I shook, and my eyes widened the first time the rush of nicotine flooded my system.

Huddled, in secret, on the back step of my best friend’s patio.

We shared the smoke, swinging between elated exhilaration and complete paranoia that we were going to get busted. I only partially inhaled, thinking this would keep me from getting addicted. The taste and smell were disgusting, but the smoke was comforting.

Surrounded by chain-smokers, the dangers were lost to the nostalgia of witnessing my family gathering around the table.

I didn’t get it at the time, but that sensation of nicotine coursing through me was the opposite of dissociation; it was a way to “be here” and feel while simultaneously numbing myself enough to be present.

Years later, a native elder taught me the value of smoke and how it provided a “smoke screen” of safety, as I learned to release the feelings and emotions of others. Not a recommended tool, but it was all I had and knew then.

Reflecting, this concept saddened me.

The thought of all my loved ones trapped behind a veil of smoke, hiding and seeking something to protect them from the world around them.

The five women, sitting together but still so far from one another, as thick clouds of smoke between them…

I see how this symbolically gave them individual barriers, containing the dark underbelly of mental illness and inner conflict I felt from them as I sat at that same table.

When women gather in celebration…shouldn’t there be love, joy, and connection?

When you don't have close, nurturing, loving relationships during adolescence, it is hard to trust connections as an adult. Women are not safe; they lie, manipulate, and hurt each other.

This was the message I received as I watched the dynamics play out around me.

When you have a childhood that everyone felt was normal on the outside, it torments you internally to process your perceptions.

Rarely does your view match those who found comfort living with blinders.

Reflecting and reminiscing with relatives, it became clear we held very different memories of the past, and they conveniently found the parts that were appropriate to talk about.

Yet in my mind, I held the ghosts: flashing moments of random pieces never fitting together, forcing me to examine them.

Why did they not feel what I felt?

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Driving home from a speaking engagement over the weekend, I had an unexpected memory that simultaneously triggered nostalgia and an unsettling insight.

The Lindsay Clancy trial has been flooding my feed, almost as much as it has occupied my mind. Before I dive into the epiphany tied to this nostalgic moment, let me backtrack for a moment.

Two weeks ago, I decided to deepen my expertise, training, and interest in human behavior and took on a new position at a specialty mental health clinic.

To honor HIPAA laws and keep some anonymity, I will not name the place or the specialty. What I will say is that this new position is challenging and gives me real-world experience and clinical training in multiple facets of mental health.

Last week consisted of three different specialized training sessions, all centering around ‘psychosis’. The material covered hallucinations, delusions, and medications, as well as clinical interventions. It was a little haunting to navigate the subject matter while eagerly awaiting closing arguments, and of course, any updates on the jury and deliberation.

All of this swirled around my brain as I rode the adrenaline wave after a two-hour talk I gave to a lovely group of people. Back to the drive home.

The trial coverage via Court TV was on hiatus for the weekend, so I let my YouTube channel play randomly, figuring the algorithm knows my appetite for criminal cases, law, and forensic psychology. What happened next hit me like a lightning bolt.

As the commercial break ended, the opening music began for whatever show YouTube had chosen based on my viewing preferences. Within the first few notes, my entire body responded with a strange yet beautiful rush of warmth. The music had touched something in me before I consciously understood what was happening.

Now here’s the thing. We are talking intro music to a crime show. Not some beautiful ballad, or the sentimental recognition of old-school rock like my parents used to listen to. The tone hit me in the heart, and I was suddenly transported back into my living room as a child.

Sitting in front of the television, watching Oprah, Geraldo Rivera, and other daytime hosts. The stories about loss, death, and tragedy shaped my childhood. Yet instead of feeling sad or bothered by the terrible details, I became curious.

That intro music opened an old door and a new insight. As the music began, my body relaxed and felt calm. It was soothing and safe, familiar and warm. Like a cozy blanket, the sound pumped through the speakers and enveloped me. Tears began to flow as I nodded at the synchronicity of the moment.

My mother worked in the field of mental health for most of her life. She worked in group homes and clinics, caring for those often abandoned by their families. They had a range of physical and developmental disabilities and disorders, and she gave them love and compassion in ways that still bring me to tears.

Holidays sometimes included one or two of these individuals, and some family members had a lot to say about her bringing them home. They talked badly about my mother and attempted to shame her for caring about people who ‘were not our blood’. My mother taught me to see beyond appearances and brought me to hospitals when I was a child so I could give gifts to those who were sick or less fortunate.

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In my previous article {Find it here}, I outlined highlights of the Lindsay Clancy case early on in the trial, focusing on postpartum psychosis and the Death Mother archetype, so I won’t go digging up those bones again. I want to look at something else, a separate psychological event. Us.

Things quickly go sideways the second a case like this enters the collective, public imagination. There is the crime and the evidence. There is what happened inside the house, down in the basement, and outside on the lawn. And then there is another crime scene unfolding within the collective psyche.

Facts begin to become deeply disturbed and distorted.

Yes, the potential truth and known facts of the events are already ugly… and the conspiracy theories are damaging and infectious, like a poison they bleed into the narrative, muddling the details. Rumors and speculation are misconstrued, presented as facts.

We mishear statements, invent details, diagnose strangers, reconstruct marriages we never had access to, and assign motives to people we have never met.

Then, we call it “research.” We become bloodthirsty, insisting we want justice. We resurrect the disastrous, ignorant, gaslighting, manipulative tactics of the witch hunt. The gallows are the comment sections on posts made by spectators who seem to lack credentials, expertise, or any relevant experience to back the comments they wield.

This is the shadow side of true crime… We have an insatiable hunger for tragedy. We are voyeurs, sensationalizing and projecting our opinions without care to the circumstance.

Our moral superiority reflects the twisted pleasure we receive in these acts, convincing ourselves we know exactly what evil looks like.

We want to believe we’re asking what happened. Why are we not wondering why our psyches need a different version of what we believe happened to be true? When facts leave an unbearable void in the story, we unconsciously need to fill it in. We ruminate on the details and justify it as reasoning.

A quick detour

Before sinking deeper into the psychological material, I want to name a principle I continue to return to regarding forensic reasoning; it is called Occam’s razor. The principle is deceptively simple. When multiple explanations account for the available evidence equally well, start with the explanation that requires the least unsupported assumptions.

It is associated with philosopher William of Ockham, although he never gave us the modern phrase attributed to him: “Do not multiply entities beyond necessity.” In plainer language: Don’t invent ghosts when footsteps will do.

If your keys disappear, begin with I misplaced my keys before constructing a theory involving a crazed ex-boyfriend who broke into your house to torment you, even though said ex has been out of your life for eighteen months and moved out of state. This doesn’t mean the ex-boyfriend narrative is impossible. It means you need evidence before inviting him into the story.

Medicine works this way. Science works this way. Criminal investigation works this way.

Statistics and machine learning use related principles to avoid overfitting explanations to data. If a patient’s symptoms can be explained by a common illness, doctors typically investigate that before reaching for a rare disease (unless evidence points there). In science, when two models predict the same results, researchers prefer the simpler one until new evidence distinguishes between them.

None of this proves the simple explanation is correct. Reality can be grotesquely complicated. The Clancy case is complicated. The principle is more of a safeguard against unnecessary narrative, not a guarantee of truth. Reality is genuinely complex, and Occam’s razor is a heuristic, not a verdict.

We are not simple creatures. We lie to each other. We lie to ourselves. We can love and hate the same person in the blink of an eye. We act consciously for unconscious reasons. We rationalize impulses we are completely unaware of. It is important to remember, the unconscious is not interested in maintaining the narratives preferred by the ego.

So, I slightly modify Occam’s razor: Do not introduce complexity until the evidence requires it.

That leaves the door open to psychological depth without allowing imagination to convince us it’s forensic evidence especially in an emotionally charged case such as Lindsay Clancy’s.

Why we see ourselves in Lindsay’s story

We’ve been gathering around terrible stories for a long time. Before podcasts, documentaries, or TikTok, we sat around fires telling stories about missing women, wolves dressed as grandmothers, parents abandoning children in forests, husbands hiding dead women behind locked doors, and witches cooking children in ovens. We have always been fascinated by tragic stories. The sources and rates of consumption have changed, but our psyches have not.

Identification with stories is woven into how we construct identity, emotion, belonging, memory, and meaning. Psychologist Dan McAdams has spent decades studying what he calls narrative identity: the internal and continuously evolving story through which we organize who we believe ourselves to be.

We don’t just remember our lives. We narrate them, selecting scenes, and assigning villains. We appoint heroes and bury some chapters while revising others. Sometimes we spend years pretending there isn’t a forbidden room at the end of the hallway.

So when we encounter someone else’s story—a myth, fairy tale, novel, murder case, courtroom testimony—the psyche begins looking: where am I in this?

The identification doesn’t need to be literal, but unfortunately some take it that way.

A deeper dive into these dynamics follows for paid subscribers.

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Barely home from a training with Dr. Clarissa Pinkola Estés in Colorado, I felt compelled to write this piece, trusting the nudge to enter the mythic landscape of the underworld. While in session with Dr. Estés, we discussed women and instinct, predatory behavior, and malevolence within and around us.

While there, I met women who have survived treacherous circumstances, narrowly escaping death at the hands of loved ones. Specifically, mothers. I felt their pain and recognized the circling of these themes and my reluctance to penetrate these patterns by publishing this article.

This subject runs deep; I am grateful for the amazing mother I have, but in my lineage, others have not been as fortunate, and the ‘dark mother archetype’ holds a tender place in hard-to-fathom psychic grounds.

The hope in their eyes gave me the courage to hold my gaze steadily, a look I intended to carry the message that says, “I am not afraid of this discussion, and I will not abandon you in the difficult details of your story”.

