It’s OK to reach out for help during the February slump

February has a quiet way of exposing what the holidays can hide.

In December, people check in. They send the “thinking of you” texts. They ask how you’re holding up. Even the people who don’t know what to say still make an effort to say something, because the season almost gives them permission to be tender.

Then the calendar flips. The lights come down. January rushes in with “fresh start” energy, and by February, the world is back to its regular speed. The check-ins taper off. The invitations slow. The attention fades.

That’s the February slump nobody warns you about. Not the dramatic kind of loneliness, but the slow realization that support can be seasonal. You’re still carrying the same symptoms, the same appointments, the same invisible cognitive load, but fewer people are reaching toward you.

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For those of us living with Huntington’s disease (HD), that shift can land hard. HD doesn’t operate on a calendar. If anything, February can magnify what was already there, because the distractions are gone. The adrenaline of the holidays has passed. The structure is different. People are back to work, back to routines, back to a pace that assumes everyone can “get back to normal.”

But HD doesn’t offer a “back to normal.”

Winter itself adds layers. Cold makes movement feel more effortful. Darkness comes earlier and stays longer. Simple errands turn into strategy. The little things that other people brush off can cost more energy than anyone realizes. And that’s when shame tends to show up.

Shame says you’re too much. Shame says you’re needy. Shame says you should handle it quietly.

I know that voice. I’ve heard it when I’ve stared at my phone, wanting to text someone, but hesitating because I don’t want to be a burden. I’ve felt it when I’ve needed help with something that looks small on the outside but drains me. I’ve felt it when I’ve wanted to say, “I’m not OK,” but worried that honesty would make people uncomfortable.

There’s a cultural script that says support belongs to certain seasons. Holidays. Crises. Big moments. The months in between are supposed to be “fine.” But HD doesn’t follow that script.

Asking for support

One of the most important shifts I’ve made is reframing what it means to ask for support. It isn’t begging or complaining. It isn’t proof that I’m weak. Rather, it’s communication and self-respect.

The people who love me cannot read my mind. Even the most caring people can get distracted or unsure. Some don’t check in because they think they’re being considerate, as if not mentioning HD makes it disappear. Some assume I’m busy. Some feel helpless. Some don’t know how to hold space without trying to fix.

If I wait for perfect understanding, I will be waiting forever.

So I practice asking plainly. Not with a long explanation. Not with a dramatic buildup. Not with an apology. Just a clear request.

Sometimes it’s as simple as “Can you check in on me this week? February has been heavier than I expected.”

Sometimes it’s “Do you have time for a quick call? I could use a familiar voice.”

Sometimes it’s “Can you come with me to an appointment? I feel less anxious when I’m not doing it alone.”

I’ve also learned to stop insulting my own needs. I don’t soften requests with “I’m sorry” or “I hate to ask” or “It’s probably stupid.” The moment I minimize my request, I teach others to do the same.

And I remind myself that support doesn’t have to be grand to matter. What I need most is consistency, not intensity. One steady text a week. A standing phone call. A monthly coffee date that doesn’t disappear when life gets busy. The kind of support that quietly says, “I’m still here,” even when the holiday glow is gone.

There’s another hard truth February has taught me: Not everyone is capable of being steady. Some people are seasonal supporters. They mean well, but they aren’t built for the long haul. That can hurt, but it’s also information. It helps me stop chasing care from people who can’t offer it and invest more in relationships that feel safe, mutual, and real.

The February slump isn’t only about loneliness. It’s about visibility. It’s about what it feels like to be remembered when the world isn’t naturally looking your way.

If you’re feeling it, I want you to know there’s nothing wrong with you. You’re not too sensitive. You’re not ungrateful. You’re noticing something real: Chronic illness can make the quiet months feel louder.

This is your permission to ask for what you need without shame. To send the text. To name the heaviness. To let someone in.

Support shouldn’t only arrive when the world is feeling generous.

You deserve care in February, too.

Note: Huntington’s Disease News is strictly a news and information website about the disease. It does not provide medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. This content is not intended to be a substitute for professional medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. Always seek the advice of your physician or other qualified health provider with any questions you may have regarding a medical condition. Never disregard professional medical advice or delay in seeking it because of something you have read on this website. The opinions expressed in this column are not those of Huntington’s Disease News or its parent company, Bionews, and are intended to spark discussion about issues pertaining to Huntington’s disease.