Living in a beautiful place doesn’t erase difficulties

Published 1:30 am Friday, February 20, 2026

February on Bainbridge Island has a particular kind of quiet. The holidays are long past, the days are still short, and the gray can feel even more persistent. Even those who usually welcome winter may notice their energy thinning, their patience wearing down, or a low-grade heaviness settling in.

And yet, in a place as beautiful as this one, it can feel oddly difficult to admit when you’re struggling.

There’s an unspoken belief that living somewhere scenic should act as a buffer against emotional difficulty. The trees, the water, the trails — surely they should be enough. When they aren’t, people often turn the discomfort inward. What’s wrong with me? Why am I not appreciating this more?

But beauty, while nourishing, doesn’t cancel out the full range of human experience. It doesn’t prevent anxiety, grief, loneliness, or exhaustion. And it doesn’t make us immune to the cumulative stress of living in a demanding world.

In fact, there can be a particular pressure that comes with living in a “nice place.” Many people here are capable, thoughtful, and deeply invested in their families and communities. They show up. They volunteer. They manage busy lives with quiet competence. Struggle, when it appears, tends to be subtle — more a sense of depletion than a visible breakdown.

That subtlety can make it harder to recognize when something isn’t quite right.

It’s common for people to say they’re fine, even as they talk about constant fatigue, difficulty enjoying things they used to love, or a sense of emotional flatness. They’re functioning. They’re meeting expectations. But they’re doing it on fumes.

February has a way of revealing this gap. After months of darkness and damp, the nervous system can feel worn down. Motivation dips. Small tasks feel heavier. Social energy shrinks. None of this means something is wrong with you — it means you’re human, living in a body that responds to seasons, stress, and cumulative effort.

When you’re surrounded by beauty, it’s sometimes easy to assume others are doing better than you are. A walk along the water can feel grounding, or it can quietly amplify the sense that you should be happier than you feel. Social media adds to this, offering curated moments of gratitude and contentment that rarely show the full picture.

But many people are carrying more than they let on. The struggles just tend to be quieter here.

One small shift that can help is moving away from asking, “Shouldn’t I feel better than this?” and toward, “How am I actually feeling right now?” That question invites curiosity rather than judgment. It allows for the possibility that rest, connection, or support might be reasonable needs, not personal failures.

This doesn’t require dramatic changes or sweeping resolutions. Sometimes it looks like letting yourself go home early, saying no without an elaborate explanation, or admitting — at least to yourself — that something feels heavy. Sometimes it means allowing the beauty around you to coexist with difficulty, rather than expecting it to erase it.

Mental health isn’t measured by how grateful we appear or how functional we are. It’s reflected in how much room we allow ourselves to be honest about our inner experience, especially when it doesn’t match the postcard version of our surroundings.

February won’t last forever. The light will return, slowly but surely. But even as it does, it’s okay to acknowledge that living in a beautiful place doesn’t make you immune to difficulty. It simply means you’re having a human experience in a lovely setting.

Mara Applebaum, PhD, LMHC, is a psychotherapist in private practice on Bainbridge Island. For more information, see her website at www.pacificnwpsychotherapy.com.