Much of Carl Jung's life was about answering one question: How do you hold the totality of the psyche without being consumed by it?
After his split with Sigmund Freud, Carl Jung began getting intense visions, hearing voices, and seeing figures in his mind between the years 1913 and 1917. He was close to psychosis, and he knew it, but he also knew he couldn't do anything about it. It was too strong.
During this time, he continued to see clients, give lectures, and appear normal to the outside world, but at home, he was fighting his inner demons. He knew he would lose his mind if he didn't face them head on, so that's what he did. Later, he called this a self-induced "creative illness", and he famously documented his journey in The Red Book.
It's easy for me to romanticise this time for Carl Jung or think of him as an enlightened being. But after going through my own psychological breakdowns and troubles, I know this mustn't have been a glamorous time. It never is.
I felt bloody scared and completely alone at times.
Unlike Carl Jung, I avoided looking into my psyche because it was too scary. I thought it would eat me up. I relied on someone else seeing my desperate situation and taking me under their wing.
I feel very blessed to have been held in a safe space, taught meditation and breathwork, and introduced to plant medicines. It was the most transformational time in my life. I danced, laughed, cried, and wailed until I finally learned to accept my darkness.
That's what Carl Jung meant by holding the totality of the psyche. The totality of the psyche is the good, the bad, and the ugly, and until all three are integrated, there's going to be friction. That friction can be painful and hard to understand.
"There is no light without shadow and no psychic wholeness without imperfection. Life calls not for perfection, but for completeness." — Carl Jung
I look back on that time with fondness now, but if I were to do it again, I would do a few things differently.
Carl Jung didn't think that everyone should chase transformational experiences blindly. He warned they can cause more psychological damage or re-traumatisation if people aren't careful.
It was imperative for Carl Jung to continue seeing his clients, giving lectures, and living a "normal" public life because it kept him anchored to the world. It saved him from losing his mind.
That's the one thing I lacked during my time with my mentor. I was travelling the world, so I had left my country, my family, my friends, and my work behind. This gave me as much time and freedom to work on myself as I needed, but after finally reaching a place of deep peace, all I wanted to do was meditate.
It was so hard for me to be in the world.
It was too loud, too chaotic, and too fragmented. Subconsciously, I related the outside world to my inner demons and my inner world to stillness. So I stayed at home, lit some incense, closed my eyes, and didn't get up for months.
It was blissful. But when I needed to re-enter the world to earn money and visit family, I lost myself. My mental health suffered, and I was all at sea again.
For a couple of years, I would work for a few months and then retreat a few months. I went from losing myself to finding myself to losing myself again.
I struggled to maintain both my inner stillness and outer responsibilities at the same time because I didn't do both at the same time.
That's what I try to do differently now. I slow everything down. I'm less in a hurry to have big breakthroughs if there isn't time to integrate what I've learned.
Today I enjoy writing online and sharing breathwork while working on myself behind closed doors. Instead of documenting everything in a Red Book like Carl Jung did, I slowly share what I've learned online over time.
As one of my readers, you're often the first to know about it.
There aren't enough words to express how much that means to me.