Imbolc arrives softly.

It doesn’t crash in with fireworks or demand celebration.

It seeps in through the cold earth, through lambing fields and lengthening light, through the faint but unmistakable sense that something is beginning again. Traditionally a festival of renewal, purification, and returning life, Imbolc marks the halfway point between the winter solstice and the spring equinox – a hinge moment, balanced between darkness and light.

But what does it mean to celebrate Imbolc when the world feels heavy with injustice, cruelty, and division?

When headlines are full of violence, hatred, and suffering. When communities are under threat. When it feels naive, or even wrong, to speak of hope at all.

And yet, this is exactly when Imbolc matters most.

Imbolc is not about pretending everything is fine
Imbolc is often framed as a festival of hope, but not the shiny, superficial kind. It is not about forcing optimism or bypassing grief. The earth at Imbolc is still cold. The days are still short. Winter has not loosened its grip.

This is important.

Imbolc does not ask us to deny the darkness; it asks us to tend something fragile within it.

In times of injustice and hatred, there can be pressure to either shut down completely or to perform joy as a form of resistance. Both can be exhausting. Imbolc offers a third way: quiet, persistent care. The kind that doesn’t make headlines but keeps life going all the same.

Brigid and the sacred work of tending
Imbolc is closely associated with Brigid — goddess and saint, keeper of the hearth, of healing, poetry, and smithcraft. Brigid is not a distant, thunderous deity. She is practical. She works with fire, water, and hands-on skills. She blesses wells, protects the vulnerable, and tends the home fire.

In a world full of harm, Brigid reminds us that care itself is sacred work.

– Lighting a candle.
– Making a warm meal.
– Speaking gently when it would be easier to be harsh.
– Creating something honest.
– Protecting what is small and easily broken.

These acts are not insignificant. They are how cultures survive long winters, literal and metaphorical.

Rest is not apathy
Many of us feel burnt out by constant outrage and grief. There is a fear that if we rest, we are complicit. That if we look away for a moment, we are abandoning those who are suffering.

Imbolc gently challenges this belief.

The land itself rests in winter. Seeds do not sprout because they are shouted at. They grow because they have been given time, nourishment, and protection.

Rest is not apathy. Rest is preparation.

Celebrating Imbolc can mean giving yourself permission to step back from the relentless noise – not forever, but long enough to reconnect with your values, your energy, and your sense of purpose. You cannot pour warmth into the world if your own fire has gone out.

Small lights still matter
It’s easy to feel powerless when faced with systemic injustice and widespread hatred. Individual actions can seem laughably small in comparison. A candle flame against a raging storm.

But Imbolc is a festival of small lights.

One candle at a time.
One hearth.
One home.
One promise to keep going.

History is shaped not only by grand gestures, but by countless quiet refusals to become cruel. By people who continue to make, to care, to teach, to protect, even when the world tells them it’s pointless.

Lighting a candle at Imbolc is not a denial of reality; it is a declaration of intent. A way of saying – I will not let the darkness make me forget what matters.

Celebrating Imbolc as an act of resistance
In a culture that thrives on outrage, speed, and spectacle, choosing slowness and intention is radical.

Celebrating Imbolc might look like:

– Clearing your space and releasing what you no longer have the energy to carry.

– Setting gentle intentions rooted in sustainability rather than productivity.

– Supporting causes, artists, and communities aligned with your values — even in small ways.

– Creating something with your hands as a reminder that beauty still belongs to us.

– Recommitting to kindness without becoming naive about the world.

None of this fixes everything. But it keeps the human heart alive — and that is no small thing.

Hope as a discipline, not a feeling
Hope is often framed as an emotion that arrives unbidden. But in difficult times, hope is a practice. A choice made again and again, even when it feels thin.

Imbolc teaches us that hope does not require certainty. It requires attention.

You don’t need to believe that everything will be okay.
You only need to believe that what you tend today matters.

Because spring does not come all at once.
It comes leaf by leaf.
Lamb by lamb.
Day by day.

And so do better worlds.

This Imbolc, you don’t have to celebrate loudly.
You don’t have to feel joyful.
You don’t have to be fixed.

You only have to keep the flame.

And trust that somewhere beneath the frozen ground, life is already stirring. xxx