Shadow & Light

The beginning of the year is often associated with new goals, plans, and movement following the indulgence of the holidays. We live in a culture obsessed with motion and perceived progress. While the motivation to grow is a beautiful thing, why do we so often find ourselves spinning our wheels or losing steam in pursuit of our visions? I would venture to say this happens—both individually and collectively—because we don’t spend enough time in the darkness, the bareness, the root-deepening energy of winter’s magic.

We recently moved through the winter solstice (December 21st in the northern hemisphere), marking the passage of the darkest day of the year. Nature’s cyclical rhythms remind us that we, too, are designed to move through periods of shadow—times when our vision is obscured and our sense of security is tested. This darkness is reciprocal to the light we can experience, absorb, and radiate into the world.

Shadow material—the unconscious, unacknowledged, and unrealized aspects of ourselves—is treacherous territory. The impulse to avoid looking at the roots of our pain, shame, guilt, and fears is understandable. When wounds run deep, we must prepare with tools and support to navigate the inevitable disruption, suffering, and eventual integration. Yet, to avoid the shadow for too long is to risk a deeper and more frustrating pain: the pain of restricted growth. As Carl Jung observed: “Until you make the unconscious conscious, it will direct your life, and you will call it fate.”

The unseen, untended parts of ourselves in search of love and recognition often run our lives. Left in the darkness, they sap our energy and hinder our ability to sustain efforts toward meaningful change. Eventually, we have no choice but to open the door—and now is such a time. We are living through a profound shift in consciousness on our planet. Across the world, we witness violence—sometimes unfathomable violence—evidence of our deepest fears emerging from the shadows. It’s enough to make anyone want to bury their head in the sand.

Yet nature reminds us again and again that shadow and light are inextricably linked. The depth of our shadow—individually and collectively—is a testament to our strength, our power, and our light. Sitting in the dark with the unknown and the painful is exceptionally hard work, especially in a world that pushes us to keep moving. But I have faith in our courage, resilience, and capacity to help one another. I trust the natural cycles of the earth, the cosmos, and the wisdom carried through our storied generations.

As we move deeper into the belly of winter, I encourage us not just to look, but to truly see what’s ready to emerge from the depths—within our hearts and in the world. Let us breathe, steady ourselves, and prepare to love the parts of us that hurt. Let us clear the soil for the seeds of our own inexorable light.