They feared their stories were ‘too dark’ to share, while I feared they would judge my capacity to hold tragic stories as being ‘too dark’. What I learned is that this capacity that others fear is the work I have instinctively held, and I will no longer apologize for it. I write this article for those who suffer in silence, without a place to bear their burdens, the truth that what they have endured society cannot possibly fathom.

This is a courtesy warning: this article will discuss the infanticidal mother, meaning those who have attempted to, or have succeeded in harming or killing their children. The ‘infanticidal mother’ is a legal, psychological, and cultural term… yet I intend to bring a mythic quality to the discussion.

This is both to observe the mother who suffers with postpartum depression and/or postpartum psychosis (which are not the same thing), and the children who have survived her psychosis through a less pathological lens.

Let me start by stating that the worst moments, such as the death, the murder, or the injury, are rarely the beginning, nor are they the end. These terrible moments reflect a symptom of something more that has likely been brewing for quite some time.

As I write this, here in Massachusetts, they’ve begun jury selection for the trial of Lindsay Clancy, a Duxbury mother and nurse accused of strangling her three young children in 2023. Her lawyers argue she suffered from severe postpartum psychosis and the effects of over-prescribed medications.

I am not here to offer a position on Lindsay Clancy, but to reflect on the difficult and tragic nature of these situations, specifically postpartum psychosis. I’m not here to diagnose, but share my opinions as a researcher and writer with both a Jungian view and forensic influence.

Let’s begin with what we know about this case; here is the synopsis:

On January 24, 2023, Lindsay Clancy, a 32-year-old labor and delivery nurse from Duxbury, Massachusetts, killed her three children inside the home. According to investigators, Clancy asked her husband, Patrick Clancy, to drive to a restaurant farther away than usual and pick up medication, intentionally creating more time for Lindsay to be alone with the children.

Prosecutors allege Lindsay estimated how long her husband would be gone. During that time, she strangled each child before attempting suicide by jumping from a second-story window. Patrick Clancy returned home, called 911 after finding his wife injured outside, and then discovered the children inside. Lindsay Clancy survived but was left paralyzed from the waist down. She has pleaded not guilty to three counts of murder and related assault and strangulation charges.

The case is not about whether Lindsay Clancy caused the deaths, but whether she was criminally responsible under Massachusetts law (at that time). Records indicate she received extensive psychiatric treatment in the weeks leading up to the killings, including hospitalization and multiple psychiatric medications for her worsening symptoms. Her defense argues that she was suffering from severe postpartum mental illness, including postpartum psychosis, compounded by medication effects that left her incapable of appreciating the nature or wrongfulness of her actions.

Prosecutors reject this stance, arguing that the evidence shows planning and intentional conduct, not psychosis. They say her effort to create time alone with the children, and her internet activity, including a Google search asking, “Can you treat a sociopath?”, and her behavior afterward, are all evidence of deliberation.

The defense states these actions should be understood within the context of her rapidly deteriorating mental health. The case is being tried in Plymouth Superior Court, and jurors will determine whether Clancy meets the legal standard for criminal responsibility. I will give another update after the trial concludes.

First, a sociopath is an informal term, not an official diagnosis. It is commonly used to describe someone with antisocial personality disorder (ASPD) whose behavior is marked by chronic disregard toward others, deceitfulness, impulsivity, aggression, irresponsibility, and little remorse after causing harm. Unlike the popular stereotype, sociopaths can form attachments to a few people, though these relationships are often unstable or self-serving. Many struggle to control their emotions and may react with anger or violence when frustrated. The term is often contrasted with psychopath, though the distinction remains debated and neither term is a formal clinical diagnosis.

My initial thought regarding Lindsay’s search had more to do with the possibility that she had little remorse after killing her children. Postpartum psychosis can cause a mother to appear emotionally detached from her children, but the detachment is usually a consequence of a severe psychiatric illness, NOT a true absence of love or concern for her children. This has already been twisted by the media and will likely be evidence the prosecutors emphasize.

Because their perception of reality is profoundly altered, they may seem emotionally flat, distant, fearful, or indifferent toward their infant. In some cases, delusions convince the mother that the baby is evil, already dead, possessed, or somehow better off without her. These false beliefs can override normal maternal feelings and lead to behavior that seems incomprehensible to others.

It is important to distinguish this from psychopathy or a persistent lack of empathy. In postpartum psychosis, the diminished emotional connection is generally state-dependent. It occurs during the acute episode and often improves substantially with treatment. Once the psychosis resolves, many mothers are devastated by what occurred and experience intense grief, guilt, and love for their children.

That said, experiences vary. Some mothers with postpartum psychosis continue to feel emotionally connected to their infants despite their psychotic symptoms, while others experience profound emotional numbing or detachment. The presence of little outward emotion alone is not sufficient to diagnose postpartum psychosis, as emotional blunting can also occur in severe postpartum depression, certain medications, exhaustion, or other psychiatric conditions.

Let’s break down postpartum psychosis further.

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Welcome,

Today marks day twenty-nine of Field Notes on Archetypal Patterns. Today is the last day of field notes and archetypal patterns… I found it fitting to write about death.

Let’s begin with an excerpt from my new book Esoterica: The Shadow Worker’s Codex:

“While writing my dissertation on psychopathy and the human shadow, it become clear that a part of me was at risk due to the intense, graphic, and disturbing nature of the content I had to expose myself to.

For this reason, my intuition prompted me to create a death altar, a small area for intentional items. On my altar I have one item that represents what needs to die. This item can be a stone, a charm, a crystal, something from nature, or whatever I feel called to work with at that time.

Then, I have one talisman that acts like an anchor to the timeless, eternal part of me, who I am beneath at my core. This second object is more of a tether to this world when things get dark or when the material, I am working with feels too heavy. It’s as an anchor to the soulful self, a reminder of continuity as I shapeshift my identity around the darker parts of the human psyche.

This allows me to feel grounded and safe while engaging in difficult or tragic cases, client experiences, and research. Your death altar once again does not need to be for this same reason, but a reminder to allow life to unfold, while releasing what no longer serves.

The altar is a physical space that anchors us here, while also engaging with the divine of our understanding as we navigate change and transitional phases of life. The death altar can change with a season, such as from fall into winter, or with the shift of a specific time you are moving through.”

— Dr. Melissa Kim Corter

On my altar, I have one item that represents what needs to die during a deep process. I have used a stone, a charm, a crystal, something from nature, or whatever I’ve felt called to work with.

Then, I have one talisman that acts like an anchor to the timeless, eternal soul of who I am beneath these dying, shedding layers. This second object is more of a tether to this world when things get dark or when it feels like we may never move out of this phase.

It’s an anchor to the self, a reminder of continuity when we experience a profound shift in identity, in our faith, or in something else that is coming undone and being stripped away.

I place an item that keeps me tethered to the truth of my soul and allows me to grieve what is beginning to fall away. Something as simple as two candles side by side, intentionally placed in an area that feels right.

I choose an object such as a stone, crystal, necklace, candle, or other meaningful talisman to represent who I am, a soulful self beneath it all. Then I place one object that represents the part of myself that is dying, that I am grieving, letting go of, and putting to rest.

This practice is done with compassion. I’m not trying to get rid of this part of myself. I’m embracing it more completely, putting it to rest with firm boundaries. It no longer gets to operate in the same way as it did before... and I will now commit to this gesture, diligently working to change the pattern without slipping back into the old way.

Archetypal Pattern: Death

The death altar is not only a physical space we set up with intentionality. It may be a crime scene, the bed we surrender to in illness, the location where we have that last exhale, the final place we inhabit the body before we transition.

In 2025, I became a certified medicolegal death investigator (MDI). The role requires the investigation of deaths that are sudden, unexpected, violent, unattended, suspicious, or occur under suspicious circumstances. The MDI works alongside medical examiners, coroners, law enforcement, and forensic pathologists.

I am not active in this role; it was something I had wanted to do for years, more so as a researcher and someone who wanted to work in criminal justice throughout my life.

The training includes specialized education in forensic science, pathology, anatomy, injury interpretation, evidence preservation, scene documentation, legal procedures, and ethical standards.

They are also responsible for notifying the next of kin.

I learned a great deal about death on a physical level and the toll it takes on first responders and others who are involved in death work. I also gained a deeper appreciation for how to hold space without bringing emotions into the situation, keeping things clear for the sake of loved ones.

This part of my work is more research-oriented; I combine that with psychological and archetypal patterns.

My respect for the dead is one of the reasons I no longer shy away from my passion for justice. I used to fear people’s opinions about my interest in the criminal mind, darkness, the shadow, and psychopathology.

I have studied these things closely, and it is not a love of death that drives my curiosity; it is my trust in the infinite intelligence that lives within us and our life experiences… including the ones we struggle to understand.

Working with loss and tragedy taught me how to hold difficult complexity differently, and in doing so, I have deepened my awareness of death and transition. It helped me recognize the impact my presence can have on someone as they move through one of the worst moments of their life.

There is a tendency to offer wisdom, comfort, and understanding… but grief does not ask us for those things. When we share our loss as a response to sharing someone else’s pain, we are not listening to them. We are stealing the space that could help them feel held by the moment, by our need to show we care.

It’s selfish, and trust me, I know how helpless we can feel in those moments. Someone is grieving, and we just want to take their pain away… But who are we to do that? We can help them tremendously by listening rather than trying to fill the space.

Death is not only about the physical; the ego also goes through a death. One version of ego death I covered in this series was the dark night of the soul. The many layers of who we think we are continue to shift throughout a lifetime.

The death of what was is sometimes a deeper integration of these identifications. The roles we hold and the things we believe, just like the seasons, some die as others are reborn.

Sometimes we spiritualize these experiences, which can feel as if we are minimizing the toll they take. To give up a layer of oneself, to see it die and wither, can bring about gut-wrenching grief.

