Experiencing the Dark Night of the Soul was like walking through a dense, all-encompassing fog, where every step forward felt uncertain, and every familiar landmark in my spiritual life seemed to vanish. It started subtly at first, with a growing sense of emptiness and disconnection. The spiritual practices that had once brought me so much peace—meditation, journaling, prayer—began to feel hollow, almost mechanical. No matter how much I tried to rekindle the warmth I used to feel, it slipped further away, leaving me questioning everything I thought I knew about myself and my place in the world.

At its deepest, it felt as if I had lost my connection to something greater—whether you call that God, the Universe, or my inner self. It wasn’t just a lack of faith; it was a profound sense of abandonment. I found myself asking, “Where are You?” or “Why can’t I feel anything anymore?” There were moments of overwhelming doubt, where I questioned the very path I had been walking, wondering if I had been deluding myself all along. The sense of isolation was so intense that even when I was surrounded by people, I felt utterly alone, as though no one could possibly understand the depth of my inner struggle.

Emotionally, I was raw. Old wounds, past traumas, and unresolved feelings surfaced with a vengeance, demanding attention. It was as if the parts of myself that I had tucked away—fears, regrets, insecurities—had come to the forefront, unrelenting in their need to be acknowledged. There were days when the weight of it all made it difficult to get out of bed. I would sit in silence, feeling a heaviness in my chest, a mix of grief, frustration, and confusion that I couldn’t quite put into words.

But the hardest part wasn’t just the pain; it was the uncertainty. Unlike other challenges in life, where there’s a clear problem to solve or a path to take, the Dark Night felt like being suspended in limbo. No clear answers, no visible way out. It felt like being lost at sea, with no sight of land, no stars to guide me, and no map to follow.

Yet, as difficult as it was, there were subtle shifts that I started to notice over time. While I didn’t realize it in the moment, the darkness was slowly, quietly reshaping me. In the absence of my old certainties, I was forced to confront aspects of myself I had long ignored—my need for control, my attachment to comfort, and the ego-driven desires that had quietly been steering me. The emptiness, though painful, was creating space. And in that space, something new began to grow, though I couldn’t yet see what it was.

There were no grand revelations, no sudden moments of clarity. But little by little, as I leaned into the discomfort, I found that I was learning to surrender—to let go of the need to understand everything or have everything feel "right." I began to trust that even in the darkness, there was a deeper purpose unfolding, one that I couldn’t force or rush.

On the other side of this experience, I wouldn’t say I emerged victorious or triumphant. It wasn’t that kind of journey. Instead, I felt a quiet sense of renewal, like the ground after a storm. The old certainties didn’t return, but something more profound took their place: a deeper sense of peace with the unknown, a more authentic connection to my true self, and a renewed purpose, not rooted in achieving or acquiring, but in simply being.

The Dark Night of the Soul was, for me, a profound spiritual reset. It stripped me of the illusions I had clung to and forced me to confront the raw, unfiltered truth of who I was and what I believed. And while it was one of the hardest things I’ve ever gone through, it also led to some of the most profound growth I’ve ever experienced—growth that only became clear when I was finally ready to see the light again.

This spiritual crisis forces you to question not only your beliefs about the Divine but also the foundations of your life—your sense of purpose, meaning, and even your identity. Practices that once provided solace, such as prayer, meditation, or other forms of spiritual connection, may suddenly feel ineffective or empty. You may wonder if everything you once held dear was an illusion or if the Divine is truly absent from your life.

The abandonment you feel, however, is often part of a deeper process. The Dark Night is seen as a necessary phase of spiritual growth where old attachments, illusions, or ego-driven beliefs are stripped away to make room for a more authentic, profound connection with the Divine or your inner self. It’s a time of purging and purification, where everything false is burned away, even though it may feel like you’re left with nothing. Through this painful process, a renewed sense of spiritual clarity, purpose, and deeper faith often emerges once the Dark Night passes.

In essence, the Dark Night of the Soul is a dismantling of the old self, including the beliefs and spiritual comforts that no longer serve your higher growth, so that something more genuine can be born. Though it feels like abandonment, it’s often a gateway to profound transformation.