NZ Kaminsky's Blog - Posts Tagged "jungian-psychology"
Mindful reading and healing through immersive storytelling
What if the men in romantic stories are not just characters... but keys to our healing?
I’ve been reflecting on an archetypal truth:
That many women throughout history, Jane Austen, Charlotte Brontë, and others, were not just writing romantic heroes or gothic figures…
Maybe, they were writing their way toward wholeness. Toward reclaiming trust in the Masculine. Toward meeting the inner man they never met in the outer world.
When a woman writes a man who is emotionally available, mature, protective, supportive, and attuned, she’s not escaping reality. She’s rewriting it. She’s reshaping her psyche. She’s giving her nervous system and her heart a new imprint — one of safety, sovereignty, and connection.
This is not fantasy. This is inner alchemy.
The stories we write or read can become medicine.
They can help us meet the Animus, the inner masculine, in his healed form.
Not as the critic, the aggressor, or the cold, absent father...
But as a partner, a protector, a stable presence who says:
"I got you. You are safe. You are whole
And maybe this is how we stop repeating the old patterns, inside and out.
To all the women writing or reading novels, poetry, or even daydreaming of love that heals:
You are on the path of the sacred scribe.
You are healing your lineage through immersive storytelling.
If I were a character in a book, I’d hope the pages would whisper:
“Her Animus, once an internalized tyrant, becomes her guardian, her supporter, her beloved, when she gives him a healthy form through a rewritten story.”
Natalie
Natalie
I’ve been reflecting on an archetypal truth:
That many women throughout history, Jane Austen, Charlotte Brontë, and others, were not just writing romantic heroes or gothic figures…
Maybe, they were writing their way toward wholeness. Toward reclaiming trust in the Masculine. Toward meeting the inner man they never met in the outer world.
When a woman writes a man who is emotionally available, mature, protective, supportive, and attuned, she’s not escaping reality. She’s rewriting it. She’s reshaping her psyche. She’s giving her nervous system and her heart a new imprint — one of safety, sovereignty, and connection.
This is not fantasy. This is inner alchemy.
The stories we write or read can become medicine.
They can help us meet the Animus, the inner masculine, in his healed form.
Not as the critic, the aggressor, or the cold, absent father...
But as a partner, a protector, a stable presence who says:
"I got you. You are safe. You are whole
And maybe this is how we stop repeating the old patterns, inside and out.
To all the women writing or reading novels, poetry, or even daydreaming of love that heals:
You are on the path of the sacred scribe.
You are healing your lineage through immersive storytelling.
If I were a character in a book, I’d hope the pages would whisper:
“Her Animus, once an internalized tyrant, becomes her guardian, her supporter, her beloved, when she gives him a healthy form through a rewritten story.”
Natalie
Natalie
Shadow Work in Color: Frida Kahlo’s Artistic Expression of Universal Suffering Through a Jungian Lens
I just watched the film Frida, Salma Hayek’s outstanding creation, and I’m in complete awe.
I’ve been thinking about Frida Kahlo’s life and legacy, and what struck me most are her words:
“I hope the exit is joyful, and I hope never to return. I am suffering. But I want you to know I have loved life, and I want to thank you for it. Sometimes I think I am lost in a desert, but then I remember the music, the colors, the voices that fill my soul. I am broken, but still I sing. I paint my wounds so they can speak when I cannot. I want to be whole, but maybe I am meant to be a thousand pieces, scattered, torn, bleeding, and beautiful. If I leave now, it is because I have loved too much, and been hurt too much, and I am tired. But my love will stay. It will dance in the colors, the shapes, the light-forever.”
She gave her shadow color, shape, and voice, stained in dust, tears, and blood, but was she able to go beyond that and find peace before the end?
We’ll never know.
I find her art to be a transcendental tool for contemplating the shadow, a mirror in which she expressed human suffering as a universal truth, ingrained in our shared reality.
As Marie Louise von Franz once said:
“It is not enough just to know your shadow and say, ‘Yes, that’s my shadow.’ That is only the beginning. Most people stop there, but the shadow is a living part of the personality and must be lived in real life.”
Frida did not stop at naming her shadow. She lived it. And I hope some of us will follow her path, not only facing our own shadows, but going beyond that threshold, carrying her fire as a torch through the labyrinth of our own darkness, our personal underworlds.