I once witnessed this happen to a young woman who had mapped out her life and had one plan for her future. In her eyes, it was the only thing she wanted.

When that dream came to a screeching halt, she didn’t just fall apart; she grieved that life as if it were a loved one taken too soon. It still pains her to speak of the details; the death of that dream has her stuck in between lives. Her health soon tanked, and she lost her faith.

This is serious stuff; an ego death, or the loss of an identity, can feel like a soul-crushing experience. Some people will not come back from it; it takes more than a part of them, and they lose something essential of themselves.

Call it soul; whatever it is, it is clear when that type of death passes through life.

I think of this as the undertaking… the undertaker originally had nothing to do with death or working with the dead. It came from the English word “undertake,” meaning to take upon oneself, to assume responsibility for, or to carry out a task.

The verb traces back to the Old English “undertacan,” a combination of “under” and “tacan” (“to take”), and described a person who accepted an important duty or obligation.

By the late seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, the term had gradually come to be associated with death because those who organized funerals began to describe themselves as undertakers.

They ‘undertook’ every aspect of caring for the deceased and arranging the burial, from preparing the body and supplying a coffin to coordinating the funeral procession, working with churches and cemeteries, and overseeing the countless practical details that accompany a person’s death.

Their role extended beyond caring for the body; they assumed responsibility for guiding families through one of life’s most difficult transitions. The title became prominent during the Victorian era, when elaborate mourning customs turned funeral arranging into a specialized profession.

Victorian undertakers became iconic figures, wearing black frock coats, waistcoats, and top hats. They organized funerals, but they were also caretakers of ritual and tradition. As funeral practices became more professionalized, newer titles such as mortician and funeral director emerged.

These names reflected a growing emphasis on professional training, science, and compassionate service, but the word “undertaker” gradually took on an old-fashioned or even ominous quality.

The original meaning of the word carries symbolic depth. It’s a sacred act to have those who are willing to accept difficult burdens that others cannot or will not carry.

The undertaker represents the ones who accompany others across thresholds of change. Every culture has relied on those who are willing to stand at the threshold between life and death, tending to the emotional and communal needs of the living.

Paid subscribers receive bonus content for further reflection and exploration below this line.

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Today marks day twenty-nine of Field Notes on Archetypal Patterns.

I’d like to begin with an excerpt from my new book Esoterica: The Shadow Worker’s Codex:

As you navigate the beautiful and brutal nature of this life experience, it is imperative you define what is for you, and not for you.

As simple as this sounds, it is the root of many struggles in serving the self, versus the imposing needs, beliefs, or ideas of another instead of your own.

Depth takes time, it is emotionally based work. Acknowledging shadow, honoring, and deciphering the tricky schemes and abundant gifts that they shadow holds for us is a long game, there is no mastery.

Mastery comes from the ego, the idea that we will finally one day get there or advance ourselves beyond our human struggles and ordeals.

We must tend to what allows us to remain most potent, and this my darkling takes courage to honor one’s inner guidance, to follow that small still voice within the depth of your being, regardless of what anyone tells you.

— Dr. Melissa Kim Corter

This article draws on something I see constantly in my personal life and a recurring theme others have confided they, too, grapple with.

Today’s theme builds on some of the points mentioned in this series, especially the earlier field notes on seeing and feeling what others would rather not face.

I have lots of conversations about these sorts of matters on a regular basis and have for more than twenty years. There is this thing that happens, and I, too, catch myself doing it.

Someone begins to tell a story and immediately feels the need to substantiate their perspective by declaring that they do not mean to sound judgmental or speak negatively about someone.

As mentioned, it is a habit I, too, am actively working on shifting. These conversations usually then delve into the depths of a problematic behavior these individuals have witnessed, and yet, as witnesses, they feel guilty for what they are clearly seeing in another.

They become apologetic for reflecting on the situation, as if they are not allowed to describe the events, because they are concerned it will be viewed as gossip.

There are aspects to this situation, and that is the truth about any circumstance; it will be layered with many views and lenses.

But for the sake of the ground I wish to cover here, the view I intend to deepen is that of a witness, observing bad behavior yet feeling guilty about naming it.

There is concern over backlash or creating drama, and a host of other reasons to keep these feelings close, which may be code for ‘suppressed’.

I believe it is critical that we have safe spaces and people to share with, without always having to clarify that we are not gossiping, spreading drama, or trying to throw someone under the bus.

All of those things are rooted in fear of being misunderstood, and the reason this is so difficult is that these conversations are always generated by those who take the high road.

They suffer in silence, holding onto information they feel guilty about knowing. As soon as I recognized the need for honest conversations about patterns, everything shifted.

Archetypal Pattern: The Curse of Consciousness

People are multidimensional, yet they operate according to a series of patterns. Some are conscious, many carry on independently of their knowledge.

When we stop judging people as good or bad and begin to look past the persona, we can start tracing their patterns and defenses. This has been extremely helpful regarding situations involving other people’s detrimental behavior.

In my experience, we will constantly run into people who operate through a false self.

For whatever reason, whether it is the current season of their life or how they will spend their entire life, they do not have access to their authentic self.

So instead of doing the work to tap into that aspect of their being, they borrow, take, or steal from those who unconsciously give.

Then these individuals, the takers, walk around, wearing this energy as if it is their own. We can feel it, and it angers us.

It’s not authentic; in fact, it is so performative that it agitates us to watch them put on the act. They flaunt this disingenuous behavior, performing for all who will entertain them. They may appear perfectly curated, with a seductive vibe that draws people in.

As observers, it is our responsibility to become more conscious of how we respect ourselves and give credit to these impressions. This information is significant, and in some spaces, we have created the dangerous idea that saying something is a code for us being 'out of alignment'.

I disagree. I think it is inauthentic to go along with the crowd and pretend these people are not deeply disturbed and causing harm.

Silence is what allows them to continue; they bet on you NOT saying anything, which is how they get away with these things.

Taking the high road is sometimes a problem. It is not always harmless.

I say this with complete transparency that I have been someone who kept my mouth shut out of fear. I feared the response, the backlash, the targeting, the lies, the ridiculous twist of a narrative to suit their needs and continue painting them as the victim. I am very sensitive, and this comes with a price.

Sometimes I have the awareness, but not always the language to back it up. We can be finely tuned in and still feel as if we are failing to articulate what it is that is happening, which then makes us feel insecure. All of this can then create an embarrassing situation where we stumble over our words.

The perception is accurate, but describing what has been felt, seen, or sensed may be a struggle. Moreover, a continuous stream of sensory input flows in. You have the person watching you struggle to tell the story, and you have your internal reaction to that dynamic. If the person you are trying to tell the story to is not safe, you will feel that too.

It all builds, each layer compounding on the one before. Then comes the defeat, the state we retreat into when we feel the disappointment of both having miscommunicated our observation and the new fear that this person now views us as untrustworthy because we brought up this sticky situation.

This is why I call this dynamic a curse of consciousness.

Years of feeling this way and working with others who deeply relate to this scenario had taught me to continue building my sense of self-trust and to write down my intuitive impressions.

The journal can hold us, so the pieces may come together more coherently. Then later, when more information arrives, you can look back and see just how accurate you really are.

A mentor once gave me a solid piece of advice that I have since passed along. I recall one moment, devastated and sobbing, lamenting how lonely I felt, feeling so deeply.

The tears came from another situation of seeing someone’s true colors, long after the red flags I had tried to describe to other people. It felt like a reverse crying wolf situation.

After I blabbered on, she kindly reminded me that my intuition sometimes acts as a protective function. Essentially, I had noticed a pattern of subtle manipulation and had felt it necessary to begin separating myself from this situation. I was conflicted because I had a wonderful contract with this organization, but did not agree with their unethical practices.

I had witnessed too many things, seen too much of what unfolded behind the scenes. Then, in what felt like a random coincidence, people began sharing intimate details of the same nature. They had no idea that I also knew, but they trusted me and would confide in me to hold the pieces until they knew what to do with them.

Somehow, I was always given secret or hidden information. People would share exactly what I needed to know, having no idea I was also witnessing these things from another angle. My mentor told me to stop asking why people told me things and just appreciate the fact that they did. The truth had a way of finding me.

In addition to trusting that process, my mentor taught me a healthy version of compartmentalization. Imagine you have a strange feeling about “Mary”. You like Mary, but for some reason, a part of you feels you should keep your distance.

What you do is, every time you feel that strange feeling or get another piece of information relating to Mary, you thank your intuition for giving you that clue.

Next, you symbolically take these pieces of information (your feelings, the stories people share, other ways these insights come to you) and you imagine putting them into a box, with Mary’s name on it.

You let it go and trust that if you ever need to make a more significant or important decision about Mary, you can go to that box, take out everything you know, and evaluate from there.

This helps you shift from judging the information to unpacking it. I have used this internal process many times, and in the bonus section I’ll share a story about one situation that could have escalated had I not used this exercise to trust what I was feeling from that individual.

Paid subscribers receive bonus content for further reflection and exploration below this line.

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Welcome,

Today marks day twenty-eight of Field Notes on Archetypal Patterns.

When I was deeply embedded in spirituality and the wellness industry, I’d roll my eyes each time I heard a certain term thrown around. Psychic vampires paint an immediate image in the mind, and certainty can conjure various examples of people and power dynamics.

Although I got it and had my fair share of these interactions, I sometimes felt as if these highly charged ideas were deflating, as if the soul were being drawn out of the word.

Maybe it was alive in the zeitgeist, which I find pretty telling if we take the time to follow that thread. Perhaps it’s the misuse of the term, kind of how everyone is all of a sudden a narcissist; I feel like back in the day we did the same thing with the term psychic vampires. Either way, the essence is real, yet the applications sometimes feel a bit insufferable for a culture that loves to pathologize every interaction.

