Artist: Ignace Kennis
Imprisoned by your own shadows
There is a particular state of mind when everything around seems gray and tasteless. It’s as if someone invisible has dimmed the brightness of life, and you continue to live, breathe, and speak, but inside there is a strange emptiness. This is not the silence that brings peace, but a silence that whispers of loss, of something important that has slipped through your fingers.
On such days, life goes on as usual—the usual tasks, conversations and obligations come and go, one after another. From the outside, everything looks right, even flawless. But deep down, a quiet anxiety grows, like a fog slowly enveloping the heart.
This state is familiar to people of different eras and cultures. The holy fathers wrote about it, calling it dryness or desolation. Poets and philosophers spoke about it, trying to find words for that special melancholy that does not depend on external circumstances. Many are silent about it today, because to admit to it makes one seem ungrateful or weak.
There is a form of depression in which a person doesn’t so much suffer as stops feeling anything at all
But this silence isn’t a healing silence. On the contrary, it makes the fog thicker and the emptiness deeper.
Modern psychology knows this condition by various names. It is called apathy, emotional flattening, loss of meaning, or existential vacuum. Researchers studying depressive states have long noticed that there is a form of depression in which a person does not so much suffer as stop feeling altogether. This is so‑called anesthetic depression, when the pain seems to be dulled, but along with it, joy, interest, and the ability to respond to life also disappear. Outwardly, such a person may seem quite well‑adjusted—he works, and comports himself communicably and responsibly. But inside, it’s as if the light has been turned off, and he himself doesn’t know where to find the switch.
Psychologists talk about the connection between this state and the feeling of losing control, with learned helplessness, and with the depletion of resources that a person has been draining for a long time without replenishing them. But behind all these scientific descriptions lies the living pain of a specific person who one day wakes up and realizes that he no longer feels the taste of life.
A dance with ghosts
In such a state, familiar things lose their flavor. What used to bring joy now seems empty and meaningless. Moments that once filled the soul with warmth now pass by without leaving a trace.
And you start looking for reasons—maybe it’s fatigue? Or too many things to do? Or maybe it’s just the weather? But in moments of silence, when the masks are shed, only one question remains: Where is that spark that once ignited the heart? Where is that living flame that warmed the soul?
Sometimes a person begins to blame himself. He looks back at his life and sees that outwardly everything is fine, which means the reason lies within himself. He hasn't tried hard enough, believed enough, loved enough. This self‑blame imperceptibly becomes another layer of fog, another veil separating him from the light.
Others, on the contrary, look for someone to blame. The circumstances, the people, the time – everything turns out to be unsuitable. But this doesn’t bring relief either, because the source of the emptiness is not outside, but inside. And no external changes can fill the space that has formed in the soul.
By blaming oneself, a person sinks into a sense of guilt that drains his last remaining strength. By blaming others, he distances himself from people who could be a source of support
From a psychological perspective, self‑blame and the search for someone to blame are two sides of the same coin. Both are an attempt to explain the inexplicable, to find a reason where there may be none. The human psyche is structured in such a way that uncertainty is harder for it than even the worst certainty. And therefore, when faced with inner emptiness, we instinctively look for an explanation, even if it’s the harshest one. This is a defense mechanism that helps to somehow structure the chaos.
However, by blaming oneself, a person sinks into a sense of guilt that drains his last remaining strength. By blaming others, he distances himself from the people who could be a source of support. Both of these approaches lead away from the main thing—from acknowledging what is happening and finding a real way out.
A path through the darkness
In this darkness, it’s important not to judge yourself. Yes, you don’t feel what you used to feel. Yes, the things you used to enjoy no longer bring the same pleasure. But can’t this be part of the journey? After all, sometimes life is like a ship sailing in fog. There are no visible landmarks, but that doesn’t mean the path has disappeared. It’s just that now is the time to trust the compass, not your eyes.
At such moments, it’s important to remember that darkness is not an enemy, but a teacher. It teaches us to be honest with ourselves, teaches us to accept our feelings, and teaches us to stay on the path, even when the road seems lost.
Now is the time to trust the compass, not your eyes
The holy fathers spoke of this state with remarkable tenderness. They were in no hurry to declare it a sin or an illness. They saw it as a special period when the soul, deprived of its usual consolations, learns to love God for His own sake, and not for the sake of the gifts it receives from Him. This is a difficult but important stage, because it purifies love from self‑interest and makes it genuine.
St. John Climacus described this as a time when prayer becomes dry and the heart becomes cold. And he advised not to give up, not to seek immediate consolation, but to patiently continue doing what one has been doing, believing that the Lord sees this labor and will not leave it without fruit.
