What Shadow Work Really Means: A Depth Psychotherapist’s Perspective on Turning Toward the Parts We’ve Had to Hide
Shadow work gets talked about a lot these days. You’ll see it on Instagram beside a photo of someone journaling in candlelight, or a quote about healing your inner child to “become your highest self.” I’m glad we’re bringing these words into the mainstream—it means more people are waking up to the idea that we carry wounds we can’t always see.
But if you’ve ever truly done shadow work—really sat with the parts of yourself you were taught to shame or hide—you know it’s not something you can wrap up in a caption.
It’s not just a weekend workshop, drinking ayahuasca, or a spiritual trend. It’s not always cathartic. And it’s definitely not aesthetic.
It’s painfully slow. Often messy. Sometimes it feels like breaking open.
And still—it’s holy.
What Is the Shadow?
In Jungian psychology, the shadow is the part of us that gets pushed underground—out of conscious view. It’s everything we’ve learned not to be in order to stay safe, loved, or accepted.
Sometimes it’s obvious: rage, jealousy, control, manipulation.
But often it’s more complicated. The shadow might also include your tenderness. Your ambition. Your sensuality. Your grief. Your intuition. The parts that were too big, too bold, or too sensitive for the people around you.
So you learned to tuck them away. You became who you needed to be to survive. You wore a mask—even if you didn’t know it was a mask.
Shadow work is about turning toward what you’ve exiled. Not to judge it, but to understand it. To listen. To ask: What did you need? Who weren’t you allowed to be?
Jung wrote, “The most terrifying thing is to accept oneself completely.”
That line has always stuck with me. Not because it’s poetic—but because it’s true.
Shadow Work Is Not an Aesthetic
Let me be honest: I’ve seen the shadow work memes. I’ve scrolled past the TikToks that suggest healing your shadow will unlock abundance, confidence, and perfect boundaries. And while there can be empowerment in doing this work, it’s not usually what comes first.
What comes first is discomfort. Disorientation. Maybe grief. Maybe shame.
Real shadow work isn’t about becoming a more curated version of yourself—it’s about becoming more human.
It’s not a spiritual glow-up. It’s the quiet courage to sit with the parts of yourself you’ve spent years avoiding.
And most of the time, it doesn’t feel like a transformation. It feels like unraveling.
What Shadow Work Looks Like in Depth Psychotherapy
In my office, shadow work rarely announces itself. It arrives quietly, often unexpectedly:
A client who’s always played the caretaker starts to feel resentment rising—and instead of suppressing it, we stay with it. We get curious.
A dream brings up an image that feels ugly or wrong. We don’t interpret it away—we listen to it, as though it has something important to say.
Someone who’s always identified as “the strong one” begins to tremble in front of me, not from weakness, but because something old is finally allowed to soften.
Shadow work is not performative. It doesn’t always look like progress.
But it is progress—when we stop needing to be only good, or only light, or only composed.
The Sacred Mess of Being Human
I often think of shadow work as soul work.
Not in a lofty or abstract way—but in a very earthy, grounded one. It’s the work of sitting with the truth of who you are: the ache and the beauty, the numbness and the need.
Often, the parts we most fear are the parts that hold our medicine. Our anger can carry our boundaries. Our grief can carry our love. Our shame can lead us back to the places we needed more care.
When we stop running from what feels dark, we start to come home to ourselves.
Becoming Whole Isn’t Always Pretty—But It’s Worth It
Here’s the thing: you don’t have to love every part of yourself right away. Shadow work isn’t about forcing self-love or pretending to be healed.
It’s about learning to be in relationship with the parts of you that are still hurting, still waiting, still hiding.
That’s what I love about depth psychotherapy. It doesn’t rush you. It doesn’t require you to be polished. It makes space for your contradictions, your longings, your complexity.
Because healing isn’t about becoming perfect.
It’s about becoming honest.
And wholeness? It doesn’t mean you’re done. It means you’re willing to keep turning toward yourself—with softness, with curiosity, with a little more courage than you had before.
If you’re feeling the call to explore this deeper terrain, I offer spiritual counseling and emergence therapy to support you on your path toward wholeness.