Archetypal Pattern: Psychic Vampires

I cringed at the idea of including it in my latest book… until the universe did what it usually does: smack me square in the brow with an intense real-world encounter—the thing I was contemplating dancing with.

I’ve learned it rarely goes well when I argue with the universe, so here’s an excerpt on psychic vampires from my new book Esoterica: The Shadow Worker’s Codex

“Psychic vampires are people who are locked into a certain energy pattern, more specifically, one that equates to some degree of energetic depletion. This might look like one person unconsciously or deliberately feeding on the resources, talents, or time of others.

They are not supernatural beings; they are people who operate within the imbalance of a psychic exchange. They can be dependent, responding to an unmet need, or looking to fill a void within themselves.”

— Dr. Melissa Kim Corter

Lately, I have been reminiscing about a significant learning period of my life. This season weaseled its way into my writing, unintentionally. It was a time I tried to forget, mostly because it had so many infuriating elements.

One comes back to a time when I was misled by a spiritual teacher, a perfect example of a psychic vampire.

This form of psychic vampirism was unique compared to the typical draining behavior attributed to these individuals. This individual had a strange magnetic quality, now having learned what I have about psychopathic individuals and personality disorders, I can track some of those deeper patterns at awork.

Specifically, in terms of superficial charm, he was glib and had a huge ego. He was manipulative and evaded personal responsibility. Despite all of this, he positioned himself as a healer and had the following. He was always booked with sessions in our mutual clinic.

Looking back, it looked like the same client, repeatedly. Forty-something-year-old woman, recently divorced, trying to find herself again. She wanted to improve her self-worth and heal something from her past; unfortunately, this left her vulnerable to him, and that was how he exploited her.

One day, I had brought a concern to my elder. I was deep into a multiple-year apprenticeship with her when I was having strange symptoms. She led me through an intense soul retrieval process.

Without ever even telling her about this individual, she saw him in my field and began describing his energy. The color drained from my face as I began to see intense, vampire-like imagery moving through my conscious awareness; all of them had his face.

I felt like I was watching a movie as his face shapeshifted from a normal, average-looking male into a vampire-like creature, blending warlock and vampire traits. He was wearing robes and holding my light. I felt like a shell of a human being because he was siphoning my life force energy from my body.

This might sound a little crazy if you have never had a soul retrieval or shamanic journey, but I promise you it is intense work that forever changes you.

Also, I know the power of images and how to work with them mythically and symbolically to unpack what might be hiding out within the intense forms, similar to how I work with nightmares.

That day, the mask fell, and I saw him for who he truly was. It was like someone had ripped off my blinders. I suddenly felt very afraid of him and didn’t want to see him ever again. Unfortunately, I had work commitments that involved him.

This experience taught me something that still haunts me to this day. There are highly skilled, intuitive people who are empathic and really good at what they do, but choose to exploit others' wounds. They are talented and know it, but they are also ego-oriented, which means their actions are driven by the ego rather than the soul.

They can sniff out our blind spots, are completely uninterested in healing, and create a lot of chaos for those who are unfortunate enough to meet them on the path. This type of psychic vampire draws on resources. They might be money, material items, connections, opportunities they would otherwise not have, without some form of ‘supply’.

Once I finally untangled myself from this individual and removed myself completely from their orbit, all of the dirty details came out of the woodwork. I found out he was using a fake name. I found out he had manipulated multiple people, using their Social Security numbers to finance a few of his various schemes.

One woman was pissed at me for leaving because she was deeply embedded in his façade and had given him more than five thousand dollars to fund another one of his ‘good ideas’. It blew my mind seeing just how many had fallen for his lies and stories.

To be honest, I was a little shaken up by all of it. I was just starting to get my business off the ground and began questioning everything. It’s a weird position to be in if you have never had one of these experiences before. You now have this knowledge and information; you don’t know what to do with it, but then at the same time, not everyone wants to know.

It made me sick to see how he was supported by the community, and when some of the details emerged, people still wanted to see him as some holy healer and let him into their spaces. So many women were harmed.

It makes me sick to think about, because even today he still operates as a healer, getting away with the same old stuff. He just keeps scheming and moving about the world.

I want to share some of the things that were signs that I missed or completely dismissed within myself, in hopes it will help or even validate something or just one person. First, it’s important to think beyond the moment you are with someone.

How do you feel AFTER you leave their presence? This simple, subtle detail is significant; for me, there was always a strange sense of relief. Part of me felt like I was being watched or observed, but I wasn’t conscious of it until I looked back.

With more dramatic encounters, you may feel more intense aftereffects such as confusion, exhaustion, or feeling oddly unlike yourself. If you start feeling a mild sense of disorientation, like there is something kind of off, there is. On some level, your nervous system is providing you with this information.

There can also be more blatant feelings, like noticing you feel less confident in yourself or are questioning your own perceptions, especially if these things feel like they are increasing. These are patterns of behavior, but they can also be responses to someone else’s problematic behavior.

Another sign is the presence of magnetism, charisma, or charm. Many manipulative people have a remarkable ability to make others feel seen, special, or uniquely understood… very quickly.

They know exactly what someone needs to hear. Exploitative charm creates dependency. I created a motto- if I feel as if I am being charmed, I am also being disarmed.

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Welcome,

Today marks day twenty-seven of Field Notes on Archetypal Patterns.

This is not what I intended to write today, but a part of me was grappling with writing what I want to say, not what will land softly for another. Even though most of my readers are aware of my style, there is still a part of me that feels a slight charge when I fully express my perspectives.

It’s the old conditioning that says, “Don’t say too much; don’t let all the weirdness out too quickly.

I spent the first part of my life writing things that were appropriate for spiritual containers, and to be honest, it sometimes felt like it was stealing little pieces of my soul.

So now, I write for me, and if you happen to find something of yourself in that or resonate with my writings, well then that is a blessing for both of us.

Archetypal Pattern: Corpse Pose

Many traditions treat death with reverence; it is not viewed as a morbid subject or a negative experience. I might sound strange, but loss and death are not necessarily related to other cultures.

In the United States, I believe we have a strange and distorted relationship to death. From conversations I’ve had with others, the topic seems to bring grief to the surface, and that is something we would rather not think about.

Now, this article is not necessarily about death, but to go where I want to go, I need to start there. Years ago, while working on missing persons cases, I found an odd way to receive impressions and insight. The first time I experienced a medicine journey, I went to a ‘crime scene.’ It was a shock for both the woman hosting the circle and me.

She didn’t know what to do with me, and I was annoyed by her lofty spiritual response that left me wide open, disoriented, and confused. Although it was a bit of a nightmare, it set me on a unique path. A few years later, I met a dear elder who stepped in and provided the guidance I was unconsciously seeking.

My shamanic elder taught me how to ‘journey’ to the different worlds for guidance. I would continue to have these spontaneous death scenes, but having her at my side, I felt safe to explore them and unpack the imagery. Once I stopped fighting the experience, more information became available.

This began a very strange season of my life that lasted about eight years. I worked as a psychic medium and donated my time to missing persons’ cases. When I wasn’t working on these things, I would journey on cases I found in the media, and one day I found myself sensing more than I had bargained for. I’ll spare you the graphic details.

In 2002, on Christmas Eve, a young pregnant woman went missing. Her name was Laci Peterson. This case stuck with me; I couldn’t shake it and found myself glued to the television waiting for an update. I happened to also be pregnant with my son at the same time she was missing.

I do not doubt that pregnancy enhanced my intuition and my compassion for this missing woman. I dreamt about her; I daydreamed about her; she was constantly on my heart. Months later, I had my son and then moved into intuitive work. Although things were accentuated, I tried to be mindful of what I consumed and took into my field while pregnant.

When I began to step back into the work, it was as if Laci came right back into my awareness. I began wondering about her and what really happened. Although they found her and her baby, her husband (piece of garbage will not be named here) was eventually convicted of her death and the death of her baby.

It never felt settled to me; some part of my psyche was trying to bring something to consciousness, and even though I lit a candle, said prayers, and put them on an altar for Laci, there was more.

I decided to journey to her, to see what was percolating within me. I found myself feeling really distracted trying to sit in a meditative style of posture, so after a few minutes of fidgeting, I finally moved down on the ground.

I put down a yoga mat and trusted my instincts. I used the breathing pattern and journeying process given to me by my shamanic elder. Eventually, I went into an altered state. My body fell into the corpse pose.

This was automatic; I had yet to enter any form of yoga teacher training; that all came later. My feet fell to the sides, my shoulders dropped, and my inner world began to shift.

I began to feel myself in water, but I was weighed down. I’ll refrain from going any further with the specifics, but for the sake of this article, I continued to experience more layers of an experience that felt as if I were Laci. I never heard her speak. I didn’t feel like she was offering me information as much as I felt like I was tapping into blocks of time.

When I came out of the journey, I cried. I sobbed for her, for Connor, for their families. There was a deep sadness there and then a strange feeling of…. Now what? What was I to do with what I sensed and felt? Nothing. The answer was nothing.

There wasn’t anyone to hand it over to who would understand. I wasn’t some quack who wanted attention. I wrote the details in my journal and trusted that seeing and feeling what I did, somehow, needed to be enough.

The experience opened a series of other cases that I found myself sinking into. The doorway into these experiences felt deeply connected to the corpse pose. Not in a macabre way, but of deep respect for the dead.

It felt like a state of suspension, the in-between. Part of me became a bit obsessive and watched a lot of local news. Another strange compulsion, considering I was never one to watch much of the news before those times.

Before I continue, I’d like to share an excerpt from my new book Esoterica: The Shadow Worker’s Codex

“When I began using my intuition for missing person’s cases, I was not disciplined enough to sit and tune in, I needed to get into an altered state to set the tone for the process.

While lying down flat on my back, breathing in a circular pattern, my limbs would fall to the sides, like the corpse pose (Savasana) in the yoga tradition.

