Seasonal Depression Meets Spiritual Direction

Chicago’s autumn weather likes to strike a show — grand entrance, swift exits and not a single encore. By 5:58 p.m., the sun has retired, leaving Loyola’s campus in grayscale. Seasonal depression doesn’t simply arrive here — it’s curated with philosophical undertones and Jesuit-approved reflection.

On campus, sadness isn’t just seasonal, rather it’s contemplative. The Jesuit’s call to “Seek God in all things” meets its most challenging test when in mid-October “all things” include a sky the color of wet concrete and the westward wind feeling like divine punishment who carries the scent of mulch in the air. The students walking past the Damen Student Center don’t look merely cold — they look distraught. 

But, this is, after all, a campus who turns melancholy into a mission statement. 

Discernment, in Jesuit tradition, resorts to seeking purpose and meaning through reflection. On campus, it also means deciding whether to skip class because the world has turned dark before yummy Damen dinner time. The early sunsets become a lesson in patience — an exercise in waiting for light, both literal and metaphorical.

Then there’s Chicago’s weather — God’s favorite improv act. One moment, the lake glistens like a postcard. The next, rain arrives uninvited and sideways while umbrellas get swiftly inverted by the wind. Minutes later, blithingly sunny, and by evening, it’s cold enough to question free will. 

The only constant is the confusion over whether to wear a jacket, scarf or gloves — or all three and still regret every choice by noon. Discernment indeed. 

The wind off of Lake Michigan provides the semester’s first real test of faith. It howls through campus with the confidence of an apostle and the mercy of an Old Testament plague. 

Reflection, another hallmark of Ignatian spirituality, finds new meaning in the season. There’s reflection in the muddy puddles on the sidewalk, in the glassy surface of the lake. And yet, the campus adjusts with ritual precision. Coffee becomes sacramental and cozy sweaters become a community act. 

Even conversation shifts as weather small talk turns existential. “It’s dark already,” someone says, as if surprised each time. “Yeah,” another replies, “but it builds character.” A phrase so Jesuit it could be printed on a banner above the Information Commons. 

Acts of service take on a seasonal flair. Roommates pass around the communal sunlight lamp as though it were a sacred relic. The warm, artificial glow casts everyone in a forgiving light — proof salvation can come from Amazon Prime. Students may not always feel divine joy within the gloomy days, but they excel at caring for the whole person, even when the person is visibly wilting by mid-October. 

There’s an almost tender sincerity to the collective endurance non-Chicagoan students adapt. The Jesuit framework gives the struggle a language, making darkness something to contemplate rather than merely endure. 

Seasonal depression becomes not a failure of the spirit, but an invitation to notice it more closely — how the light lands on the Madonna in the late afternoon, how students cluster for warmth in Damen and how the quiet between gusts of wind feels like a kind of prayer. 

Perhaps there’s an unspoken Jesuit lesson embedded in the season. When the city turns gray and the wind insists on penance, the students still walk. They still hold doors open. They still share lamps and laughter and caffeine. Somewhere between discernment and the soon-to-arrive daylight savings, campus finds its autumn spirituality. 

Faith can be found in a 5:58 p.m. sunset that appears before anyone’s ready, leaving a campus to make peace with the dark.