There’s this pattern I see all the time - in wellness circles, in spiritual spaces, in the noise of social media. We’re taught to avoid the “bad” feelings. To fix them. To rise above them. We’re told that sadness, anger, grief, and depression are shadows to be chased off with a brighter light.
But for Druidry - that’s never been the point.
Druidry doesn’t fear the dark. It walks into it willingly. It’s not about pretending the hard parts aren’t there. It’s about learning to sit with them. To understand that every emotion - even the ones that ache - has a place in the cycle.
We talk a lot about opposites. Light and dark. Joy and sorrow. Ebb and flow. We forget that they’re not enemies - they’re partners. They are two sides of the same coin. And you can’t appreciate one without honoring the other. You don’t understand what peace feels like unless you’ve sat through restlessness. You don’t value joy unless you’ve been cracked open by sorrow.
Let me be clear. I’ve known depression for a long time. Since I was a child, really. I’ve lived through experiences that tore power from me - moments that left deep marks. Those moments left behind more than just pain. They left behind companions like anger, anxiety, and a heaviness that settled into my bones.
For a while, those emotions became my shelter. They were the only things that felt familiar. In the numbness, I learned to disassociate. To self-medicate. Drinking, drugs, avoidance. Anything to make the ache quieter. But silence isn’t healing. It’s just stillness with a scream underneath.
Eventually, I had to say enough. Not because I suddenly got better - but because I wanted to change. I started facing those emotions instead of burying them. And that didn’t magically fix anything. Depression, anxiety, anger – they’re still part of my world. But I’m different in how I meet them now. I bring tools. I bring presence. I bring Druidry.
Movement helps me shift the energy. Wyda especially - it stirs my body in ways that let endorphins rise and clarity return. Sound healing smooths out the frizz in my brain and brings back coherence when everything feels scattered. Essential oils and scent associations lift memories of warmth, of safety. Nature is always there too - the Earth beneath my feet, asking nothing but presence in return.
I don’t seek escape anymore. I seek connection. My walks are no longer about disassociating - they’re about rooting in. Offering my pain back to the land, letting the wind carry what I can’t hold. These rituals aren’t cures. They’re practices. Anchors. Reminders.
Depression isn’t the enemy. It’s a message. It’s like eating a meal that makes you sick. Not because the food is evil - but because it no longer fits your body. Depression tells us something isn’t sitting right in our soul. Something needs attention. Something needs to shift.
And when you listen - when you stop trying to shove it down or “rise above” it - you realize that pain begets transformation. It always has. The discomfort is what moves us. What forces us to grow. What whispers: there’s more than this. You’re ready for more.
We don’t change when everything is perfect. We change when something breaks. When something hurts. When the rut we’ve been in starts to feel like a trap. That’s not failure. That’s evolution.
Druidry reminds us that we’re meant to feel everything. The highs and the lows. The quiet numbness and the storm of grief. Emotions aren’t good or bad - they’re just weather passing through. If you shut them out, you lose the color in your world. Everything turns grey. And that? That’s what crushes the soul.
So we welcome it all. We sit in the dark. We light a small candle. We don’t force the sun to rise - we trust that it will.
And when it does, we’ll know what the light means. Because we remember the night.