Dandelion and the Shadow
- Amanda Zambon
- May 30
- 7 min read
Updated: Jun 2
Dandelion stands out for her bright yellow flower heads, with petals radiating outwards like the sun. Each day, she opens with daylight and closes at dusk, encapsulating all that is bright.
But this isn't her whole story.
As I explore below, Dandelion is also inextricably linked to the shadow—the parts of ourselves we hide away. She helps us process what lies stagnant and unseen, but festers nonetheless.
In this blog I offer you:
Introducing Dandelion
Dandelion is a plant that turns up without being invited. Often, she is reviled. Detested for messing up a perfectly manicured lawn.
Yet, there is where she is happiest.
Recently, I have noticed many posts on social media defending the dandelion - talking of her benefits for wildlife and her medicinal qualities. It's satisfying to see her fan club develop.
Still, the hate that can be levelled at one small flower fascinates me: Why, exactly, do we need our lawns to be so perfect?
This quest for perfection begs the question of what we are so afraid of. Perhaps it's not the small yellow flower, but the parts of ourselves that we cannot accept.
And if we let her in, and welcome her - what can we learn about ourselves?
Shadow work
Psychotherapist Carl Jung called this “shadow work”. Essentially, it’s the process of facing the hidden parts of our psyche—the traits, memories, and instincts we’ve pushed aside in order to appear acceptable.
The shadow isn’t evil—it’s simply everything we’ve been taught to deny.
Reintegration of those elements is essential to feeling whole.
And when we start to look into the medicinal and nutritional qualities of dandelion, we realise that she is able to help us access those hidden parts of ourselves through more ways than one.
So, how can the little plant that looks like the sun help us learn about the shadow parts of ourselves?
Meeting dandelion
We have to look beyond her brilliant yellow mane to really get to know the dandelion.
Similar yellow heads are in fact borne by her many siblings, including cat’s ear, nipplewort, hawk's beard, hawkbit, sow thistle... and the list goes on (click here to explore her siblings more).
They are all are members of the astercaea / daisy plant family, and they all share a secret...
Their “petals” are in fact individual tiny flowers with their own reproductive organs, which is why you have so many seeds that form after flowering.
Most Ateracaea have 'ray' florrettes round the outside and 'disc' florettes in the middle - for example, sunflowers and daisies.
Dandelions and their close relations are made entirely of the ray florettes.
However, a true dandelion can be recognised for having:
a single, bright yellow flower head per stem;
a hollow, unbranched and leafless stem which exudes a milky white sap when broken;
deeply toothed and jagged basal rosette of leaves which looks like “lion’s teeth” (which is what dandelion means in French: dent-de-lion).
Leaves grow flat to the ground and never clasp the stem
A white, spherical seed head (the classic “dandelion clock”), made of fluffy parachute-like seeds (achenes) that blow in the wind.
That said, there are 200 + micro species of dandelion in the UK alone, so conformity to a single prototype is not really her style!
Folklore Surrounding the Dandelion
It's not surprising therefore that despite the brilliance of their flowers, much of the folklore surrounding dandelions involves her leaves, sap, seedheads and roots.
Leaves
Dandelion's common English name derives from the french for 'lion teeth', referring to the shape of its leaves: dents de lion
I also like to think that this is a reminder that this plant, despite its cheery yellow head, does have a lot of bite and strength to it.
What's more, it's jagged shaped leaves are not symmetrical, or neatly formed. They look like they would cut deep and not neatly but in a way that is raw and truthful.
Sometimes that's what's needed to go down deep.
In French, it is actually called 'pissenlit', which is a translation from the original English 'wet-the-bed'. This refers to its diuretic qualities of its leaves. For me, this conjures up images of releasing what is being held onto.
Sap
The white, milky sap of the dandelion is a form of latex and a key identifying feature of the plant.
I came across a fascinating study on the meanings of plant names which found the plant has been called 'witches milk' is in English and also in German (hexemilch).
If witches are feared or marginal figures, then their milk suggests nourishment from a dark, liminal source. This fits the idea of nourishment from shadow—the core of shadow work.
Is the dandelion a wild, subversive mother, offering a milky substance that isn’t sweet but bitter and cleansing?
Seed head
Her seed head has also been the focus of a lot of folklore. It has a peculiar looking but mesmerising structure.
Many people have memories of blowing the dandelion clock as a child and using it to guess the time of day or make a wish.
The Dutch terms toveraartje (magic spike or magician) and toverheksen (magic-witches) point directly to the dandelion's role as a plant of divination, especially in children’s games.
