To you, who wonders about the light at the end of the tunnel.
“To go in the dark with a light is to know the light.
To know the dark, go dark. Go without sight, and find that the dark, too, blooms and sings.
And is traveled by dark feet and dark wings.”
When you’re living in a dark space, hearing that there’s “a light at the end of the tunnel” can sometimes feel burdensome, even painful. When in a tunnel so dark that you breathe its thickness, or so dense that you can’t see where you end and the darkness begins, the promise of light is a sharp reminder of its absence and our aching for it. I’ve found it especially sorrowful to hear it when I have been in the tunnel for so long that I could barely remember light at all. Was it good and warm? Does it really exist…for me?
As pithy as the saying can sound, I believe it’s true, but not in the way that one might think. As surely as there is up, there is down. For every push, there is a pull. And if there is dark, light must also exist, except that I don’t believe it appears at the end of the tunnel. For me, light and dark come and go throughout our lives like day and night, like seasons of long, lazing light and months hidden under wet earth. Both are breathed in and out, in and out, like an ocean wave.
On one hand, this may sound hopeful. Everything is impermanent; this darkness, too, shall inevitably end. Though this too could also sound awfully tiring, knowing the dark will come back again and again.
For me, it began to feel less burdensome when I began to see the intricate beauties that shadows cast. In the dance between dark and light, I began to recognize that knowing both darkness and light is what it means to be human: to be frail, humble, enduring, ancient, made to love and be loved, yearning for sun. Because it is in the dark that we fully understand light, including the light within ourselves.
I am still learning this lesson. I am only coming to appreciate the crucial role that the dark plays in my humanity. The dark makes me compassionate, it calls me to be brave. It forces me to open my eyes, to face myself, to look carefully at the life I have created, and to question the changes that need to be made in order to let the light in.
In darkness, I am blind and forced to accept what I cannot control. I am forced to let go, to breathe out the air in my clenched lungs. It can be tiring at times, I won’t lie. But I do this because sometimes the only way out is the way on, and from traveling this path I can see now that “the dark, too, blooms and sings.”
I know this is all easier said than done. Asking someone in the midst of a depression to appreciate the darkness is like throwing a flower to someone drowning. But I also know that everyone walks a path the same way: one gentle step after gentle step. In the meantime, here are a few steps that I have taken in the past, which I offer to you in hopes that it might inspire you to keep walking.
Connect. People you feel safe with are your life raft. Whether it is family, friends, a therapist, or even going to a coffee shop to be in the midst of strangers, it is all healing. Reach out, even when a voice is telling you not to. There is light anywhere there is love.
Breathe. Take a walk, or just sit on a bench, and breathe in some fresh air. When your body feels full and stale, I’ve found that being in nature can carry me forward. Close your eyes, take a deep breath and smell the forest floor, the ocean, or the rain on pavement…whatever is outside.
Tiny sparks. Write a list of tiny things that make you even a little bit happy, and do them all. Whether it be taking a bath, drinking your morning coffee by a window, wearing your favorite socks, or eating a popsicle. And once this list is done, do it again if you like, or make another list. Small gestures are as powerful as big ones. The power is carried in the intention.
Look at the light. Take some photographs. Search for beautiful light and shadows wherever you are. Observe how both define the form, texture, shape and depth that render something plain, beautiful. If you don’t want to take a photo, look up others’ photos. I love Sebastiao Salgado’s work, his shadows are just as stunning as the light, and both tell the narrative of the moment.
Face the dark. If you feel ready, and with a trained professional you trust, begin to work on examining what changes you’d like to make so that life can align more with you. This can be a daunting process, but this, like anything, is also done gentle step by gentle step.
Journal. You don’t have to be a writer, it doesn’t have to be beautiful. It can be cathartic to write your thoughts, and it can be even more so to read them back.
Go gently. Above all else, do everything with loving kindness towards yourself. There is no right or wrong, there will be ups and downs, but the most important part is just to take each step with genuine care for yourself.
It took me a while to answer your question on how to get out of the dark. It is because, even after living many summers of wild color and winters so cold I couldn't get out of bed, the darkness still waxes and wanes in me, even today. I was writing this to myself as well. I, too, am still learning that it’s not really about getting out of the dark, but more about appreciating what I can now see in it. I can look at you and say, “I see you. I see your pain, but I also see the joy in you, too. Open your eyes and take a look.”