Welcome to the darkest day of the year, grief warriors. And no, I'm not talking about the day you got "the call" – I'm talking about the winter solstice. December 21st. The shortest day, the longest night, and surprisingly, a powerful moment of hope in the darkness.
The Yule Log: Not Just a Netflix Screensaver
Let's talk about the Yule log tradition for a second. Picture this: people gather around a massive log that's supposed to burn through the entire longest night. Not because they couldn't afford smaller logs (I mean, who knows, maybe), but because they needed that continuous light and warmth to make it through the darkness.
If that's not the perfect metaphor for grief support, I don't know what is. Sometimes we need that constant flame – whether it's a friend who texts every day, a support group that meets weekly, or my therapist Greta Grace's voice in your head saying "feelings are information." Thanks for that wisdom, Greta.
These days, most of us aren't burning actual logs in our actual fireplaces (apartment living, am I right?), but we're still looking for that steady source of light and warmth to get us through our darkest nights. That's what community is. That's what support is. That's what we're building here.
Dancing with Darkness (Like, Literally)
Here's what gets me about the winter solstice: it's a holiday that straight-up looks darkness in the face and says "Cool story bro, but the light's coming back." Not next year, not when we're "ready," but literally tomorrow. Each day after the solstice brings a few more minutes of light. It's like the universe's way of saying "Plot twist: the darkness isn't permanent."
Sound familiar? Yeah, thought so.
Why The Longest Night Hits Different When You're Grieving
For those of us in the grief club, darkness isn't just a metaphor – it's that 3 AM spiral when sleep won't come, that moment when your Instagram feed is too bright and shiny to handle, that feeling when getting out of bed feels like bench pressing an elephant.
But here's the thing about the winter solstice: it reminds us that darkness isn't a permanent address. It's just where we're crashing for a while.
Your Survival Guide to the Darkest Day
1. Embrace Your Inner Cave Dweller
The winter solstice is literally designed for hibernating. So if your grief has you wanting to burrow under blankets and hide from the world? Congrats, you're accidentally traditional. Work with it.
2. Light All The Things
Candles, twinkle lights, that questionable lamp from your college dorm, even a UV light bulb for some artificial sunshine – whatever. Creating light in darkness isn't just symbolic, it's straight-up rebellion against the void. And we're all about that rebellious healing life.
3. Get Your Cozy On
Self-care isn't selfish, it's survival. Break out the fuzzy socks. Make the hot chocolate. Add marshmallows. Add Bailey's. I'm not judging. You're not judging. We're all just trying to make it through the longest night.
4. Honor The Darkness
Yeah, I know, sounds counterintuitive. But hear me out: the solstice teaches us that darkness isn't the enemy – it's just part of the cycle. Same goes for grief. Fighting it just exhausts us. Sometimes we need to sit in the dark to appreciate the light.
Plot Twist: The Light Returns
Here's the mind-blowing thing about the winter solstice: the moment of greatest darkness is actually the moment everything starts turning around. Not with a bang, not with fireworks, but slowly, steadily, a few minutes at a time.
Sound familiar? Yeah, that's grief healing too. Not in some dramatic "and then I was HEALED!" moment, but in tiny increments. A laugh here. A memory that brings joy instead of pain there. A moment when you realize you've gone an hour without that elephant sitting on your chest.
Your Permission Slip for the Solstice
So here's your official permission slip for the darkest day:
- You can celebrate the return of the light while still sitting in the dark
- You can believe in healing while still honoring your pain
- You can be both broken and healing at the same time
- You can deck the halls AND ugly cry in them
The Light's Coming Back (Whether We're Ready or Not)
Tomorrow will be different. Maybe not dramatically. Maybe not even noticeably. But it will be different. The light will last a tiny bit longer. And the next day, a bit more.
That's how healing works too. Not in giant leaps, but in microseconds of light. In moments when the darkness feels a little less heavy. In days when we notice the sun's been up a bit longer and somehow, we're still here.
So on this longest night, my fellow grief warriors, know this: you're not alone in the dark. We're all here, stumbling around, bumping into furniture, occasionally cursing the void. But we're doing it together. And tomorrow? Tomorrow brings more light.
Whether we're ready for it or not.
Join Us in Blooming Together
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With love, hot chocolate, and a flashlight,
Aleksei and the team at Mourning Glory Club, a registered 501(c)3
P.S. If anyone needs me, I'll be wrapped in every blanket I own, surrounded by questionably scented candles, waiting for the sun to make its comeback tour. Because that's how we roll in the grief club – finding light in the darkness, one messy minute at a time. ✨
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