After just a few times of moving into this position, information flowed into my conscious awareness with greater ease. Full disclaimer, sometimes this pose would help me tune into the essence of the victim and what it was they had last experienced, so you can imagine the type of imagery that would arise in that circumstance. What I have discovered since is you can set the intention for this pose; you certainly do not need to retrieve that kind of information.

Corpse pose happens to be one that symbolically allows us to surrender the ego. Through the body, we hand ourselves over to the earth in a state of receptivity.

While I love this pose for retrieving specific information, you can use this pose to enter a dialogue with the shadow. Rest or retrieve wisdom while being in stillness. You do not have to do anything at all, this pose can significantly impact stress levels as it activates the parasympathetic nervous system.”

— Dr. Melissa Kim Corter

As I mentioned in the quote, the pose is beneficial for meditation, decompression, and deep rest; it need not be applied to any form of intuitive work. During a private retreat, I felt a strong nudge to bring the client down to the earth on a mat and have her rest in corpse pose. While there, she actively engaged in a shadow work practice.

Her experience established a connection to a place within her that she had feared. Something about resting, supported, and held by the earth in that phase, she was able to let go and trust. The earth held her, and because that was felt, her body softened. The emotion and wisdom that flowed from that state were beautiful to observe.

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Welcome,

Today marks day twenty-six of Field Notes on Archetypal Patterns. We are moving into one of my favorite subjects… monsters.

The mind is an incredible thing. It will invent circumstances and draw upon mythic components to bring problematic patterns to attention. We have our Bluebeards and banshees, Baba Yagas and Sirens. Skinwalkers, basilisks, kraken, wendigo, ogres, and trolls. Frankenstein is always a favorite, and then of course, there is always Medusa.

We assign a supernatural quality to these figures, adding to the perception of terror. I spent five years writing my doctoral dissertation on psychopathy and the mythic qualities we attribute to this figure in the United States.

Here, in the U.S., we tend to create monsters out of people. The monster is a convenient container for everything we wish to avoid within ourselves: cruelty, envy, greed, violence, manipulation, and hatred. Jung said that what remains unconscious to us, or within a collective, is projected. The more convinced we become that evil belongs exclusively to someone else, the less likely we are to recognize it within ourselves.

We have turned what was once a combination of cluster disorders, a pathological lack of empathy, and potentially malevolent behavior into a strange rock star of the true crime world. The psychopath has become a modern-day ‘monster,’ yet what are we learning about our interest in this figure? Especially when monsters were originally seen as omens.

Archetypal Pattern: Monsters

The word “monster” comes from the Latin “monstrum,” which originally referred to an omen, or warning, something extraordinary that called for our attention. The word is related to the Latin verb monere, meaning “to warn,” “to advise,” or “to remind.”

A “monstrum” was an unusual event. It could be a birth defect, a strange animal, or an unexpected natural occurrence. This too was believed to carry a message from the gods, something that disrupted ordinary reality, forcing attention.

Over time, the meaning shifted. By the Middle Ages, monster came to mean an unnatural creature. They were seen as frightening or grotesque. The word eventually shifted further to describe people whose actions were considered morally horrifying, such as murderers or tyrants.

From a psychological perspective, I find the original meaning compelling. Monsters speak to shadow dynamics, wherever something is ignored, denied, or pushed beyond the boundaries of consciousness. Monsters function as symbolic messengers, drawing attention to what the psyche (or a culture) has refused to see.

Let’s take this further with an excerpt from my book Esoterica: The Shadow Worker’s Codex

“Monsters were never meant to represent people but to warn us about potential destruction. In legends and stories, the monster was a symbol for what was hidden within humanity. In gothic literature, the monster is a manifestation of imbalance between humans, nature, and in some stories, technology.

Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein is one of the most significant depictions of this archetype. Victor Frankenstein, the creator, did not create a monstrous creature; he created a creature that became monstrous after being abandoned, shamed, and deprived of connection and belonging. His monstrosity was not inherent, various types of rejection created it. This is an example of the human ego, the tendency to vilify what we do not understand or have been unable to integrate within ourselves.”

— Dr. Melissa Kim Corter

We make the mistake of believing the monster exists somewhere “out there.” Myth has always told us otherwise. The monster appears wherever consciousness has become disconnected from something essential. In my dissertation, I use the concept of a lacuna to emphasize this point.

A lacuna is a gap, absence, or missing piece in a text, memory, historical record, or psychological narrative. The word comes from the Latin lacuna, meaning “hollow”.

Over time, a lacuna came to describe an empty space where something isn’t but should be. In psychology and depth work, a lacuna may symbolize a missing experience, forgotten memory, or unconscious absence that still influences the whole.

Monsters are not random inventions of the imagination. They are symbolic reflections of the human condition.

Nearly every monster reveals the same paradox: it is both terrifying and somehow simultaneously revealing. The Hydra grows another head each time one is severed, meaning problems do not disappear because we attack their symptoms.

Medusa’s gaze turns others to stone; there are countless parallels here between trauma and the psyche. We may become immobilized, unable to move forward, despite desperately wanting to.

The Minotaur, hidden in the labyrinth, was abandoned before he became dangerous. Some suggest this reflects the potential of what unfolds when one has been rejected, only to return in a destructive form. Dragons, portrayed as enemies, guard the treasure. The obstacle and the benefit occupy the same place.

Monsters appear at thresholds. They stand between who we have been and who we might become. In fairy tales, myths, and dreams, the hero rarely meets the monster at the beginning of the journey. The creature guards a passage into unfamiliar territory. The encounter requires something more of us, more than courage… discernment.

One reason I think we are fascinated by monsters is that they give a form to psychological realities that are difficult to see; they live in our blind spots. We know what it feels like to battle a Hydra of compulsions, to wander a labyrinth of confusion, to become frozen beneath another person’s gaze, or to feel consumed by an insatiable hunger that no achievement, relationship, or possession can satisfy.

Myth gives a language for difficult experiences and expressions.

This does not mean that genuine evil does not exist or that harmful behavior should be excused. These ideas create space to distinguish between the symbolic and the human. The symbolic teaches, it amplifies. It exaggerates psychological forces so we cannot ignore them. Its purpose is to invite awareness.

Monsters continue to survive every generation. Kingdoms disappear, religions shift, and still we continue telling their stories… because they continue telling ours. Every age invents new monsters, yet the patterns remain the same. The psyche speaks in images and has long before we had diagnoses and pathologized every ‘abnormality.’

What frightens us most marks the place where we need to look more closely.

One of my favorite Jungian analysts and scholars was Marie-Louise von Franz. She extensively wrote about the shadow and evil in fairy tales in her book of the same title; she viewed monsters as a personification of the shadow.

Von Franz argues that the giants, monsters, ghosts, demons, and witches of fairy tales are villains in the story, but they are also symbolic expressions of unconscious attitudes and affects that the ego cannot recognize of itself or has failed to integrate.

Giants, dragons, demons, witches, and grotesque creatures are presented as if they are something to be slayed by a hero. These symbolic images are inner forces within the psyche; they have become autonomous, mainly because they remain unconscious.

Another case for why fairy tales tattle on archetypal structures we may otherwise miss or unconsciously glamorize to keep our discomfort at bay. The story gives us proximity; we are then able to witness the underlying movements within the psyche without history or culture obscuring them.

For von Franz, the encounter with the monster marks a decisive moment in the individuation process, where consciousness must develop a new relationship with what has been feared or forgotten.

In many tales, the terrifying beast conceals a prince, a reminder that beneath the frightening exterior lies a psychic potential waiting to be liberated. The monster, sometimes, is the imprisoned aspect of the personality that has been distorted, awaiting recognition, perhaps we could even say transformation.

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Today marks day twenty-five of Field Notes on Archetypal Patterns.

In Jungian typology, I am an INFP (yes, this likely sounds familiar because the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator MBTI was created from Jungian typology). Another way to say this is that introverted intuition is my most natural and trusted instinct, yet sensation is considered one of my shadow functions.

Although today’s article is about the body and not Jungian typology, I’d like to begin today’s field notes with a strange story to clarify how this translates through the contrast of these two functions.

One day, while filling up the tub for a soak, I had a realization that taught me more than seven years of anatomy and physiology. As the water poured into the tub, I began gathering my salts and oils, pouring them into the water.

The tub was about half full before I thought to check the temperature. The steam had not visually registered, but the thought to check it popped into my head. Back then, we had recently moved to New York, and the water at our rental had a tendency to run really hot quickly. I stuck my hand into the water and saw it turn red.

The hot water took about ten or twenty seconds to register before I felt it; by then, I was already pulling out of the water due to the color change. Here is where it gets weird. My hand never really turned red; I ‘saw’ red because of my intuitive function, but feeling the heat would have been my sensory function.

I did some research on this because it kind of freaked me out a little, and apparently, the brain registers the sensation of hot water on the skin in less than a second. I forgot all about that moment until I listened to a typology expert, my professor at the time, describe the difference between sensation and intuition. Before then, admittedly, I thought they were similar, if not the same thing.

Now, this does not mean I am disconnected from my body, although I have gone through many seasons of that experience throughout my life. It means I must work harder to build and nurture the sensation function because of my disposition. This concept is unique to typology, so it may sound strange, but having this information helped me learn how to connect to my body differently.

The water element provided comfort to me throughout the years. As an act of purification, rest, and rejuvenation, transmuting density, relaxing after a long day, and so on and so forth. The water also presented a container for me to learn how to sense and feel in new ways. Soaking in the tub was a gentle yet powerful distraction from my mind and helped me process discomfort when it became heavy in the body.

Somatic sensations increased as I slowed down, felt deeper, and released my mind’s need to analyze how I was feeling, and just feel. If you resonate with these ideas, you might want to find out your typology; it could fill in the gaps on how you relate to sensation and intuition, which ultimately can impact the relationship you have to the body.

