Embracing the Doldrums: What the Sea Can Teach Us About Life's Seasons of Stagnation

Peter Attridge, Ph.D., LMFT

This blog came to me while I was sitting on the beach on a recent vacation. I was pondering my father’s family history of sailing and what it would have been like before technology. During this reverie, I noticed, and heard, many people rushing to “get in” all the activities they could and some even complaining of “being bored.” 


When the Wind Disappears


Imagine standing on the deck of a sailing ship somewhere in the vast Pacific Ocean. The sails hang limp. The ocean stretches endlessly in every direction. Day after day, the horizon remains unchanged. There is no storm to battle, no destination growing closer, and no sense of progress. Just stillness.


This was the reality faced by the crew of the Bounty in both Mutiny on the Bounty and Men Against the Sea. Long before the famous mutiny became maritime legend, sailors dreaded another enemy entirely: the doldrums. Known formally as the Intertropical Convergence Zone, the doldrums are regions near the equator where prevailing winds often disappear. Before engines and propellers, sailing ships could become trapped for days or even weeks. Food supplies dwindled. Tempers flared. Morale deteriorated. The greatest challenge was not danger. It was stagnation.


As a therapist, I have come to believe that most people fear emotional doldrums in much the same way.


We know how to respond to a crisis. We know how to react when life throws a storm at us. But when life becomes still—when progress slows, motivation fades, prayer feels dry, relationships feel routine, or healing seems to stall—we often become anxious. We assume something must be wrong.


Yet what if the doldrums are not a sign that we have lost our way?


What if they are simply part of the journey?


Why We Resist Seasons of Stagnation


One of the most common concerns I hear from clients is some version of this question:


"Why do I feel stuck?"


Sometimes it comes from someone recovering from anxiety who expected healing to happen faster. Sometimes it comes from a couple who have moved beyond conflict but have not yet rediscovered excitement. Sometimes it comes from a person who has achieved long-sought goals only to find themselves feeling strangely flat afterward.


Modern culture does not prepare us well for these experiences.


We are surrounded by messages that suggest life should always be moving forward. Every app tracks progress. Every self-help guru promises transformation. Every social media feed displays curated moments of success, adventure, and accomplishment. The assumption is clear: movement is good. Stillness is bad. The problem is that neither psychology nor nature works that way.


Growth rarely happens in a straight line.


It moves in rhythms.


There are seasons of rapid development and seasons of consolidation. Seasons of excitement and seasons of apparent inactivity. Periods when the wind fills our sails and periods when we drift.


The mistake many people make is assuming that drifting means failure.


Nature Has Its Own Doldrums


One reason I enjoy spending time outdoors is that nature is remarkably unconcerned with productivity. Trees do not bloom year-round, fields are not harvested every season, and even the ocean itself moves through periods of calm and turbulence. Nature seems entirely comfortable with rhythms that many of us struggle to accept.


Consider winter. If you were to walk through a forest in January, you might conclude that very little is happening. Branches appear lifeless, flowers have disappeared, and wildlife seems scarce. Yet beneath the surface, important work continues. Roots deepen, nutrients are stored, and biological systems quietly prepare for future growth. What appears inactive is actually part of the growth process itself.


Psychologically, human beings are not much different. Many of our most significant transformations happen beneath conscious awareness. Grief slowly integrates itself into our story. New habits become established through repetition. Relationships mature beyond the excitement of novelty into something steadier and deeper. Yet because we cannot see these changes occurring, we often assume that nothing is happening at all.


The sailors trapped in the doldrums faced a similar illusion. Though the ship seemed motionless, ocean currents continued moving beneath them. Forces they could not see were still carrying them forward. The same is often true in our lives. During seasons that feel stagnant, growth may be taking place at levels we cannot yet appreciate as I’ve discussed here.


The Desert Fathers Knew This Problem Well


Long before psychologists studied burnout, motivation, and emotional regulation, the Desert Fathers observed something striking about the human condition. Many of the early Christian monks retreated into the deserts of Egypt seeking deeper communion with God. What they discovered was not constant spiritual exhilaration, but boredom, restlessness, apathy, and dryness.


One of the concepts they frequently wrote about was acedia. Often translated as sloth, the term captures something much deeper than laziness. The Desert Fathers described it as a spiritual listlessness—a temptation to abandon the present moment because it no longer feels rewarding. The monk struggling with acedia became convinced that fulfillment could be found somewhere else: a different monastery, a different routine, a different life. Anywhere but here. Anything but this.


