Rising Rooted

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Every one of us carries parts of ourselves we hide, deny, or push down. These are the pieces we learned early on were “too much,” “not enough,” or simply “not acceptable.” They don’t disappear — they live underground, shaping how we move through the world.

Carl Jung called this realm the shadow: the unconscious material we’d rather not look at, but which continues to shape us in powerful ways. Shadow work is the practice of bringing awareness, compassion, and responsibility to those hidden parts.

It’s important to name the roots here. Jung coined the language of shadow in the early 1900s, but his work reflected the biases of his era: colonialist assumptions, sexism, heteronormativity, and neuronormativity. If we want shadow work to support us now, we need to adapt it — keeping what resonates, and expanding it for today’s world.

Shadow is not just about pathology. It’s not about hunting down the “bad” in us. It’s about meeting the complexity of being human, with honesty and care.

What Is the Shadow?

The shadow is one feature of Jung’s Model of the Psyche. He proposed that it is everything about ourselves that we repress, deny, or can’t yet see. It can include:

• Unacknowledged patterns (ways we react without knowing why).
• Denied emotions (anger, jealousy, grief, joy — anything we’ve been taught isn’t “allowed”).
• Disowned parts of self (traits that feel shameful, embarrassing, or threatening to others).

Shadow isn’t only “negative.” It also holds what’s called the golden shadow — the gifts, talents, and desires we’ve locked away because they weren’t welcomed. The dream of being an artist, the capacity for leadership, the joy of uninhibited movement — all of these can get buried, too.

Shadow work is not a one-time project. It’s an ongoing relationship. As long as we are alive, interacting with a world that shames, silences, and shapes us, there will always be new shadow material to tend.

My Story: Dancing Like Nobody’s Watching (Until They Were)

When I was about seven or eight, I remember dancing wildly in my bedroom — like nobody was watching — until two neighbourhood friends came upstairs, saw me, and burst out laughing. I was mortified. Whether it happened in that exact moment or slowly afterward, I stopped dancing freely.

As an adult, dancing has been something I avoid unless coaxed by substances. Through the lens of shadow work, I can see that what happened wasn’t that I “lost” my love of dancing, but that I tucked it away in shadow. That wild, free-moving part of me was shamed into hiding.

Now, I’ve been slowly inviting dancing back into my life — not urgently, not as a project to master, but gently, with patience. I dance with my one-year-old in the kitchen. I let the thought cross my mind: maybe one day I’ll dance more in public.

And that’s the point I want to make: shadow work doesn’t always demand immediate action. Sometimes when you discover a hidden part, you may need to bring it into your life right away because it’s affecting your well-being or your relationships. Other times, like with my dancer-self, it’s subtler — something you can approach slowly, in your own time, with no rush.

Shadow work is not about ticking boxes or fixing yourself. It’s about cultivating an ongoing relationship with your hidden parts, deciding what needs tending now, and allowing the rest to unfold at your pace.

Misconceptions About Shadow Work

Shadow work has become popular in self-help and online spaces, but a lot of myths circulate about what it is. Some gentle clarifications:

• Shadow work can’t be “finished.” Because the shadow is part of having an ego, it’s a lifelong practice, not a weekend workshop. As you work through one layer, new ones naturally emerge.
• It’s not just about the “dark stuff.” Your shadow also holds your golden shadow — the gifts and strengths you’ve hidden.
• It’s not just journaling prompts. While writing can help, true shadow work is embodied. It requires sitting with difficult emotions, noticing your triggers, and sometimes moving in ways that bring hidden energy to the surface.

And perhaps most importantly: shadow work isn’t only individual. Just as people have shadows, so do societies. The collective shadow shows up in racism, ableism, sexism, homophobia — all the aspects of humanity that culture pushes into denial but that continue to shape lives. When we do shadow work personally, we’re also preparing ourselves to name and address shadow collectively.

Self-Led Shadow Work: Gentle Trailheads

I like to call triggers “trailheads” into the shadow. They’re signs that point to something deeper. A trailhead might look like:

• Feeling overly reactive to a situation.
• Noticing a strong projection (when you assume someone else is thinking or feeling something about you).
• Acting “out of character” and wondering afterward, Why did I do that?

These moments are invitations to pause and ask: What’s underneath this reaction?

Ways to explore gently on your own:

• Keep a trigger journal. Write down what set you off, how you felt, and what story you told yourself about it.
• Try a guided shadow work journal. Structured self-inquiry can help you notice patterns.
• Dialogue with parts. Once you identify an aspect of yourself in shadow, try writing to it or from its voice.

A word of caution: shadow work can surface trauma. If you have a history of trauma, please approach with care. Support — whether from a therapist, trusted friend, or community — can make all the difference.

Shadow Work in Therapy

In therapy, shadow work looks different because you’re not alone with it. You’re held in relationship.

For me as a therapist, safety and trust come first. Sometimes clients are ready to dive into shadow work right away; other times, we need to build resourcing before touching the deeper material.

One of the most healing elements of therapy is having someone who can stay with you in the hard places without turning away. Shadow often forms when we were young and had big feelings that weren’t met with presence. The adult who should have seen us turned away, and so we shoved those parts down.

In session, when someone is overwhelmed, I might simply ask them to look in my eyes and remind them: I’m here with you. You’re not alone. You can feel this. I’m here.

Connection anchors us when emotions feel unbearable. And connection is what allows shadow work to become healing, not retraumatizing.

Shadow Work as Collective Healing

Shadow work isn’t just about becoming a “better version” of yourself. It’s about stepping into greater alignment with your values, your relationships, and your community.

When more of us engage with shadow, we not only reclaim our hidden parts — we also become better equipped to face the shadows of our culture. We become less ruled by shame and denial, and more capable of building a just, compassionate society.

Shadow work isn’t something you master.

It’s something you come back to—again and again, in different forms, at different depths, across a lifetime.

Some parts will feel ready to be met. Others will stay just out of reach for a while. That doesn’t mean you’re doing it wrong. It means something in you is pacing the process.

Over time, the relationship changes.

What once felt unbearable becomes something you can sit beside. What once felt shameful begins to make sense. What once lived underground starts to have a voice.

Not all at once. Not all neatly. But enough to soften the edges.

Enough to feel a little more at home in yourself.

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If this spoke to something in you, there are a few paths you can follow from here:

Each door leads somewhere different. It is my hope that all of them lead back to you.

<3 Rachel