My reflection:
Not all who suffer are geniuses.
But perhaps only tremendous suffering can ignite genius.
At least Frida had that.
How do we know when we’ve gone beyond awareness into actual transformation? What are the signs that the shadow is in the process of integration, rather than just seen?
When does self-expression become self-fixation? How can we tell the difference?
If the shadow is meant to be “lived in real life” (von Franz), how do we distinguish between cathartic art and real integration?
Given the depth of her artistic and written insights, how close do you think she came to true integration?
I’ve been thinking about Frida Kahlo’s life and legacy, and what struck me most are her words:
“I hope the exit is joyful, and I hope never to return. I am suffering. But I want you to know I have loved life, and I want to thank you for it. Sometimes I think I am lost in a desert, but then I remember the music, the colors, the voices that fill my soul. I am broken, but still I sing. I paint my wounds so they can speak when I cannot. I want to be whole, but maybe I am meant to be a thousand pieces, scattered, torn, bleeding, and beautiful. If I leave now, it is because I have loved too much, and been hurt too much, and I am tired. But my love will stay. It will dance in the colors, the shapes, the light-forever.”
She gave her shadow color, shape, and voice, stained in dust, tears, and blood, but was she able to go beyond that and find peace before the end?
We’ll never know.
I find her art to be a transcendental tool for contemplating the shadow, a mirror in which she expressed human suffering as a universal truth, ingrained in our shared reality.
As Marie Louise von Franz once said:
“It is not enough just to know your shadow and say, ‘Yes, that’s my shadow.’ That is only the beginning. Most people stop there, but the shadow is a living part of the personality and must be lived in real life.”
Frida did not stop at naming her shadow. She lived it. And I hope some of us will follow her path, not only facing our own shadows, but going beyond that threshold, carrying her fire as a torch through the labyrinth of our own darkness, our personal underworlds.
My reflection:
Not all who suffer are geniuses.
But perhaps only tremendous suffering can ignite genius.
At least Frida had that.
How do we know when we’ve gone beyond awareness into actual transformation? What are the signs that the shadow is in the process of integration, rather than just seen?
When does self-expression become self-fixation? How can we tell the difference?
If the shadow is meant to be “lived in real life” (von Franz), how do we distinguish between cathartic art and real integration?
Given the depth of her artistic and written insights, how close do you think she came to true integration?
Shadow Integration
Many of us have been taught to escape or fight uncomfortable emotions, labeled as “negative,” something to be eradicated in our pursuit of becoming better humans. We’ve spent our lives locked in an excruciating, endless battle against ourselves, chasing what we want while neglecting to give ourselves what we truly need.
But our shadows aren’t enemies to conquer. They’re allies holding untapped potential: wounded parts of our psyche crying out for acknowledgment, validation, and compassion. They need us to process the pain we’ve long ignored, resisted, and buried in the dungeons of our subconscious.
When we meet these shadows with care, they transform. They release the power they’ve been holding back our creativity, strength, resilience. Through the ugly truths we uncover about ourselves, they show us the path to freedom.
Imagine your shadow as your closest friend or a child longing for love, an ally guiding you toward wholeness, a source of strength leading you to awakening.
Embrace it with kindness.
Hugs,
Natalie
P.S.: In my novel Sense of Home, I explore the process of shadow integration through storytelling, folklore, and dreams that blur the line between fiction and reality, guiding Tyra on her path to healing. If this resonates with you, I’d be honoured to call you my reader.
But our shadows aren’t enemies to conquer. They’re allies holding untapped potential: wounded parts of our psyche crying out for acknowledgment, validation, and compassion. They need us to process the pain we’ve long ignored, resisted, and buried in the dungeons of our subconscious.
When we meet these shadows with care, they transform. They release the power they’ve been holding back our creativity, strength, resilience. Through the ugly truths we uncover about ourselves, they show us the path to freedom.
Imagine your shadow as your closest friend or a child longing for love, an ally guiding you toward wholeness, a source of strength leading you to awakening.
Embrace it with kindness.
Hugs,
Natalie
P.S.: In my novel Sense of Home, I explore the process of shadow integration through storytelling, folklore, and dreams that blur the line between fiction and reality, guiding Tyra on her path to healing. If this resonates with you, I’d be honoured to call you my reader.
