In the soupiest, filthiest weeks of August in New York City, I notice a shift in energy. Languor gives way to a sort of feverish sociability – everyone wants to go to the beach, have drinks on a roof, go on a date, squeeze in a weekend away. There’s a panicked sense of scarcity, of back-to-school gloom.

We cling to the idea of summer as it slithers through our fingers because it is special. I love the outdoors-ness of the season and being bombarded by the lives of others as we relish whatever outside space we can get. It’s a time for feeling connected to people, to nature, to the sun – for texting a friend “I’m here – join!” We’re looser, freer, more feral. Caleb Azumah Nelson describes the blooming of a romance in his novel Small Worlds thus: “Because it’s summer and everything is possible …” Summer is hopeful. It’s fun.

I’ve always had a physical aversion to the end of August; its ripeness disgusts me like the rotting fruit speckling the ground. But when I moved to the USA, nothing prepared me for the desolation of Labor Day: a formal end to summer with a spitefully early September date, weeks (sometimes months!) before the sun runs out.

My end-of-summer sadness is worse than ever. Am I just making it up?

Is end-of-summer sadness a real thing?

“August mental health surges are very much a real thing,” Dr David Rosmarin, an associate professor at Harvard Medical School and founder of the Center for Anxiety, assures me. That spike as summer transitions into autumn is known by psychologists as fall anxiety, or back-to-school anxiety.

The main cause of anxiety, Rosmarin explains, is the “delta between expectations and reality”. When a crack widens between the two, “that’s perceived as, ‘oh shit, something’s wrong with me. I shouldn’t be feeling this way.’”

There are physiological reasons for summer anxiety spikes too, says Rosmarin. The hot weather makes it “harder to process, harder to think”, he says. “Some of the physical symptoms of anxiety can mimic that: unexplained sweating, it can be more difficult to breathe.” People’s routines are thrown off, and sleep worsens, both of which can lead to anxiety.

There’s also pressure to make the most of the season and potential for self-blame if you think you haven’t. More than 40% of US workers don’t take time off, which can be a source of regret. “Americans are so hard on themselves and so hyper-critical and hyper-focused on ‘what I should have done, could have done’,” Rosmarin says.

Our expectations of the season can be high. “Summer is what we’ve been waiting for all year,” says Julia Carmel, a culture reporter who wrote the New York Times’s “Summer in the City” newsletter for two years. “People just latch on to really interesting fun fantasies” about how to differentiate it from “normal day-to-day life”, they say.

What can you do about end-of-summer sadness?

The easiest way to banish end-of-summer sadness might be to look forward to autumn. Back-to-school nerves can also be a source of motivation, which is why September often feels like the start of a new year. People return to fitness classes, take up hobbies and refocus at work.

There’s also plenty of fun to be had in autumn. Colin Nissan, a humorist whose essay – and now book – It’s Decorative Gourd Season, Motherfuckers makes social media rounds each September, says he “feels more alive in the fall”. He rushes to apple picking and corn mazes the same way I’ll drop anything to get to the beach in summer. Autumn is cosy, he says, with its amber colours, sweaters and yes, gourds. His advice to melancholic summer lovers like me: embrace autumn. “Fall has a lot to offer. People might write it off as a transitional holiday … I would recommend really treating fall like its own, giving it the respect that it’s due.”

To manage end-of-summer anxiety, Rosmarin recommends four steps. The first is to identify what you’re afraid of. “Is it that you lost out on summer? Are you afraid of the fall that’s going to come? Is there a specific issue, like the election?” he says.

The second step is to share your feelings – be it with a therapist, a friend or a family member. They might say they feel the same way, making you feel less isolated. The third step is to embrace these feelings. “You’re gonna feel anxious. Everyone does,” says Rosmarin. “Anxiety gets worse when you suppress it, and better when you accept it.”

The fourth is the hardest step: let go of control. All four steps together, he adds, “turn anxiety into a catalyst for core growth across various domains of life”.

But … I just really miss summer. What do I do?

For me, Rosmarin’s four steps would feel simplest in the summer. It’s easy to let go of control because when it’s glorious outside, things matter less; it’s easy to feel present and embodied when the sun bears down on your limbs. Rosmarin suggests I’m afraid of losing all this lightness and connection. “The answer is, you might,” he says. “Can we let go of that need for that, and then come back to it next March?”

We can also make these last precious weeks count. Carmel recommends making a short, manageable list: “The thing that’s so paralysing is when you have so much that you want to do.” A list could be as simple as: go for a swim, try out that new food place, spend a day in the park with a friend.

“Really, what makes a good time?” they say. “Doing something you love with someone you love, which is the most basic concept in the world. You can do that anywhere. You could sit on your couch for a week with your best friend and that’s a good summer.”

It’s true that some of the things we love about summer are available to us all year around; in a way it’s odd to value them more just because the days are warmer. And as for the things that truly are more fun when it is sunny, there’s always next year.