Archetypal Pattern: Body as Shadow

The body remembers what the conscious mind avoids, misses, or has forgotten. The body continually communicates through sensation, emotion, intuition, and instinct. While the ego creates explanations, the nervous system tells the truth through tension, exhaustion, contraction, urgency, numbness, or the feeling that something is “off.”

These responses are intelligent signals pointing toward an unconscious pattern; something wants to become known. Every recurring emotional reaction leaves an imprint in the psyche (soul) and soma (body), revealing where energy has become bound to an old adaptation or ego defense rather than available for creative expression.

I came up with a creative process that I sometimes use with clients, especially the other intuitive types who seem to find me in droves, haha. I teach them something I call roots and bones. When there is an issue or concern to address, sometimes we start with the body, and sometimes we begin with the mind. It really depends on the person and how information is beginning to stir within them.

The root is the invisible pattern (a complex, an unconscious narrative, or an archetypal theme). The bones are how the pattern has become embodied (in our posture, through breath, holding tension, movement or lack thereof, the voice, or the nervous system). I see them as two doorways into deeper intelligence, and I truly believe (and know from experience) this intelligence is alive and lives within us.

An example of applying this tool is to use inquiry. You can do this with a therapist (or analyst), or my favorite, in a journal. You ask a question, then sit in stillness for a few minutes, then journal on the response. Once you feel complete, you can go to the other question, but it is not always necessary to work with both. Sometimes working with one provides clarity.

Here are the two questions:

What is the root? (Where in my beliefs, attitude, or thought process does this manifest)

How does it live in my bones? (How I act from these patterns, reinforce these behaviors, contradict my deepest desires)

Here is an excerpt that speaks to the body as shadow in my new book,

Esoterica: The Shadow Worker’s Codex

“The psyche is not confined to the mind, it speaks through your entire body. Your body holds the stories your conscious mind has forgotten or has yet to process. When you have unhealed trauma, unprocessed emotions, or deep inner conflicts, your psyche will find a way to speak them; one way it speaks is through the language of sensation.

That chronic stress in your shoulders, the persistent fatigue without a medical cause, the strange tension in your hips, all messages from your body which is linked to your shadow. Your body holds the energy of your deepest emotions until you give them a way out”.

— Dr. Melissa Kim Corter

The shadow is beneath the surface of our awareness; the body reflects our unconscious thoughts, feelings, and experiences. The body, like the shadow, holds certain elements until they are processed and expressed.

To be with the dark is to be with the receptive nature of the feminine, the earth, her creatures, and the body. We tend to shy away from the dark, and still, it patiently awaits our presence to offer us medicine.

Symptoms, feelings, pain, discomfort, lightness, and expansion are felt sensations and expressions—the language of the body. Some listen to sensation more than intuition, others ignore or misinterpret intuition, only acknowledging physical sensations.

Depending on our inner constitution (the typology), we relate to the body differently. When we understand this, we can learn how to symbolically read the symptoms, the language of the body, to discover what it is that is trying to tell us.

Even though the body is matter, physical, right in front of us… It’s oddly hidden in plain sight; therefore, we may miss signals right in front of us.

When I was a bodyworker (hence the years of anatomy mentioned earlier), it initially surprised me how often I was drawn to my clients’ bowels and womb. We hold a lot of energy and tension in these areas. Now looking back, and knowing what I know, they are two areas that speak to beautiful darkness and the sacred aspects of shadow.

Miraculously and magnificently, we have the functions of digestion, assimilation, and the integration of nutrients on a physical level. Energetically, consider how we take in life, process, and assimilate our experiences and the energy of the world around us, all from the space of the bowels. Then there is the womb, creation, the space of incubation (not just physical), all that we birth into the world (again, not just on a physical level).

The shadow holds for us what it is that we’re not willing to look at or see, for many reasons. Sometimes, we are just not ready yet, perhaps we just haven’t brought enough attention to it. The body is a doorway into this hidden dimension of human experience.

I’ve said this before, but women truly do carry darkness for the collective. We are innately attuned to the earth element. If we listen to the body, we will find we naturally gravitate toward sinking, sitting, and lying on the ground, getting closer to the earth, to matter (mater is Latin for mother). Yet we have the same affinity for the moon; our lunar nature lives in each thought and emotion shared.

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Welcome,

Today marks day twenty-four of Field Notes on Archetypal Patterns. Today, we are taking a deep dive into nightmares.

Archetypal Pattern: Nightmares

I had a terrible recurring nightmare as a child. It always started and ended the same way. I’m at the beach with my family. The beach is the same one we would visit for our family vacation, which made this imagery even more unsettling. I am walking out of the ocean onto the beach where they are all camped out in chairs and on towels. I suddenly begin to run as fast as I can, and I try to warn them… but nobody seems to hear me.

As I am running, the sand is pulling me in, trying to slow me down, swallowing my tiny feet. Turning my head slightly, I look back just as the giant wave, rapidly growing, begins to gain momentum. The visceral sensations were so real and intense… panic and anxiety, the dread. These feelings intensify, building with more and more power.

And then the massive tsunami comes crashing down on top of my family, wiping out everyone on the beach, everyone I love…. I wake up just as I feel the water barely graze the back of my heels. I have made it to an elevated cliff, but I don’t feel any satisfaction in getting away, because now I am sad, lonely, and afraid of life, untrusting of God and nature.

This dream repeated from the time I was six or seven until my teenage years; at some point, it stopped at the same time when my life took a turn. I’ll break down this nightmare and analyze a few different aspects.

I’ll also discuss sleep paralysis, and I’ll share a client story. Here is a quote on nightmares, from my new book Esoterica: The Shadow Worker’s Codex

“One of my nightmares turned into a huge opportunity that provided a new avenue of prosperity, all from observing and analyzing the nightmare. I dreamt of a large snake hiding beneath my floorboards. It terrified me at first, but I started lucid dreaming, the experience of knowing you are dreaming while in the dream state. This was an advantage we do not always have when engaging with nightmares. I took advantage and chose to face the creature.

It shifted from a huge frightening snake to a supportive and docile creature. It was telling me there were ‘massive opportunities brewing under the surface and to take them as they happen’. After the snake spoke these words, I patted its head in agreement, my way of saying yes and accepting the invitation. I am so grateful I didn’t attempt to write it off as a spooky dream. Weeks later I was offered a massive opportunity that expanded my career.”

— Dr. Melissa Kim Corter

Nightmares are still dreams; they just appear with more intense imagery, sensation, and somatic information. In depth psychology, we would say that the psyche borrows various themes, symbols, and myths to convey a deeper message. Nightmares are terrible, terrifying, and are mistaken for literal impressions.

Each nightmare, just like a dream, has its own intelligence. The psyche speaks to us in images and symbols. If we stay open (although challenging with really intense and graphic imagery), we can unpack the symbol to retrieve the information within the strange sensory input.

Over the years, I have encountered others who have experienced this type of nightmare. Natural disaster dreams are jarring, and sometimes they unearth old unexpressed emotions or fears.

There are weather-related events such as:

• Hurricanes / Cyclones / Typhoons/Tornadoes/Thunderstorms/Blizzards/Ice storms/Hailstorms/Heatwaves/Droughts, and Extreme cold

Then there are water-related events:

• Floods/Flash floods/Tsunamis/Coastal erosion, and Storm surges

Then there are earth-related events:

• Earthquakes/Volcanic eruptions/Landslides/Mudslides/Sinkholes, and Avalanches

There are fire-related events:

• Wildfires/Firestorms

And finally, there are global pandemics and outbreak-type nightmares. This is a huge list, and it only covers natural disasters, yet it shows how many creative categories the psyche has to draw on to provide us with events. The word “disaster” comes from the Italian word disastro, which itself stems from Latin and Greek roots.

Early on, people believed that the stars and planets influenced human fate, so a dis-astro referred to some type of calamity caused by inauspicious astrological alignments—a fate written under a cursed or unlucky star. The word carries archetypal resonance regarding a cosmic misalignment, some form of rupture between the human and the heavens.

A disaster is a moment when order is broken, and the ego is in a state of liminality; sometimes this is perceived as chaos, yet in Jungian terms, we might call it a confrontation with the unconscious, a time of being with the unknown. “The things you refuse to look at in waking life will set themselves on fire in your sleep, just to get your attention,” Christ Sexton.

I’m going to reflect on a popular concept that I am sometimes asked about regarding nightmares. While we dream, the primary motor cortex, a part of the brain that controls the movement of large muscles, is restricted. This might result in what is known as sleep paralysis. This means a few things: one, it is nearly impossible to sleepwalk while having a nightmare.

This is why I believe we don’t have a more common occurrence of people causing harm while asleep. First, let me clarify what people mean when they refer to sleep paralysis. Basically, this is an experience where the individual is in this temporary state where they seem to be mentally awake but unable to move their body or speak.

Research on sleep paralysis shows that this suspended state seems to occur for most during the time when the individual transitions out of the REM phase of sleep. REM means rapid eye movement. During REM, the person is actively dreaming; some say it is a heightened period of dreaming with more activity.

At the same time, the body is immobilized, which prevents the person from acting out dreams. It is believed that their consciousness has returned before their motor control. This triggers a fear response, and for some, that fear is extreme; they might even call it terror. Others hallucinate or experience dread or even hopelessness.

Some seem to experience sleep paralysis on a semi-regular basis, causing them more anxiety and stress, which then interferes with their ability to rest deeply. Along with this, there can be sensations such as pressure on the chest, visual images like shadows, and a feeling as if something or someone else is in the room.

Some researchers believe this is the brain’s attempt to make sense of what is happening in the liminal state, of being aware yet unable to move. This makes sense because there is a connection between this liminal state and setting off the amygdala, also known as the fear center of the brain. When you put all of this together, you can imagine an intense somatic experience, which is why it is often compared to possession.