As a therapist, I see modern versions of acedia regularly. We become convinced that a new job will solve our dissatisfaction, a new relationship will cure our loneliness, a new city will eliminate our restlessness, or a new goal will finally bring fulfillment. Sometimes change is necessary. But often the deeper challenge is learning to remain present when life no longer feels exciting.


The Desert Fathers understood that perseverance through spiritual dryness often produced deeper growth than moments of inspiration ever could. They discovered that faith is not sustained by emotional highs alone. In many ways, they learned how to sail through the doldrums and that slowing down is not giving up.


What Happens When We Fight the Doldrums?


One of the paradoxes of life is that our attempts to escape stagnation often make it worse. When people feel emotionally stuck, they frequently respond by increasing activity. They become busier, add new commitments, chase new achievements, and fill every quiet moment with noise. Occasionally this helps. More often, it simply creates exhaustion.


Imagine a sailor trapped in the doldrums furiously flapping the sails by hand. The effort would be enormous, yet the progress would be negligible. Many of us treat ourselves the same way. We believe that if we work harder, think harder, pray harder, or optimize harder, we can somehow force the wind to return.


Sometimes the healthier response is not frantic activity but patient endurance. This can feel deeply uncomfortable, especially for high achievers, problem-solvers, and anyone who has learned to equate productivity with worth. Yet some realities cannot be rushed. Trust develops slowly. Healing develops slowly. Spiritual maturity develops slowly. The wind returns when it returns.


The Difference Between Stuck and Resting


Not every season of stillness is healthy. Sometimes people truly are stuck. They avoid difficult conversations, ignore important decisions, or remain trapped in destructive patterns. That is different from the doldrums.


The key distinction is whether life has stopped moving beneath the surface. A ship trapped in the doldrums is still part of a larger journey. A ship anchored permanently in harbor is not.


This distinction emerges frequently in therapy. Many clients arrive worried because they no longer feel dramatic change occurring in their lives. Yet when we examine things more closely, we often discover meaningful growth. They respond to conflict differently than they did six months ago. Their anxiety no longer dominates every decision. Their marriage is steadier, even if it feels less exciting. Their prayer life may feel quieter, but it has become more authentic.


The changes are subtle, but they are real. The absence of visible progress does not necessarily mean the absence of progress.


Why God Often Works Slowly


One of the quieter themes in Scripture is God's apparent lack of urgency. Abraham waits decades. The Israelites wander for forty years. David spends years fleeing before becoming king. The disciples spend years misunderstanding Jesus before gradually understanding His mission. Even Christ spends most of His earthly life in relative obscurity.


From a human perspective, the pacing often seems inefficient. From God's perspective, formation appears more important than speed.


As therapists, we encounter a similar reality. People rarely heal because they receive one brilliant insight. They heal through repeated experiences of safety, honesty, forgiveness, and connection. Transformation happens through accumulation rather than sudden breakthrough.


The Christian tradition has long understood this truth. Grace often works more like a growing tree than a lightning strike. Trees, inconveniently, grow slowly.


Learning to Read the Currents


The sailors who crossed the world's oceans eventually learned something important. When the wind disappeared, panic was rarely helpful. Observation was.


Experienced sailors learned to study the currents, watch the skies, conserve resources, and prepare for the eventual return of favorable winds. There is wisdom in that approach. When we enter life's doldrums, perhaps the question is not, "How do I escape this immediately?" Perhaps the better question is, "What can this season teach me?"


Such seasons often invite us to notice what busier times obscure. Relationships that need attention become more apparent. Old wounds that require tending can no longer be ignored. Assumptions about success may need reevaluation. Parts of ourselves that have been neglected finally have room to speak.


These questions are rarely exciting. Neither are the doldrums. Yet they often reveal truths that busier seasons conceal.


The Gift Hidden in the Stillness


The irony of the doldrums is that they often become meaningful only in retrospect. Rarely does a sailor trapped in calm waters think, "I will treasure this experience someday." Likewise, few people feel grateful for seasons of stagnation while they are living through them.


Yet many eventually discover that these quieter seasons shaped them in unexpected ways. They learned patience. They discovered resilience. They clarified their priorities. They stopped measuring their worth solely by achievement. They developed a deeper relationship with God, one less dependent upon emotional highs.


The very season they wanted to escape became the season that changed them.


Thoughts from the Couch

One of the privileges of being a therapist is having a front-row seat to people's stories. Over the years, I have watched countless individuals arrive in counseling convinced that they were failing because they felt stuck. They assumed that because they could not see movement, none was occurring.


More often than not, that wasn't true.


What looked like stagnation was frequently a season of integration. What felt like drifting was often preparation. What seemed like the absence of growth was sometimes growth taking place at a depth that could not yet be measured.


