberry I spot at the moment makes me ridiculously happy because it means autumn is on its way.

Some people come alive when the sun comes out and I can accept that I come back to myself when the air turns cooler and the days get shorter. I could do without the spiders, obviously. And while we’re on the subject of things I don’t like that baffles people, I don’t like daffodils either. They’re gaudy and trumpety and show offy to me, and worst of all they mean summer is on the way.

I also absolutely cannot stand the song Come On Eileen, for so many reasons and on so many levels. Another thing that has people scratching their heads! I’m embracing it. I could go on but I better stop there.

If you recognise yourself in any of this, perhaps the question you could ask yourself is “What would it look like to listen to myself more carefully?”

Therapy can offer a space to explore the expectations we’ve absorbed, understand what overwhelms us and become more trusting of our own experience. You don’t necessarily need to become better at tolerating everything; sometimes you need to become better at hearing yourself and recognising that your needs and preferences are allowed to be different from those around you.

If you would like to explore this in therapy, I work with people who feel overwhelmed by expectations, sensory demands or the pressure to cope in ways that do not feel right for them. If that sounds familiar, please get in touch to arrange an initial conversation.