This links beautifully to shadow work and the concept of future-telling through breath and loss: Blowing dandelion seeds is an act of surrender, of letting go.
Roots
In French, saying someone is “eating dandelions by the roots” is a colloquial way to speak of death.
While no doubt a tongue in cheek phrase, it does conjure up quite a stark image. In folklore, death is rarely the end but a moment for rebirth and transformation.
And when we think of someone underground, literally chewing a bitter root - it's not such a stretch to think that perhaps they are chewing over their life and that which remains unprocessed?
If these themes interest you, see my blog on Witches, Herbs and the Wild Woman Archetype
Healing with Dandelion
From a medicinal perspective, Dandelion helps the liver and kidneys to clear bodily wastes, which again taps into the analogy of shadow work and getting to those parts of ourselves that fester but rarely get processed.
Traditionally, the leaf was used for increasing urine (hence it's common name 'wet the bed')
She is especially helpful for those suffering from chronic skin and joint problems, including acne, eczema, arthritis and rheumatism.
The root also has digestive stimulating properties - which I think also speaks to helping us reintegrate the parts of ourselves that we do need to keep, while purging those we need to let go.
Foraging Dandelion
The roots, leaves, stems, buds and flowers are all edible.
By ingesting her, we take in her bitter medicine, allowing us to deeply connect with the plant and to enable her to help us process what is within.
The young leaves can be eaten in a salad; they can also be added to cooked meals or soups.
The flower buds reportedly make amazing fritters - I've never tried. They can also be baked into cakes.
Dandelion can also be made into beer, wine and honey.
My favourite thing to do with her is dig up the roots in winter (they will have more taste then!) and make a dandelion 'coffee'. It tastes sweeter than coffee in my opinion. I really recommend this recipe from Totally Wild.
Biodiversity: Dandelion in the Web of life
Providing food
Reintegrating our shadow can help heal ourselves; and accepting the dandelion can heal our planet.
I read recently that numbers of flying insects in the UK have fallen by 78% since 2004, according to a recent survey based on sampling vehicle number plates (see the Guardian).
This completely boggles my mind, and if it's not a symptom of a sick society then I don't know what is.
Dandelion can help here. She provides a bounty of nectar, partly because as mentioned earlier there are up to 200 little micro flowers within a single flowerhead.
A survey of urban meadows in the UK showed that dandelions contributed 90% of the nectar and 80% of the pollen consumed by pollinators. Being among the earliest blooming flowers in spring, this is much appreciated by bees, butterflies, and hoverflies when other food sources are scarce. This early availability is really important for pollinator survival and activity after winter dormancy.
It's lucky therefore, that she has adapted in such a way to survive against the toughest environments.
A plant for the end of the world
Rarely is she appreciated for her resillience and ingenuity when it comes to survival.
On the lawn she has adapted to withstand trampling - evolving to grow closer to the ground.
In the city, a dandelion's seeds can sprout even in a crack in the concrete, her tap roots reaching down to draw up minerals from deep underground.
I read recently that urban dandelions grow better and faster than their rural relatives in higher urban temperatures by making more efficient use of photosynthesis (click here for mroe on this.)
And she is even able to withstand high concentrations of salt in her leaves meaning she can grow by roads that are sprayed in winter.
There is something about her tenacity that means you can be sure she will be there come what may.
And on top of this, she will spread with ease, with each plant creating 150-200 seeds. Scientists have even studied her seed dispersal from an engineering perspective - and the way she uses an impressive air vortex to travel further depending on humidity in a location (see article on How Dandelion Seeds Stay Afloat for So Long.)
If seems likely therefore that if the world starts falling she will be the one to help us to rebuild.
Herbalist Nathaniel Hughes puts it beautifully:
"Dandelions have little respect for neatly defined beds, paths, pristine lawns. They even disregard the otherwise life-devouring effects of concrete and we can be sure that when our cities fall, Dandelion will be among the first colonisers" - Nathaniel Hughes, "Weeds in the Heart"
Concluding thoughts
In his profile on dandelion, Forager Robin Harford shares a Sufi Tale about a man who travels the land looking for a way to stop dandelions coming to his garden - eventually seeking the advice of the royal gardener.
On realising that he had already tried all of the methods suggested by this sage gardener, there is only one piece of advice left to give: “Well, then, the only thing I can suggest is that you learn to love them."
And this is also very much the message that comes with shadow work, too.
We can't ignore those parts of us we deny but instead we have to see them, to acknowledge them, process them, and accept and love them as part of ourselves.
Only then will we find a sense of wholeness and authenticity. And the dandelion can be a quiet companion in this.
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