The Wound

There is an incredibly powerful force inside me that seeps poison of weakness and doubt into my mental muscles. It is a presence in my Shadow that resurfaces from time to time, usually when I am weak or tired. It says that all my thoughts and ideas, all this creative effort, are junk and just my arrogant delusion.

“Who are you to think you know or can do something extraordinary? Sit down and let the professionals do their work. You lost your chance, you’re too old, it’s too late, you can never do it.”

And in this darkest hour, I have no choice but to unsheath the sword of my Will and cut through the unbreakable ties of desperation to live, to act, to avoid rotting in this terrible state. The only cure for this sickness is to face it head-on, boldly and with defiance, accepting the deal of “trying no matter the outcome.”

Because inaction is death…

* * *

However, there’s also a less forceful approach that involves Anima. That is to approach this Darkness with kindness and ask it where the horror it exudes comes from. And the Darkness, unable to conquer nurturing kindness and care, will reveal itself as a deep Wound.

The Wound would say that it’s afraid of us entering unknown territory where we have never been, that’s unfamiliar and frightening. The Wound will cry with grief, saying there was no one to rely on for emotional safety and stability when we were younger, so it was formed to protect us, to give a sense of safety and stability through the crutch of familiarity.

We will sit and cry rivers of tears, sobbing over those lonely, terrifying moments. And when the wells of our eyes run dry, we will humbly accept that these old ways are now hurting us, holding back our growth. We will reassure the Wound that we are no longer helpless by reminding it of all the great feats we have accomplished and all the storms we have survived. And all of the new self-care methods we have discovered and mastered.

And the Wound will let out a gentle smile as it reintegrates back into the Self.