At Holy Family Counseling Center, we often accompany people through these quieter stretches of life. Some come because anxiety has subsided but they feel directionless. Others arrive after a major life transition, uncertain what comes next. Couples sometimes discover that the excitement of early romance has given way to something less dramatic but potentially more enduring.


The temptation in these moments is to assume that something is wrong. Sometimes, however, the invitation is not to escape the doldrums but to understand them.


The sailors who crossed the oceans knew that calm seas were not evidence that the voyage had ended. The destination remained, even when the wind disappeared.


Perhaps the same is true for us.


If you find yourself in one of life's doldrums, it may be worth asking not only where the wind has gone, but what the stillness is trying to teach you. Sometimes the most important work of growth happens long before the sails begin to fill again. And sometimes having a companion for that part of the journey can make all the difference.


Learn more about counseling services and resources at Holy Family Counseling Center.

Trudging: The Long, Slow Road of Healing

By Peter Attridge, PhD, LMFT • August 25, 2026
“Uh…trudging. You know, trudging?” If you have seen A Knight’s Tale, you may remember this wonderfully strange scene. William Thatcher comes across Geoffrey Chaucer walking along the road—dirty, disheveled, and apparently having a very bad day. When William asks what he is doing, Chaucer explains that he is “trudging.” He defines it as the slow, weary, depressing, yet determined walk of someone who has nothing left except the impulse to simply soldier on. And if this doesn’t give a good impression of the healing, I don’t know what does. Of course, this is not the inspirational-poster version of healing, or where you wake up one morning, discover that you have finally “done the work,” and suddenly become the emotionally regulated, perfectly self-aware, spiritually mature person you always hoped you would be. In my years of working as a therapist, I have found that real healing is often much less glamorous.Often, healing looks like trudging, slowly putting one foot in front of the other. Then another. And another. Sometimes you make great progress. Sometimes you seem to walk for miles only to discover that you have somehow arrived back at the same place. Sometimes there are beautiful views, sometimes there is rain, and sometimes both at the same time. There are blisters and you seriously question why you thought walking this particular road was a good idea in the first place. Yet you keep going because the horizon is a little closer, things just a smidge brighter. That is the part of healing we do not talk about nearly enough. We Like the Destination More Than the Journey We live in a culture that loves transformation stories. We love before-and-after pictures. We love placing our hand against the camera and pulling it away fully transformed while “Can we skip to the good part?” plays in the background. We love the moment in a movie when the main character finally realizes what has been holding him back, says something profound, and rides triumphantly into the sunset. I’m here to tell you that therapy does not always work that way. Neither does life. You may understand exactly why you react the way you do and still react that way. You may know that your childhood shaped you without knowing how to stop carrying your childhood into every relationship. You may recognize that you need better boundaries and still feel guilty every time you set one. You may forgive someone and still feel hurt. You may know intellectually that you are loved and still struggle to believe it when you are lonely. None of this necessarily means you are failing but it may mean that you are trudging. Healing is rarely a straight line from brokenness to wholeness. It is more like a pilgrimage. And pilgrims, by definition, travel; they make stops, they rest, they get lost, they get sick, and they have to ask for directions. Occasionally they may get waylaid for a long time to build up money, strength, or whatever else is needed to continue the journey. Then they keep going. The Trouble with the Shortcut One of the hardest things about healing is that we want a shortcut, and it makes sense. If something has hurt for ten years, we would prefer not to spend another ten years working through it. If a marriage has developed unhealthy patterns over fifteen years, it would be wonderful if one good conversation could repair everything. If grief has taken up residence in our hearts, we would love to tell it that its lease has expired. But psychological and spiritual growth rarely responds to our preferred timeline. There are reasons for this. Our brains learn through repetition. Relationships develop through repeated interactions. Habits are formed over time. Attachment patterns are not created in a single afternoon, and they generally are not undone in one either. This is one reason therapy can sometimes feel frustrating. A person may say, “I understand this now. Why am I still doing it?” And I tell them that understanding is important, but understanding is not the same thing as transformation. Knowing the road is not the same thing as walking it. And walking it once is not the same thing as learning how to travel it. Sometimes we need to walk the same stretch of road again and again before we begin to recognize the landscape, remember where the pitfalls are, and hopefully learn a better path. There Will Be Stops Every pilgrimage has stops.This matters because we often interpret stopping as failing. Yet, working on ourselves can involve hitting a plateau where we don’t see the effort changing the landscape. But stopping is not necessarily quitting. Sometimes you stop because you are tired, or need to heal a new or remembered injury. Sometimes you stop