There is a moment every June where I feel like nature and I are breathing in rhytm. The Scandinavian landscape, once frail and schivering in spring, has grown intoo herself again. If the year were a person, winter would be the elder – slow, still, near the edge of life. Spring, ever chaotic, is the stubbord toddler: one day playful with the sun, the next throwing snow across the floor. But now? Now we stand in the long daylight of early adulthood – midsummer – when the world knows it’s own strength. The air hums with confidence, and everything green has become itself again.
As someone disabled, I live with a body that listens closely to cycles. I often feel out of step with society, but never with the seasons. And this time – the Summer Solstice (June 20-21 in the Northern Hemisphere) is one of the oldest markers we have. Long before this period was labelled St. John’s Day, after the brutal arrival of christianity in the North, people celebrated the summer solstice for what it is;
the longest day of the year. This is a time of celebration, of fire and flowers, of shared meals and small magic.
In Sweden especially, Midsommar remains deeply rooted in pre-christian traditions: the maypole, the flowers wreaths, the songs – they are less about saints and more about earth, fertility, love, and the turning wheel of the year. And while modern celebrations often include some form of dancing, drinking, and energy many disabled people can’t access, I believe there’s still space in this day for all of us. And we can reclaim it, quietly if needed. Gently, honestly – with rituals that meet us where we are.
«And so with the sunshine and the great bursts of leaves growing on the trees, just as things grow in fast movies, I had that familiar conviction that life was beginning over again with the summer»
– F. Scott Fitzgerald
As solstice celebrations in the North long predates organized religions, bonfires were lit on hills to honour the sun’s height – and was believed to protect against dark forces, and bless the crops. Furthermore, as a liminal time, herbs gathered were considered the strongest, and dreams on this night were believed to fortell the future. With christianity, the celebration was rebranded as the feast of St. John the Baptist (‘Sankt-hans‘ in Norwegian). With this, the celebration shifted its focus, but was never quite able to erase the old rites.
Especially in places like Sweden and rural Norway, the folk-traditions lived on – not (only) as resistance, but as memory and cultural inheritance.
Today, when people dance around the maypole, or decorate with birch and wildflowers, they echo something older than any religion; a gratitude for light and growth, and a shared moment of joy in nature’s fullness.
So what about us disabled people?
Disabled people often live lives with bodies that resist the rhytms of work and linear progress. We move in spirals, not straight lines. We understand that rest is not failure, that some days are simply quieter than others – like nature itself. The solstice, then, becomes a time not just to celebrate brightness, but to acknowledge how precious it is. How fleeting. To mark the pause before the sun begins its slow descent once again.
Personally, I see strengt in this kind of witnessing. In choosing to light a candle rather than join a crowd. In picking flowers slowly, smelling their scent – and locking it as memory. In celebrating not with fireworks, but with breath and presence.
As written in Kristin Lavransdatter by Sigrid Undset, one of my favourite books from my earliest schooling:
«She walked with the summer night wrapped around her shoulders like a warm, breathing shawl, and it seemed to her that all the earth was awake and wispering with life.»
Isn’t that exactly what midsummer is for??
Below I’ve written a few, small adapted rituals that can help you celebrate the solstice in a way that honours your energy, your acess, your needs and your spirit. Feel free to add things – or remove them, as you wish!:
- Light a candle (gold, orange or green for the colours of the sun and growth) while setting an intention for the rest of the year. Personally I prefer to mix white, green and pink candles, as these are the colours of most of the trees/ wildflowers outside.
- Pick wildflowers (or buy them) if possible, and make a small wreath, bouquet or altar offering (depending what feels right for you). I usually buy flowers, and leave the picking up to the many children in my area. I made an exception when my grandmother was alive, as her garden stood at such a spot that it was flooded with all kinds of wildflowers every year; yellow, pink, blue, purple, white – and so I used to make her a bouquet before my dad would go over with the lawnmover.
- Dance in whatever way your body allows. Even if its just gentle swaying, moving your arms, or laying in bed vibing to the music. The clue is to feel the rhytm and the beat of summer.
- Journal about what has grown in your life this past 6 months, and what you hope to accomplish next.
- Brew a herbal tea using plants associated with midsummer (like chamomille, mint or elderflower).
- Lie in the sun (don’t forget sunscreen people!) And bring a blanket, sunglasses and water to protect your skin. If you’re like me, however, and just cannot see the joy in this (being that it’s too warm, too bright and too sticky), I’ll advice sitting in the shadows, beneath some protective trees, with a large hat and a good book.
- Watch a bonfire (live or on video) and meditate on what you’d like to release as the light begins to wane.
We are told to seize the summer, to shine, to do more – but the solstice is also about the sun turning. Like a brief moment when the world stands still before shifting again. A breath held. A still point.
As disabled people, we can find great power in these quiet turnings – not needing to chase the sun, but to honour that it has come.
And perhaps this is what the old traditions knew: that joy is not just in motion, but in marking the light while we have it. In remembering that fire has always lived beside the shadow, and that both are part of the year, the body and the world.
– Silje