In Jungian terms, we would explore this liminal state by observing the archetypal aspects that surface. During an event like this, on some level, this is an encounter with the unconscious. There are common images that arise from the psyche during these moments; some of those images are of witches, demons, or ghosts. These figures are forms of the psyche, reflecting activity that is moving toward consciousness.

These inner constructs can arise from repressed fears, unresolved traumas, dissociation, hidden complexes… essentially unintegrated shadow material. This material can break into our conscious awareness during a dream state more easily because the ego complex is not as active, working as a barrier between the conscious and the unconscious.

Integrating these shadow aspects happens through dream work, by analyzing the nightmare or the emotional state of the sleep paralysis, shifting it from feeling as if we are possessed by some external force, and instead, asking what the hidden forces within are trying to express through this avenue of communication.

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Welcome,

Today marks day twenty-three of Field Notes on Archetypal Patterns.

When I was a child, I loved getting lost in my fantasies by writing short stories. I had a typewriter, a stack of fresh white paper, and all the time in the world. Every time I began to type, if I stayed in the process long enough, a strange feeling would wash over me without fail.

Now, I believe it was a compulsion; at the time, it was an escape and a creative way to express my inner world. This is an ego defense called sublimation, when we take a problematic behavior, feeling, or compulsion and channel it into something constructive.

My desire to type became a bit obsessive. For hours, I would type, pouring my soul onto the page. The thing is, though, if I were interrupted or told to go outside and play, I would get angry; I didn’t want to be bothered. Easily, I could have spent my life typing away, content in the fantasies and stories of my inner world.

When I stopped writing, the trouble began. My compulsion to write never went away, but not writing suddenly meant I had big feelings with no place to go. That’s when I went through a dark time, spending a few years getting lost in substances and people.

Reflecting is the art of looking back at something with a fresh take or perspective that can make meaning of an experience. Sometimes it is the acknowledgement of why things happen a certain way. As I reflect on this piece, I see how critical writing was to my mental health.

Today’s topic is not about writing, but it is about expression in a unique roundabout sort of way. Compulsions are the theme of today’s archetypal pattern and discussion.

Archetypal Pattern: Compulsions

A compulsion is an insatiable urge to do something. Compulsions can become addictive, but usually they begin with a desire to decrease stress. Compulsions are driven by something deeper than a habit or a learned behavior.

The more we can understand the energetics of a compulsion. We can start to break it down and draw power out of the compulsion and back into our consciousness.

Compulsions may have both physical and emotional components; one of my clients described hers as being caught in an emotional loop. Compulsions can be isolated or part of a repetitive cycle. They are often the beginning of coping mechanisms, but one differentiator is the presence of embarrassment or shame.

As a depth psychologist and researcher, I am fascinated by the things that pull us in, captivate, and magnetize us. In my new book, a loved one allowed me to share her personal story.

Here is the excerpt from Esoterica: The Shadow Worker’s Codex:

I once knew someone who would compulsively search her husband’s belongings when he stepped out. Someone had told her she must have been picking up on something and that he was likely cheating on her. Although this can be the truth, it was not in her case.

The relentless searching through his things, came from a compulsion that did not begin with him. She recalled feeling the same way with other things in her life long before she was married. When she sat with the energy, learned how to speak to it and listen to what it had to say back to her she was surprised by the response.

She was looking for evidence that she was loved, wanted, and needed, not that someone was being unfaithful. When she began working on herself, she stopped searching for evidence of herself in others’ things. In this way, what could have been misread as someone being unfaithful turned into someone realizing they were searching for something missing in themselves though others they trusted.

— Dr. Melissa Kim Corter

While writing a piece on compulsions, a thought came to mind about the strange way a compulsion can move through the psyche. I worked with a process called active imagination; this is a powerful Jungian technique I use to engage with unconscious material. While working this process, I started to think about the energy of a compulsion and how similar it is to a ghost. I wrote the words ‘haunting hymns.’

To this day, I find that to be one of the most accurate representations of a compulsion. They are invisible, yet powerful. We cannot exactly point to them, but they carry a relentless tone that forces us to follow their lead. Compulsions are haunting hymns.

A compulsion can quickly emerge; we suddenly struggle with a new urge that we never had before, and then it vanishes as quickly as it appeared. Compulsions can be triggered by trauma or an impactful moment. Some compulsions are driven by a need for safety, whereas others might trigger us to dissociate.

A tell-tale sign of a compulsion is that the feeling has some element of feeling uncontrollable, it moves us, and we have to move. This could be a ritual movement or a gesture that discharges the built-up energy behind the desire to move.

There are different degrees of compulsion; they can range from a minor and less destructive nuisance to a destructive and stressful pattern that sends us into a shame spiral. A compulsion can be visible, but not all of them are that easy to spot if we were to observe someone else under the grip of a compulsion.

Some compulsions might slip under the radar and might be something we’re able to mask for quite some time. Addiction and compulsion go hand-in-hand; the compulsion to overeat, over-drink, overspend, gamble, or do anything else that feels destructive or done in excess can be driven by a compulsion and become an addiction when engaged in consistently.

Compulsions may have both physical and emotional components; one of my clients described hers as being caught in an emotional loop. Compulsions can be isolated or part of a repetitive cycle. They are often the beginning of coping mechanisms, but one differentiator is the presence of embarrassment or shame.

I work with compulsions because I believe in helping people release shame. We can be honest about how we feel without being self-deprecating. Compulsions are a symptom, a form of communication from the psyche. If we approach a compulsion creatively, we may learn more about its rhythm, pattern, and message for us.

There is always a story at the heart of every symptom. This attitude feels much better than attempting to get rid of something instead of first getting to know it.

Some compulsions slip under the radar; we may even become quite comfortable masking the behavior for quite some time. When we trace the energy of a compulsion, it can be surprising to find that its origin may not make sense; this is because it will not make sense to the logical mind. When we learn how to view our symptoms as patterns, we can begin to tune into the deeper impulse or drive behind a compulsion.

Just a note here: please know that I deeply value and appreciate the art of medicine, and I am not at all suggesting we avoid medication or forgo traditional medicine if it is needed to support us where we are, to improve the quality of life, and to tend to the needs of the body. I am always cautious when mentioning things of this nature because there is no cookie-cutter approach to well-being, and sometimes it takes multiple pieces to complete the individual picture of our specific needs.

Some compulsions involve mental dialogue without a physical component, such as a strong inner need to berate, dismiss, or betray ourselves, within a certain situation or around specific people. This is different than an occasional inner critic of negative self-talk. Compulsions have a unique sense that feels as if we are not in control.

There’s almost an extreme level of discomfort present that forces behavior or choice that we don’t like, and then afterward, we might experience a sense of depression or anxiety for the choice made or action taken with the compulsion.

One way to help break a compulsion is to slow down time. It sounds funny, but go slow. Deep breaths and grounding techniques that bring us right into the present moment. This can help because compulsions come on quickly; they feel instinctual, which means they have a quick pace to them.

Compulsions may or may not come with an emotion; either way, they are difficult to stop in real time. Instead, we may get further in understanding the driving force by engaging with the compulsion before it happens. This can start the process of discharging the energy from within the compulsion and understanding what it might be trying to say to us.

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Welcome,

Today marks day twenty-two of Field Notes on Archetypal Patterns.

There are many symptoms of the shadow as hidden material makes its way into consciousness. Dreams and nightmares, compulsions, afflictions, neurosis, intrusive thoughts, physical symptoms, behavioral changes, and patterns, etc.

One specific type of shadow symptom I want to dive into today is something called a ‘complex.’ Please note that although we have common complexes (mother, father, power, God, etc.), a complex can form around any behavior, pattern, and archetype.

Archetypal Pattern: Complexes

We all have a kind of psychological wound that hides in plain sight. It shows up when you deeply want something (a relationship, to write a book, a certain job, etc.). For some reason, your desire never quite comes into being.

You start the process.

You commit to the person, situation, or event.

You put energy into these things on some level.

But eventually, your good intentions and ambition dissolve before your eyes. You notice things repeating that you thought were finished. An intense emotion moves through you, especially when you get closer to having what you want or entering a specific topic that carries a ‘charge.’

All the years of untangling emotional wounds, healing unconscious patterns, and working through trauma can suddenly bring you to a place where it feels as though none of it ever happened.

You are intelligent and capable. You are wise and highly skilled. You are present to the patterns… and none of that matters when we are under the grip of a complex. It has nothing to do with your ability or your wisdom. Complexes operate outside of logic; we don’t “believe” in them, but they are behind our choices.

Complexes organize our perceptions, behaviors, and emotional responses before we can intentionally intervene. Complexes override personal insight and emotional intelligence. They convince us we’re being reasonable in one moment, only to feel drained or powerless in the next moment.

As I write in Esoterica: The Shadow Worker’s Codex

“These manifestations are not random disturbances. They are messages from your unconscious as it tries to bring you into balance. Each symptom is a transmission, the intuitive language leading you to a part of you that has broken away from your conscious control and is now waiting for you to retrieve it from the shadow. Symptoms are not a problem or your body becoming your enemy, they are messengers from your unconscious, waiting to be unpacked. Each one points to a place within you where you have become divided, a place where a vital part of your true self is waiting to be welcomed home.”

— Dr. Melissa Kim Corter

Each complex is unique and has an inner system of complexity built around your specific personality and your relationships to one particular type of wound, the soul of that story lives inside of a complex. Just as we would unpack a symptom in body or mind, we too can unpack the essence of a complex.

There are positive and negative complexes.

One of the easiest positive complexes to understand in Jungian psychology is the nurturing mother complex. We hear about negative complexes, but Jung was clear that complexes are not inherently pathological. They are emotionally charged organizations of experience. A complex becomes problematic only when it operates unconsciously or rigidly.

