The August melancholy: How to navigate the late summer blues

This summer, I have chosen to see clients over the month of August, a month in which I usually take a substantial break, or escape from the city. Within this expansive month (one which I learned today is so long it has a blue moon), a curious pattern has unfolded.

These last weeks of summer are painted with hues of slowness and emptiness, accompanied by a touch of quirky anxiety. It's not just my clients; it's as if everyone is feeling a bit strange – me, my friends. And I notice workplaces seem to have taken a collective sigh. 

August is often dubbed the 'silly season’. In this sense, it holds its own distinct, but forgettable charm. Streets seem quieter, and some decide to switch their out-of-office mode on. This year, London seems to have donned an even quieter coat, maybe because the memories of COVID now feel a tad distant, and we are able to jet off much more freely. But what's interesting is this stillness, this mellow mood – why does it sometimes make us feel like we're on the edge of something? Why does it instil such worry?

I read a couple of articles from 2017 that describe the ‘August Blues’. Katie Heaney writes on The Cut, that the first of August brings for her, ‘a crushing ennui that does not lift until September’. She details some of the very personal reasons this is so but also investigates our moods in relation to the changing seasons, and the idea that August brings an existential dread, similar to that of the Sunday evening, except for a whole month. We have to go back to work, to school, to life, and the whole cycle moves on, unyielding. 

It's quite relatable. Summer stirs up so much longing, so much sweet anticipation that even a whisper of its ending feels terribly unjust. Perhaps we are moved by the changing of the season around us, and there is a subtle shift – nights grow a bit longer, and those vibrant green leaves start to show a hint of fatigue (although with the amount of rain in the UK this summer, my garden still looks as lush as it did in early June).

What to do with this dose of August-induced jitters? Why do they occur? In a world where various devices curtail us with constant connection and productivity, it's practically impossible to imagine things slowing down. Maybe August feels odd because it seems like we’ve been idle for too long. August nudges us, to recall the judgemental voice of our super-ego. When there's a pause, a gap, we suddenly feel this itch for action, as if we should be doing something, doing more. We take up an anxious stance. We alone are not enough.

These days, we're hardwired to be productive, and always on the move. Even holidays come with a to-do list to make every moment count. But when the noise stops, when the frenzy halts, who is left? We are left alone with ourselves and perhaps, this is the difficult part. That is when things get interestingly uncomfortable. Can we be alone and accept ourselves, just as we are, in our idle state? 

Freud said that melancholia is when the ego has become poor and empty. In succumbing to this state, we start believing we don't deserve love, we cannot bask in the sun's rays. We wither, somewhat. August's empty spaces put this theory on display. We end up feeling lesser than and struggling to embrace ourselves just as we are. We lose the capacity to embrace our own intrinsic essence.

Nature, in its essence, embraces idleness in August. Flowers languidly droop, trees are starting to discolour. There is a sense that a new phase is coming. That things will be dying off, shedding, cut back. But not yet. The tree is not rushing the process. It is simply idle, and waiting, taking in the last of the sun, before it departs for longer days in the southern hemisphere. 

August, if anything, really is our invitation to just be. To lean into the lethargy perhaps. Yes to feel agitated, anxious, and maybe melancholy, but if we listen close enough, we might catch its drift. Maybe it's urging us to reconnect with ourselves, to shake hands with the gaps between the noise, and learn to accept who we are, not who we (have been led to believe) we should be.