I Went Underground. Here's What I Found.

M. Hakikah Shamsideen
Apr 10
5 min read

A season of hibernation, a myth about a queen, and what the dark taught me about spring.

“To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven.”

— Ecclesiastes 3:1 (KJV)

I Had Plans

At the start of this year, I had plans to begin writing again.

I didn’t.

Let me tell you what happened.

I went into hibernation.

Hibernation is a natural cycle to pause, gather energy, and cease frantic activity. Winter carries a profound spiritual significance — a period of “inner winter” for introspection, rest, and renewal. This time is crucial for releasing outdated habits and preparing for future endeavors. It calls us to slow down, embrace the wisdom found in darkness, and nurture the soul — allowing us to emerge stronger, mirroring nature’s own restorative, dormant phase before spring.

Now, I had all kinds of ideas for how I would spend my winter. What actually happened was something I didn’t plan for: I fell into a season of deep stillness.

I read. I worked on my personal curriculum. I made jars of body butter, and I spent quality time with the grands. Most profoundly, I experienced a spiritual renewal that I could not have manufactured or scheduled.

In the midst of all this, our house was undergoing major reconstruction — a new kitchen and new floors. Preparing for the renovation and then putting things back in place gave me the opportunity to see what to keep and what was no longer needed. Spring cleaning? Done.

And now we are here.

At the threshold of spring. A season of rebirth and resurrection. Time to open up the windows and let the light in. The bees are out. The birds are singing. The trees are beginning to bud. It’s a magical time.

So while I didn’t do what I had planned, I did what I needed.

Which brings me to a story. An old one you may know. About a woman who also descended into the dark — and came back changed.

The Story of Persephone

In Greek mythology, Persephone was a daughter of light. She roamed open meadows with her mother, Demeter — goddess of the harvest — gathering wildflowers in the warmth of a sun that never seemed to set. She was young, unburdened, full of bloom.

Then one day, the earth opened beneath her feet. Hades, god of the dead, rose from the underworld and carried her down into the dark.

Her mother’s grief was total. Demeter withheld her gifts from the earth. Crops failed. The air turned cold. The world went still. The gods eventually negotiated Persephone’s return — but not before she had eaten six pomegranate seeds in the underworld. Those six seeds sealed her fate: six months in the dark, six months in the light. Every year. For always.

The Greeks used this story to explain the seasons. When Persephone descends, winter comes. When she rises, spring follows.

But here is what I want us to sit with:

She did not merely survive the underworld. She became its queen.

What the Descent Has to Do With Us

If you are in midlife — or moving through it — you know something about descending.

Maybe it arrived as a health scare. A marriage that slowly unraveled. A career that no longer fits who you are becoming. Children grown and gone, leaving rooms that once held laughter eerily quiet. A body you didn’t recognize.

You didn’t ask for any of it. And yet — there you were. Underground.

There are seasons of life when the warmth disappears, and you cannot immediately explain where it went. You are still functioning — still showing up — but something inside feels dim. Shifted. Off kilter.

Some call it a midlife crisis. I call it what it is: a God-ordained season of going inward. A season of renovation.

Because God is a God of seasons. We were never promised eternal summers. We were promised that she would be with us through it all.

“Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me.”

— Psalm 23:4 (KJV)

The Pomegranate Seeds Were Not a Punishment

Here is where I want to offer a different reading of this myth — one that has stayed with me.

Persephone ate the seeds. And yes, they bound her to the dark for part of every year. Many see that as tragedy. I see it as testimony.

She tasted the underworld. She lived it. She ruled it. And when she emerged each spring, she did not return as the girl who had been taken. She returned as a woman who had been through something — and came out knowing things only the dark can teach.

I think about the women in our community — Black women in their 50s, 60s, 70s — who have walked through seasons that would have broken many. Grief layered on grief. Loss after loss. Identity shifts that no one gave them language for. And yet. They rise. They bloom. They carry something ancient and unshakable in their bones.

That is Persephone energy.

That is resurrection energy.

Four Spring Invitations for the Midlife Woman

As the earth tilts back toward the light, here is what this season is asking of us:

Name what you survived. Before you rush into spring’s energy, pause and honor the winter you just walked through. Write it down. Speak it aloud. Light a candle. Grief acknowledged becomes grief released.
Come back as who you are now — not who you were. Spring is not a return to the past. It is something new growing from the same soil. You are not meant to be 40 again. You are meant to be fully, gloriously who you are becoming.
Let the in-between be holy. Persephone lived between two worlds. Some of us are still between seasons — not fully in the dark, not fully in the light. That liminal space is not wasted time. It is sacred ground.
Plant something. Literally or metaphorically. A seed in the ground. A word you’ve been holding back. A practice you’ve been waiting to begin. Spring asks us to commit — to act on what we now know.

A Word for the Woman Still Underground

If you are reading this and spring feels far away — if you are still in your winter — I want you to know: the season is shifting even when you cannot yet feel it.

The earth was working underground all along. The roots were reaching. Life was preparing. It just wasn’t visible yet.

God has not forgotten you. He never does.

“He has made everything beautiful in its time.”

— Ecclesiastes 3:11 (NIV)

Your winter gave you something. Your descent made you a queen. And your spring is already on its way.