The Winter solstice is a day many people barely notice, even though it marks a profound turning point in the natural world.
Most people don’t notice the solstice.
They rush straight into the holidays.
Lists, presents, obligations, busyness.
As if moving faster will somehow protect us from the dark.
Here in the Northern Hemisphere, it’s the shortest day and the longest night of the year.
And for some of you reading this in Australia, New Zealand, and the South Pacific, it’s the longest, light-filled day.
Either way, the solstice marks a pause.
A moment when the earth shifts direction.
I've always hated winter and the cold.
I especially detest the dark. I want sunshine and light. And I fully admit that I feel the pull to be busy and to keep doing, doing.
I think we resist winter because it slows us down.
Most of us don’t want to slow down. We want light. Momentum. Forward motion.
Especially women who have spent their lives holding everything together.
But really, dark winter days and the winter solstice are a time to pause and take stock of where we've been and where we're going. It's a time of deep reflection.
The dark isn’t the enemy.
It’s where truth whispers instead of shouts.
So often, self-doubt isn’t about not knowing.
It’s about never getting quiet enough to hear ourselves.
The dark doesn’t demand answers.
It offers listening.
Trees don’t rush through winter.
Seeds and bulbs don’t question their worth because nothing is visible yet.
What if you didn’t have to earn your rest?
What if stopping wasn’t failure, but wisdom?
Yes, it’s the darkest day of the year, the shortest night.
And also the turning point.
The light returns…quietly.
Not all at once.
So subtly, most people don’t even notice.
Just like confidence.
Just like trust.
Just like knowing what comes next.
That invisible beginning is everything.
Over the years, I’ve found my own way to honor the winter solstice.
A simple ritual I share each year with my grandson and granddaughter.
We make wassail...a warm, spiced drink simmered with apples, citrus, cinnamon, and cloves. They love it.
We go on a nature walk and gather berries and pinecones to place on our altar.
We slow everything down.
And at the end of the evening, we turn off all the lights and light candles.
Each candle is for someone we love.
Or something we’re grateful for.
In the quiet, they’re learning something that feels important to me.
That darkness isn’t something to rush through.
And that even the smallest light makes a difference.
No rushing.
Just light in the dark.
If you’d like to read more about this ritual and why the solstice matters so much to me, I’ve written about it here:
Winter Solstice: How to Love the Long Night
Why Winter Solstice Is So Important for Us All
If the holidays feel rushed or overwhelming this year, try this instead.
Take some time today, tonight, to honor this time of darkness
Turn off the lights.
Light a candle.
Name someone you love.
Name something you’re grateful for.
You don’t need to figure anything out tonight.
Let the light come back in its own time.
Wherever you are, whether in darkness or in full light, the invitation is the same: pause, notice, and honor the season you’re in.
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