because you have reached a place where you need to reconsider your direction. There is wisdom in stopping. In therapy, progress sometimes looks like learning to pause before reacting, or noticing an emotion before immediately trying to get rid of it. It may mean taking a breath before sending the text or sitting with discomfort rather than immediately distracting yourself. That pause can feel like doing nothing. Instead, think of it as practice. A person who has spent years responding automatically may discover that there is now a tiny space between feeling something and acting on it. That tiny space can be the beginning of freedom. The pilgrim has stopped. But the pilgrim has not quit. Sometimes You Will Walk Backward Perhaps the most discouraging part of healing is what we call a “setback.”You thought you had moved beyond something and then suddenly you find yourself doing it again. You thought you had learned not to take everything personally. Then somebody sends a three-word text—“We need to talk”—and your nervous system immediately begins preparing for the apocalypse. Welcome to being human! A setback does not erase progress, in fact, sometimes the difference between then and now is not that the old pattern never happens again. The difference is that you recognize it sooner. This means you might recover more quickly, apologize more easily, or ask for help as you need it. Very simply, that is progress. Is it glamorous? No. But eventually you realize the road may look familiar, but you are not the same person walking it. “I Will Make a Way in the Wilderness” There is a beautiful image in the prophet Isaiah: “I am about to do a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it? I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert.” —Isaiah 43:19 I have always liked the fact that God does not promise that there will be no wilderness. However, He does promise to make a way through it. And this distinction is so important. We can assume that healing means God will remove every difficult thing from our lives. If we pray hard enough, understand enough, or finally get our lives organized enough, the wilderness will disappear. Reading Scripture tells a different story; that there is a road through the wilderness. Faith does not necessarily eliminate the hard road but faith can give us the courage to keep walking it. As a Catholic therapist, this is where psychology and faith can sit together quite comfortably. Therapy helps us understand our wounds, relationships, patterns, emotions, and behaviors. Faith reminds us that our wounds are not the entirety of our identity; we are not simply the sum of our trauma, our mistakes, our diagnoses, our family history, our regrets, or our worst moments. There is more to the story and sometimes healing is learning to live from that larger story. Pay Attention to the Small Milestones When people are trudging, they need markers otherwise, the road can feel endless. So pay attention to small changes: maybe you handled a difficult conversation differently, maybe you noticed your anxiety before it became overwhelming, or maybe you recognized that your anger was covering sadness. We tend to measure healing by asking, “Am I completely better?” and that is often the wrong question. A better question is: “Am I different than I was?” And then: “What is different?” Progress becomes easier to see when we stop looking only for dramatic transformation. Pilgrims count milestones and we should too. There is something else worth counting along the way: the days themselves. In an earlier reflection, Teach Us to Number Our Days, I wrote about Psalm 90:12: “Teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom.” The prayer is not simply about counting how many days we have left. It is an invitation to pay attention to the days we actually have. When we are hurting, we can become so focused on the destination that we miss the day we are standing in. We spend so much energy asking, “When will I finally be better?” that we forget to ask, “What is this day asking of me?” Maybe today is a day for courage….rest…or an honest conversation. Not every day has to be a breakthrough. Some days are simply mile markers. And if we learn to number those days—to notice them rather than rush past them—we may discover that healing has been happening in places we were too busy looking for it to see. Learn to Travel Light There is another lesson pilgrims understand: you cannot carry everything. At some point, the backpack becomes too heavy. Healing often involves discovering what we have been carrying that no longer belongs to us: old shame, other people's expectations, the need to be liked by everyone. This list could be endless because we all have our things that we carry, even I do. Sometimes things need to be confronted, forgiven, grieved, or accepted. And some things need to be put down. This does not mean pretending the past did not happen, it means refusing to make the past carry your backpack forever. Healing is not always about becoming someone entirely new. It can be about becoming the person you were created to be underneath everything you have been carrying. Do Not Trudge Alone There is a reason pilgrimage has traditionally been a communal experience. People walk together and share food and stories, they encourage one another, and complain about their feet hurting. They offer direction when others are lost. Healing works better this way too, when we share it with others. A good therapist can walk with you for part of the road. Friends and family can walk with you. A spouse can walk with you. A faith community can walk with you. And every now and then, you need someone who can simply say, “Yes, this is hard. Keep going.” Not every problem needs immediate advice. Sometimes the most healing thing another person can offer is presence. Discovering that you are not the only person who has struggled with this particular stretch of road brings a lot of comfort, and power. What Do You Do When the Road Gets Long? If healing feels like trudging right now, a few simple practices can help. Keep your expectations realistic.