Attempts to “shake things off,” “pull yourself together,” or “start enjoying life” are not only useless but also harmful
Psychology, in this matter, surprisingly aligns with the spiritual tradition. Professionals working with people in a state of deep apathy have long noticed that attempts to “shake it off,” “pull yourself together,” or “start enjoying life” are not only useless but also harmful. They only intensify feelings of guilt and a sense of one’s own inadequacy. It is much more important to acknowledge that this state exists, that it has its own causes, and that overcoming it requires time and patience.
Research shows that the ability to withstand negative states without escaping from them or trying to fix them immediately is one of the key factors in psychological health. This is called “tolerance to emotional distress.” A person who is able to stay with difficult feelings without breaking down or escaping has a much better chance of getting through a crisis than someone who strives to avoid pain at any cost.
Coming back to life
The first step to healing is to acknowledge your pain. Don’t hide it behind a mask of well‑being, don’t be ashamed of your feelings. It is in this acknowledgment that the first spark of hope lies, the first ray of light in the darkness.
The second step is to learn to be with yourself even in the dark. Silence can also be a conversation with your soul. The void is not an enemy, but an opportunity. It teaches us to be honest with ourselves, teaches us to accept ourselves as we are.
The third step, and perhaps the most important one, is not to be alone. At such moments, it’s easy to withdraw, to hide, to decide that no one will understand. But it’s precisely then that you especially need someone nearby who will listen without judgment, who will support you without empty reassurances, who will simply be there, sharing the burden of silence.
What matters is not so much the opportunity to get advice or practical help, but the very feeling that you are not alone, that there is someone who sees you and accepts you as you are
Psychologists call this social support, and its role in overcoming crisis states is hard to overestimate. Research shows that people who have at least one person they can trust cope with life’s difficulties much better than those who are left to deal with their worries on their own. What matters is not so much the opportunity to get advice or practical help, but the very feeling that you are not alone, that there is someone who sees you and accepts you as you are.
And finally, it’s important to learn to see the small wonders of everyday life. In a drop of rain, in a breath of wind, in a stranger’s smile—in places where we previously didn’t look for meaning—a new discovery of life can begin. In simple things, in the ordinary, may lie the answer to the most complex questions of the soul.
Light at the end of the tunnel
The way out of this emptiness is not to get rid of it quickly. It is to go through it without losing yourself. And when you emerge on the other side, your life will be different—more mature, more profound, capable of holding both light and shadow.
Because true life is not just about joy and delight. It’s also about the ability to remain true to yourself when everything inside is silent. It’s the capacity to trust when you can’t see the way. And it’s the knowledge that even in the darkest night, there is a light that doesn’t leave us alone. It simply teaches us to see it not only in the light, but also in the shadows, not only in joy, but also in sorrow, not only in the fullness of feelings, but also in emptiness.
In the Christian tradition, this is called hope. Not the kind of hope that is based on favorable circumstances, but the one that is rooted in God Himself. It is a hope that does not depend on whether we feel anything or not. It simply exists—like a quiet fire that continues to burn even on the coldest night.
Parting Reflections
In moments of spiritual emptiness, it is especially important to remember that we are not alone in our suffering. The history of humanity holds many examples of how people found a way out of the deepest spiritual crises. And each time, that way out lay through acknowledging their pain, through an honest conversation with themselves and with God.
John the Baptist, finding himself in prison, sent to Jesus to find out, asking: Art thou he that should come, or do we look for another? (Matthew 11:3). He, who had baptized Christ and seen the Spirit descending upon Him, doubted at the moment of trial. And what did Christ answer him? He did not reproach him, did not condemn him. He simply said: Go and shew John again those things which ye do hear and see (Matthew 11:4). In other words, even in doubt, one can stay on the path. Even in prison, one can hear the voice of God.
The Apostle Thomas did not believe until he saw. And Christ did not reject him for that. He came to him, allowed him to touch Him, and gave him what was needed for his faith. This means that God accepts our state and does not demand from us feelings that we do not have. He simply waits for us to come to Him as we are.
Psychologists who study religious experience note that doubts and periods of spiritual dryness are not a deviation, but a natural part of religious development. Just as a child, as he grows up, goes through crises and reevaluates his relationship with his parents, a believer inevitably encounters periods of reassessment and searching in his spiritual growth. These periods can be painful, but they often lead to a more mature and conscious faith.
Don’t be afraid of your feelings. Any emotion is a signal that requires attention.
Find someone you can trust. A conversation with a close friend, a psychologist, or a spiritual advisor can be the first step toward healing.
Take care of your body: proper nutrition, sleep, and physical activity help restore your strength.
Learn to notice the beauty in simple things.
Remember that a crisis is not a judgement being passed on a person, but an opportunity for growth.
