By Columnist Kim Mi-hee
People Who Live Without Seasons
When you care for someone, the units of time change. The day is no longer divided into spring, summer, autumn and winter, but into 'the next dose,' 'the next appointment,' 'the next bath day.' The seasons pass quietly in between, and one day we open the closet and realize the season has already changed. The chill that settles in a corner of the heart at such moments is not because we have been lazy, but because we have poured our whole heart into another person.
When I was caring for my parents, I too was startled one day to open the window and find the temperature of the air completely different. The world had moved on to the next season without me, and I felt as if I alone had stopped in the same place. That unfamiliar feeling resembled a kind of hurt. Who, I wondered, would look after my season?
That was when I came to understand: welcoming a season is not a grand affair, but simply confirming with the body 'what time of year it is now.' And the sense that does this most quickly and quietly is smell. Even when the eyes are tired and the ears worn out by noise, the nose still picks up the scent of the season.
Scent Brings the Season First
Scent is said to be the sense closest to memory. Everyone has had the experience of catching a smell and having a scene from long ago come back whole. The flowers that bloomed in the yard as a child, the smell rising from the earth after the monsoon, the warm scent from the kitchen on a winter morning. Season by season, these memories of scent are layered within our bodies.
In the daily life of caregiving, these scent memories arrive at unexpected moments. The moment you catch the smell of sunshine while hanging out a parent's bedding, or when the fragrance of fruit someone is carrying drifts past through the smell of disinfectant in a hospital corridor, the heart makes a brief trip elsewhere. That short excursion is in fact a small breathing hole that keeps us going.
That is why, each time the season changes, I switch out one bottle of oil. A scent that feels right for this season, or simply whichever scent my heart is drawn to today, is enough. There is no correct answer as to which scent belongs to which season. What matters is making a small declaration through scent: 'I am welcoming this season now.'
A Small Ritual on the Windowsill
The method I recommend is very simple. In a spot your eyes land on several times a day, such as a windowsill or one side of the dining table, place a single flower or leaf of the current season, and set a bottle of oil beside it. The flower can be one bought at the market or a leaf picked up on a walk. That spot becomes 'a place for me,' a marker for pausing briefly during the day.
In the morning, as you draw the curtains, stand before it, open the bottle and slowly take one breath in. Those few seconds of smelling the scent on a sunlit windowsill make the start of the day a little different. Before plunging into the rush, it is a moment to confirm that 'today, too, I am here within the season.' When you stand before it again in the evening, however the day went, you feel connected to the self you were that morning.
You can do this together with the person you care for. Choosing a flower together, smelling the scent and simply asking, 'Where do you think you've smelled this before?' becomes a time to recall old memories together. It is not about getting the right answer, but about drawing out and sharing each other's memories. In this way, the small ritual on the windowsill opens the season for both of you.
The Seasons of My Body Change, Too
When the season changes, the caregiver's body changes as well. Sometimes the air is dry and the hands crack; sometimes it is humid and even the heart feels damp. We change our parents' bedding and clothes to suit the season, yet we never ask what our own bodies need. Welcoming a scent asks that question on our behalf.
When choosing a scent, take a moment to check in: 'How is my body right now?' After a heavy day, the hand reaches for a scent that feels light and opening; on a day when the mind feels unmoored, it reaches for something low and calming. It is not a fixed prescription, but a matter of following whatever you are drawn to today. That choice itself becomes practice in turning attention back to yourself.
I have made a habit of smelling the scent as I apply a cream mixed with oil to the backs of my hands after washing them. Gently soothing hands roughened by caregiving and welcoming the season are contained in a single motion. Several times a day, each time I wash my hands, this brief moment returns. That alone lets the sense that 'I, too, am being cared for' seep into the body little by little.
Welcoming the Season Is Welcoming Yourself
Welcoming a season is, in the end, a way of standing yourself up again within the flow of time. The days of caregiving can feel like the same day repeated, but marking the seasons with scent gives that repetition its joints. Memories such as 'that was when I set out this scent' or 'that season, this flower was on the windowsill' become warm signposts when you look back on that time later.
The harder the period, the more such signposts are needed. Even after caregiving has ended, smelling the scent of that season brings back not only the hard memories but the small mornings within them, the light on the windowsill, the smells you breathed in together. In this way, scent can help us remember our time a little more tenderly.
Look out the window today. What season is it now? And if there is a scent that feels right for that season, place a small bottle by the window. That is enough. The season has already come to your side, and you are someone who deserves to welcome it.
Today's Heart-Care Practice
★☆☆Right now, today: Stand by the window or the dining table, open the window and slowly breathe in the outside air through your nose three times. Close your eyes and say to yourself, 'What does it smell like right now?' No tools are needed, and if standing is difficult, you can do it seated. Simply smelling the air of the season with intention can help bring the mind back to the here and now.
★★☆One step further: Find a single flower or leaf of the current season, place it in a cup of water, and set a bottle of oil or a sachet in a scent you usually like beside it. When you draw the curtains in the morning and when you turn on the lights in the evening, stand before it, open the lid and take one deep breath. Smelling the same scent in the same spot twice a day can give shape to a scattered day.
★★★When you have time to spare: Sit by the window with the person you care for, take turns smelling the flower and the scent you have prepared, and ask, 'What comes to mind when you smell this?' It is fine if there is no answer, or if the answer is unexpected. Then take a bit of unscented cream and slowly apply it to the backs of each other's hands, gently massaging them. A time of recalling memories together and touching hands can become warm self-care for both of you.
Aroma oils are not medicines; scent can only help soothe the mood and is not a means of treating illness. Do not apply undiluted oil directly to the skin, and those with sensitive respiratory systems, who are pregnant or who have chronic conditions should use only a very small amount of scent and observe the body's response first.
For more heart-care stories, visit the Korea Self-Healing Association.
Kim Mi-hee — aromatherapist, social worker, certified care worker, and hospital companion manager — draws on her own experience caring for aging parents to write practical, useful guidance for caregivers in the same situation. The Korean Today, Nam-Incheon.
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[ Reporter Kim Mi-hee: incheonsouth@thekoreantoday.com ]
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