Exploring the Dark

A reflection on my shadow side for Lent

Lent has always been a tender time for me. A time of darkness which gently fades to the dimness of outlines and shadows, until Easter morning blooms saturated with light. We’re meant to experience darkness for that is where great growth forms. Plants slumber silently for months, developing a complex root system to support their upward climb. Reaching for the light requires time spent in the dark. Babies are knit and developed in the warm, dark embrace of their mother’s womb. Their precious eyes and skin not yet ready for the bright outer world. Lent follows this pattern too; we must spend time in the depth of the dark before we can emerge with Christ into the light. But this darkness doesn’t have to frighten us.

I have always held parts myself at arm’s length. Facets that, in the past, I would qualify as darkness. The shadow side, to my mostly sunny disposition, named anxiety. It’s been a constant in my life from even before I could put a name to it. My first recollection of experiencing my anxiety was a crisp night in October. My Mom was driving some friends and I to the middle school youth group “lock-out.” While everyone chattered excitedly, I sat silently in utter dread. The lock-out was the church event of the year; large groups of wildly sugared and caffeinated pre-teens spent the entire night being bussed from mini golf to dodgeball to movie theaters. It was a kid’s dream! Just not this kid.

While I can now spot the warning signs of my anxiety creeping to the surface, at this age all I knew was that this was far from my idea of fun. I loved my home, the comfort of knowing my parents were down the hall, the gentle glow of my lamp, and a cozying up with a good book – I still crave all of those things. But this was a church event, my friends wanted me there, my small group leaders encouraged us to attend, my parents were supportive. And I somehow convinced myself that I should attend. Then I became violently ill while walking in, earning a quick escape with my Mom, a hot shower, and a blessedly early bedtime.

As I grew older, I slowly learned my anxiety’s tells and developed tricks for working through it. Oftentimes it was necessary to push through and move on. I learned to fight with my anxiety, tooth and nail, brain and body, all locked in a struggle. That was the only way I knew how to handle it: push back, wrestle it under control. Then one day, my counselor gently told me that the energy I was throwing against my flood of anxiety was only exhausting my system further. Instead of fighting it, she asked if we could breathe through it. And then she softly questioned, “what is your anxiety trying to tell you?”

“What?” I said, utterly confused. “My anxiety only cycles through worst case scenarios, it tells me I have to plan for every potential disaster, it paralyzes me with what-ifs!” She replied, “Mm, I hear you. That part of your brain is spinning too fast. But it also just wants to protect you. It’s just doing too good of a job.” I was silent. Stunned. I’d never considered that my anxiety could be a good thing. Too much of a good thing; yet, at the core a force meant to help me. My therapist cut into my thoughts to say, “Rather than wrestling it, what if you acknowledged it, thanked the part of you that cares so deeply, and reminded your brain that you had things under control.”

This idea sounded bizarre to me, but that day I began treating my anxiety with gentleness. I waded into the darkness and found in it a desire to protect, to prepare, and to prevent harm from befalling me or my loved ones. The darkness showed me boundaries I had previously bulldozed over in my attempt to overcome my anxiety. Listening to these inner boundaries empowered me to advocate well for myself. Furthermore, it taught me how to guide my daughters in speaking up for themselves, rather than pushing down their needs and fears. My shadow side became a part of me that no longer frightened me but enlightened me. I’ve learned the power of listening to my body, my boundaries, and my fears; while also developing practices that help to calm my mind to keep me in the driver’s seat rather than giving into overactive anxious thoughts.

Navigating the path of anxiety and learning what my own darkness held has informed how I approach Lent. Rather than viewing it as a dreary landscape of fasting and woe to push through, I try to lean into the darkness. I explore the complicated emotions around Ash Wednesday, Palm Sunday, The Last Supper, Good Friday, and finally Easter Sunday. You can’t have ashes smeared on your forehead while being reminded of your approaching death without embracing the darkness at least a little bit. So, as you journey through this Lent in anticipation of Easter, I encourage you to embrace the period of darkness, to explore the shadows knowing that this dark leads to growth.

Recommendations - Lenten Style

Jesuits.org is publishing a digital pilgrimage with Christ to the Cross called ‘Traveling the Landscape of Lent’ that is packed full of goodness. In a weekly module a writer will reflect on the Sunday gospel readings and then there are questions for contemplation and a closing prayer. I had the privilege of writing on the cosmos and hope you enjoy it!

Laura K Fanucci always writes with beauty and deep wisdom, and her Lenten series on praying both sides is no exception. While the weekly prayers are for subscribers only, any and all of her work is edifying.

Last but oh so certainly not least are Cameron Bellm’s pieces on Soft Lent and Lent Through the Side Door. They are the gentle Lenten reflections our tired hearts crave and read like a warm hug from a friend.