Author’s Note
I’ve always been drawn to the kind of medicine that doesn’t just treat symptoms, but speaks to the deeper layers of what it means to be human — our emotional bodies, our nervous systems, our spiritual resilience. Plants have been allies in that remembering for thousands of years. Not as quick fixes, but as companions through seasons of change. St. John’s wort is one of those plants that reminds us healing was once understood as a relationship, not a transaction.
⸻
This Was Never a “Gentle Herb”
Today, St. John’s wort is often marketed as a natural mood support supplement, something you might casually pick up in a health food store. But in older traditions, this plant was never treated lightly.
It was used when spirits were low.
When fear lingered too long.
When grief and melancholy felt like they were changing the person who carried them.
In European folk traditions, St. John’s wort was hung above doorways to ward off harmful energies. It was sewn into clothing and carried on long journeys for protection. It wasn’t only considered medicine — it was considered a guardian.
This tells us something important about how emotional suffering was once understood. Sadness, despair, and anxiety were not seen as purely internal or purely chemical. They were states that made a person vulnerable — spiritually, emotionally, and psychologically. Protection was part of treatment.
And powerful plants were approached with respect.
⸻
A Solar Plant Saved for the Darkest Season
St. John’s wort blooms near the summer solstice, during the longest and brightest days of the year. Its yellow petals and red resin led people to call it “the blood of the sun.” It was believed to carry solar force — the life-giving energy of warmth, growth, and illumination.
And yet, people didn’t use it primarily in summer.
They saved it for winter.
For the months when darkness felt endless. When bodies slowed, communities stayed indoors, and the psyche was more vulnerable to despair. Solar plants were never meant to erase winter or deny its necessity. They were meant to help people move through it without losing themselves.
This is such an important distinction.
Healing, in older traditions, was not about avoiding discomfort. It was about maintaining coherence — staying intact — while life did what life does.
Winter was understood as a natural phase of contraction, reflection, and quiet. But humans still needed support to survive it emotionally and spiritually.
St. John’s wort was part of that support.
⸻
Not Just Mood — Protection of the Psyche
In many folk systems, emotional suffering was not separated from spiritual vulnerability. Persistent fear, grief, and despair were believed to thin the boundaries of the self, making a person more susceptible to intrusive thoughts, harmful influences, or loss of purpose.
From that lens, St. John’s wort wasn’t only lifting mood.
It was strengthening the inner field.
It was thought to fortify the mind and spirit against forces that drained vitality — whether those forces were understood as psychological, environmental, or spiritual.
Modern language might call this nervous system regulation.
Ancient language called it strengthening the soul.
Different words. Same experience.
⸻
What Modern Science Is Now Catching Up To
Today, research suggests that St. John’s wort influences several biological systems at once. It has been studied for its effects on serotonin, dopamine, and norepinephrine — neurotransmitters involved in mood and motivation — as well as inflammatory pathways and stress response.
What’s interesting is that it doesn’t seem to work through only one mechanism. It appears to support overall nervous system balance rather than targeting a single chemical imbalance.
And that mirrors how traditional systems approached emotional health:
as something that involved the whole organism, not just the brain.
Long before labs and microscopes, people observed patterns:
certain plants helped restore equilibrium when the human system felt overwhelmed.
They didn’t need biochemical explanations to recognize when something supported resilience.
⸻
Why Discernment Was Always Part of the Medicine
One of the most important things folk medicine understood — and modern supplement culture often forgets — is that powerful medicine requires discernment.
Strong plants were not meant to be taken constantly, automatically, or without awareness. They were used when needed, for specific seasons, with intention.
St. John’s wort, in particular, was respected because solar energy can be both restorative and intense. Light heals, but too much light can overwhelm a system that is already sensitive.
So people didn’t rely on the plant alone.
They paired it with rest.
With community.
With ritual.
With slowing down.
The medicine was not meant to replace inner work or social support. It was meant to assist the body and spirit while deeper healing unfolded.
Healing was never outsourced entirely to the remedy.
⸻
Healing Was Once a Relationship
Perhaps the deepest difference between ancient and modern approaches to healing is this: medicine used to be relational.
Plants were not commodities.
They were living allies.
People observed them through seasons, learned their rhythms, respected their power, and understood that not every plant was meant for every person at every time.
To take a plant was to enter into a relationship — one that required listening, respect, and responsibility.
St. John’s wort, with all its solar symbolism and protective history, reminds us of that forgotten posture toward healing.
Not dominance.
Not convenience.
But partnership.
⸻
Walking Through Winter With Light, Not Escaping It
There is something profoundly wise in the way this plant was traditionally used.
It was not meant to override sadness.
Not meant to deny grief.
Not meant to force happiness.
It was meant to help people remain themselves while moving through heavy seasons.
To keep the inner flame alive when the outer world felt cold and long and uncertain.
In a culture obsessed with bypassing discomfort, this kind of medicine feels almost radical. It says: you are allowed to feel what you feel — and you are also allowed to receive support while you do.
Not to erase the season, but to survive it with your spirit intact.
⸻
Closing Reflection
Maybe what we are really remembering through plants like St. John’s wort is not just herbal chemistry, but ancestral wisdom about endurance.
About how to carry light without denying darkness.
About how to protect the psyche when life feels heavy.
About how healing was once woven into daily life, community, and reverence for the living world.
Some medicine is gentle.
Some is fierce.
And the fierce ones don’t just change our chemistry —
they remind us who we are when the world feels dim.
Add comment
Comments