Replenishment: What Moisturizes Your Soul?

“Leaders who do not find ways to replenish themselves and their people will inevitably create cultures of depletion.” - Margaret J. Wheatley, EdD, author

Winter has a way of revealing what has quietly been depleted. Skin dries out. Lips crack. Hands ache. The environment pulls moisture from us faster than we realize. And while the physical effects are obvious, winter can also expose a more subtle dryness – an emotional and relational one. Replenishment, it turns out, is not just a seasonal skincare issue; it’s a human one.

I’m not proud of this, but I have historically neglected my dry winter skin. This year, however, I’ve been far more intentional about using moisturizer; not as a luxury, but as a necessity. A daily, almost ritualized act of restoring what this season relentlessly strips away.  In doing so, I noted something unexpected. This simple practice sharpened my awareness. I began to see how replenishment works more broadly: Certain rhythms steadied me. Certain interactions softened me. Others, just as clearly, left me more parched.

Even in the best of circumstances, we clinicians are vulnerable to such cumulative depletion. Like winter itself, our work continually makes withdrawals of our emotional and physical reserves, and in more demanding environments, this only intensifies. While improving our work conditions is certainly important, research and experience alike suggest that restoration depends on something more proximal: intentional self-care paired with meaningful social connection. Practices that support basic wellbeing help, but they are strengthened and reinforced when they are woven into relationship. In other words, replenishment is not a solitary act. It is amplified when personal care and human connection work together.

This is where the idea becomes lived rather than theoretical. Just as daily moisturizer has changed the condition of my skin, I’ve noticed that certain colleagues, through their presence alone, change the condition of my inner world. With them, conversations slow. Defenses soften. Laughter comes more easily. Time together doesn’t eliminate the demands of the work, but it changes how I return to it; less brittle, more grounded, more able to respond rather than brace. I still need to attend to my own care, but their encouragement and shared accountability make that care easier to sustain. They help create the space where restoration actually takes hold.

As we continue to navigate winter challenges, consider two questions. First: What replenishes you? What practices, rhythms, or moments restore what your work inevitably draws from you? Second: Who replenishes you? Whose presence moisturizes your soul simply by being who they are? And perhaps just as importantly; how might you be that presence for someone else? Replenishment is not indulgence; it’s essential maintenance. And in a season that dries us out, choosing to restore ourselves and one another may be one of the most generous acts we can offer.