St Brigid’s Day marks the slow return of light after a dark winter …
At the start of the year, winter has a way of setting the pace. Whether we agree to it or not, the days demand that we notice, slow down and move carefully. That feels especially true this year. Frozen footpaths and puddles require careful steps. Plans have softened or been postponed. Even the light feels narrower somehow.
At first, that kind of enforced slowness can feel frustrating – particularly when the new year arrives loud with expectation – new goals, habits, a sense that we should be ready to begin again at full speed.
What if this month isn’t asking for transformation at all? What if it’s asking for warmth, rest and steadiness?
St Brigid’s quiet wisdom feels especially present. Her feast at Imbolc marks a subtle turning; not the arrival of spring, but the beginning of the return of light. Tales from long ago show us how she understood the value of tending and preparation, working with the land and the seasons rather than pushing against them. Her legacy isn’t one of haste or spectacle, but of care and continuity.
Winter reminds us that our relationship with work shifts and changes too. It isn’t meant to stay fixed. It adapts as life asks for steadier footing. I’m also aware that this hasn’t always been my way. I can remember a time when I was so caught up in the spin of deadlines and demands, the constant sense of needing to keep up that I barely noticed the changing of the seasons. One month blurred into the next, arriving without ceremony. Spring passed without pause. I was moving, functioning, producing, but not really orienting myself to where I was.
Looking back, I can see how disconnected that felt not just from nature, but from myself. It’s one of the reasons that I pay such close attention now because it’s a form of care and joy.
We don’t need to be at full brightness right now. We just need to stay warm and dry.
St Brigid offers a powerful model. In stories, she’s often remembered for her generosity and kindness, but she was also a formidable leader. Leadership, in this sense, wasn’t about dominance or urgency, but stewardship. That idea feels unconventional today. Many women are carrying a lot. Responsibility at work, care for others, expectations absorbed over time. Slowing down can bring discomfort, even guilt. We can mistake rest for retreat or steadiness for stagnation. But the seasons remind us that sustainability requires rhythm.
This week, as I walked in the woods among snowdrops I found myself thinking about craft in a caring sense as opposed to productivity. Choosing integrity over urgency and noticing where that need originates. Trusting that care itself is a kind of progress – patient and often invisible. Stories of St Brigid show us how attention was given where it mattered. Nothing was rushed for the sake of appearance.
Spring isn’t asking us to become new. It encourages us to conserve energy and tend carefully to the seasons ahead. St Brigid understood that light does not arrive all at once. It’s prepared, just like the snowdrops. @maryjanemulrooney