 Healing is not a race. Give yourself permission to grow slowly. Measure progress differently.
 Instead of asking whether the problem has disappeared, ask whether you are responding to it differently. Take the next step.
 You do not need to figure out the next fifty miles. What is the next healthy thing you can do today? Rest without quitting. 
 A Sabbath is not a failure of productivity. Sometimes rest is part of the journey. Notice the scenery. 
 Do not become so focused on reaching the destination that you miss the life happening along the way. Accept help. 
 Therapy, friendship, community, prayer, spiritual direction, medical care, or other forms of support can all be part of the journey. Remember your story is still being written. 
 A difficult chapter is not the same thing as a difficult ending. And perhaps most importantly: Do not confuse slow progress with no progress. The Road of Happy Destiny There is a phrase used in Anonymous groups that I find beautiful: “We will trudge the Road of Happy Destiny.” The phrase comes from the Twelve-Step tradition, where recovery is described not as arriving at some perfect endpoint but as continuing to walk the road of recovery, one day at a time. There is something almost comical about putting the words trudging and happy destiny together. Trudging sounds miserable. Happy destiny sounds like a Disney movie. But when we put them together you get something much closer to real life. The road can be difficult and still be good. You can be frustrated and still be healing. You can even occasionally sit down on the side of the road, question every life decision that brought you there, eat a snack, and eventually get back up….I’ve been there. Perhaps this is part of what we miss when we imagine healing as a destination because healing is not simply the place where we finally arrive. It is the person we become while walking. The patience we develop, the humility we learn, the courage we practice. So if today feels like one of those days when you are not exactly flourishing, thriving, conquering, or becoming your best self, perhaps there is another word for it. Maybe you are trudging and this is okay. Put one foot in front of the other and take the next step. Rest when you need to, let someone walk beside you, and look up occasionally. The road you walked is behind you, and when you take the time to see where you came from, things can look a lot better. And trust that the road does not have to be easy to be meaningful. The wilderness can still contain a path. The person who keeps walking, even slowly, even imperfectly, even with a few complaints along the way, may discover that trudging was not merely a sign that life was difficult. It was evidence that they had not given up. That is the strange gift of the long road that we are, perhaps, trudging towards a happy destiny. Thoughts from the Couch From the couch, I have come to appreciate just how rarely healing looks the way we imagine it will. We tend to think healing means arriving somewhere: I used to struggle with this, but now I don't. And while those moments certainly happen, much of the work is quieter. It is learning to recognize an old pattern a little sooner. It is responding differently the next time. It is becoming more comfortable with discomfort. It is realizing that the thing that once knocked you flat now only makes you stumble. That may not feel particularly impressive. But it is. I sometimes tell clients that therapy is less like taking an elevator and more like walking a trail. Unfortunately, there is no express elevator to emotional health. There are switchbacks, rest stops, wrong turns, steep inclines, and occasionally a spectacular view that makes you realize why you started walking in the first place. Also, there is often mud. Lots of mud. The goal isn't to avoid every difficult part of the journey. The goal is to become someone who can walk through those difficult places with greater wisdom, resilience, connection, and hope. That is one of the reasons I appreciate the image of pilgrimage. A pilgrim doesn't expect the road to be easy. The pilgrim understands that the road itself is part of the journey. If you find yourself trudging right now, you don't necessarily need to have the entire road figured out. You may simply need to determine the next step. Next steps look like having hard conversations, creating boundaries, forgiving those that have harmed us, and sometimes it is making an appointment with a therapist and admitting, “I'm tired of walking this part of the road by myself.” At Holy Family Counseling Center, we believe therapy is not about fixing people who are broken. It is about accompanying people as they grow, heal, and become more fully themselves. For those who want it, faith can be part of that journey as well—not as a substitute for sound psychological care, but as another source of meaning, hope, and perspective. You don't have to know exactly where the road ends. You just have to be willing to take the next step. And if the next step feels more like a trudge than a triumphant march, that's okay. Most worthwhile journeys probably do.

Cultivating a Healthy Marriage in the Busyness of Life

By Peter Attridge, Ph.D., LMFT • July 30, 2026
Discover how to stay connected, intentional, and emotionally close in marriage despite busy schedules. Practical wisdom with gentle faith-based insight.

Working In Your Life vs. Working On Your Life: The Secret to Lasting Mental and Spiritual Growth

By Peter Attridge, Ph.D., LMFT • July 17, 2026
Learn the difference between working in your life and working on your life. Discover how balancing daily habits with long-term reflection can improve your mental health, relationships, and spiritual life.