Here’s an example. My client, whom I will call Michelle, grew up with a mother who was emotionally available, affectionate, and consistently encouraged her curiosity. When Michelle was frightened, her mother comforted her without dismissing her feelings. When she made mistakes, she was corrected with patience instead of shame.

Over the years, these repeated experiences constellated into a positive mother complex. As an adult, Michelle unconsciously expects that trustworthy people can be caring and supportive. When she encounters a challenge at work, she assumes she can ask for help rather than suffering in silence.

When a colleague offers constructive feedback, she doesn’t hear criticism; she hears someone investing in her growth. When her child cries, she instinctively listens and comforts them because this pattern already exists within her psyche.

She is warm without forcing it. To Michelle, compassion feels natural, and trust comes relatively easily for her.

The situation (a frightened child, a struggling friend, someone offering help) activates Michelle’s mother complex.

Unlike a negative complex, it does not hijack her consciousness with fear or defensiveness. Instead, it organizes her perception in a positive adaptive way.

Without effort, Michelle seems to believe people can be safe, needs deserve attention, mistakes can be repaired, and relationships survive conflict. These thoughts are not conscious affirmations she repeats to herself. They are automatic, because the complex has been built from hundreds of emotionally meaningful experiences.

Michelle’s ego isn’t choosing this. She doesn’t wake up each morning deciding to activate a positive mother complex. Instead, daily interactions and situations continue to constellate the complex. The ego experiences its influence as natural because there is no threat, no previous associations that tell it to be on alert.

There is a hidden downside to this type of complex, because even positive complexes have a shadow.

Because Michelle’s nurturing mother complex was so strong, she became everyone’s caretaker, she neglected her own needs, she assumed she was responsible for everyone else’s emotions, she struggled to set boundaries, and she felt guilty saying no.

The same complex that allowed Michelle to love deeply also became one-sided and dominated the ego. Michelle’s positive mother complex was a relatively autonomous organization of memories, emotions, expectations, and archetypal meaning that was formed through repeated experiences of reliable care.

When activated, it automatically shaped how she perceived relationships, herself, and the world through a lens of trust, compassion, and resilience. The ego experiences these responses as “just who she is,” even though they arise from an unconscious complex.

Positive complexes are invisible to us because they feel so natural. We usually notice negative complexes because they disrupt consciousness and cause some chaos. Positive complexes support adaptation and can become psychological strength (as long as the ego remains flexible enough not to be unconsciously governed by them).

Here is a client story about a negative mother complex.

Loretta was raised by a narcissistic mother. She needed constant attention and admiration. She dismissed Loretta’s emotions and was prone to gaslighting behaviors. Gaslighting is psychological manipulation. One person persistently causes another to question the accuracy of their own perceptions, memories, emotions, or judgment.

They do not necessarily openly deny someone’s reality; instead, the gaslighter uses subtle tactics to distort events, minimize experiences, shift blame, or create false stories about reality until the other person begins to distrust their own mind. Over time, this erosion of self-trust produces confusion, anxiety, hypervigilance, and dependence on the manipulator for a sense of what is “true.”

This is how Loretta’s mother lived and treated her. If Loretta expressed hurt, she was told she was “too sensitive.” If she remembered an event differently, her mother insisted it never happened. If Loretta succeeded, her accomplishments were minimized unless they reflected well on her mother. Love was conditional, and approval was unpredictable.

Over time, these experiences accumulated into a negative mother complex for Loretta. As an adult, she no longer lives with her mother, yet the complex remained active within her psyche.

One afternoon, Loretta’s boss wanted to speak with her. Before her boss could say another word, Loretta noticed her stomach tighten. Her thoughts began to race, and she felt like she was in trouble. She assumed she had done something wrong.

The conversation turned out to be positive. Her boss praised her work and offered her a new opportunity. Loretta was surprised but also wondered if there was a catch. She did things like that a lot, second-guessing, wondering about true motives or intentions, because in her mind, her mother always had a negative, hidden agenda.

Nothing in Loretta’s present circumstance justified these conclusions. They came to mind because the situation had constellated her negative ‘mother complex’. Loretta did not consciously choose her reactions, just as Michelle hadn’t either.

The complex had already determined reality before the ego had a chance to evaluate it. For Loretta, her complex enforces ideas such as love is conditional, it is unsafe, and to stay vigilant.

The ego experienced these assumptions as facts when, in truth, they were the result of an unconscious pattern. Loretta then suffered from chronic self-doubt. She trusts other people’s versions of reality more than her own. Even when objective evidence supports her, the complex continues to make her think that her inner experience is unreliable.

The tragedy is that Loretta’s mother is no longer present in most areas of her life, but psychologically, the complex continues her mother’s work. It questions her perceptions before anyone else can. It invalidates her emotions before another person has the opportunity. It anticipates rejection before rejection occurs. The mother has become an inner psychological structure.

“People will do anything, no matter how absurd, in order to avoid facing their own souls. One does not become enlightened by imagining figures of light but by making the darkness conscious.”

~Carl Jung

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In the 25 years I have been offering my work, I’ve come across the same pattern:

The most intuitive, highly sensitive, deeply feeling women, get stuck repeating the same frustrating patterns.

Over and over again, even after years of coaching (and or therapy), self-help books, and personal growth programs.

I understand why this occurs. I’ve continued to address and confront my own annoying and relentless patterns.

So trust me when I say, knowing why something is happening isn’t enough.

Programs give you insight, not access to your own psyche.

This is exactly where the answers sit, in the unconscious.

Until we can recognize the unconscious psychological patterns influencing our choices, relationships, and identity, life will confront us with the same lessons.

Over the past twenty-five years, I’ve learned my greatest skill isn’t teaching Jungian concepts or shadow work.

My superpower is helping people see the things they can’t see within themselves.

That is what changed my own life. It was not my insight.

It was the new spaces that opened while I sat with myself, and addressed my blind spots through the support of my analyst.

There is no way I could have gone there by myself.

Trust me, I am not afraid of entering difficult territory, but sometimes we don’t know how to find the door, let alone step inside.

No one taught me how to recognize the patterns of a psychological descent, the strange intelligence hidden within darkness or human behavior, or the symbols the psyche uses when it is trying to get our attention.

I learned those lessons the hard way.

Now I’m sharing them with you in a complimentary offering:

Join me for a FREE one-hour online event:

Into the Dark Forest: The Secret Language of the Shadow

Together we’ll explore:

• Why certain life experiences repeat themselves.

• How the psyche communicates through recurring patterns, dreams, relationships, and symbols.

• The way the psyche communicates through symptoms.

• How to recognize the invisible constructs influencing your life.

If you’ve ever wondered,

“Why does this keep happening to me even though I’ve taken the classes, gone through the certifications in a million modalities, worked on myself, and healed what I thought was the root?”

This event is for you.

If this resonates, register for this free event:

Into the Dark Forest: The Secret Language of the Shadow

July 10^th at 3:30 pm EST

Devoted to Depth,
Dr. Melissa Kim Corter

PS: Check out the webpage and let me know what you think! I wanted it to feel like walking through a dark fairy tale.

Click on the button below, scroll halfway down, and click on “reserve your place”:

Register for the FREE event

Dr. Melissa Kim Corter

Depth psychology, mythic imagination, and feminine initiation.

Welcome,

Today marks day twenty-one of Field Notes on Archetypal Patterns.

It’s no secret that there are periods in life when everything familiar begins to fall away, leaving a sense of emptiness, confusion, or disorientation.

If you have read some of the other archetypal patterns in this series, these feelings are certainly not unfamiliar as we move through challenging psychic processes.

Times of collapse are both psychological and spiritual. What better way to provide an example than by walking you through a sampling of my own collapse and how I found my voice there.

Archetypal Pattern: Collapse

I’m not sure when I began speaking in metaphors. There really isn’t a single moment to recall when the images and symbols dominated my thoughts and gave form to the ideas stirring in my bones.

I once read a description by Jungian analyst Marion Woodman about metaphors; she said, “Metaphors bridge gaps between matter and spirit, revealing consciousness. The Greek word metaphor means to carry across the realm of matter into symbols of the spirit”.

As a writer, depth psychologist, and someone attuned to the darker currents of life and human behavior, this is where I go from here. Writing in metaphors to translate complex psychological concepts into mythic and symbolic language with delightfully dark prose.

Sometimes, I ask my clients to find their voice. Not in a literal way; I don’t mean from an editorial or publishing stance. But through a psychological and mythic lens.

Where is she/he/they?

Where do they roam?

What would it take to recover the voice, to bring it back from the dead?

One client described her voice as being in the ‘bardo.’ This is a striking state of liminality borrowed from the Tibetan tradition. Caught between death and rebirth, the only thing that is for sure is uncertainty itself.

That has been my experience as well, especially over the past two years. In that time, I have written and published two traditional books (with a publishing house) and my doctoral dissertation. I wholeheartedly stand behind these projects, and everything in them is real, raw, and honest… and forever evolving.

Saying yes to my deeper desires led me straight into a collapse. There was a tiny crack, a fracture that gave way to a massive fault line that was likely there for years, waiting to be cracked open.

A series of terrifying events unfolded. One of the most frightening parts of my personal collapse was not really the crumbling layers of my identity as much as it was looking back and seeing how unwell I was before the collapse.

I see it in my presence, in my body, in my smile, and in the diminished light in my eyes. I look back and see a vacancy that makes me sad for not being a better advocate for myself during that time.

Although the physical weight made it obvious, it was the emotional turmoil beneath it all that surprised me when I saw images or videos of myself at that time. I am not shaming myself with this acknowledgement; more so, I am seeing clearly what was hidden from my own consciousness at the time.

Survival looks different to each of us and is a part of how we may engage with the essence of a collapse as we have our tower moments. This blindness comes in all forms; sometimes it is denial or compartmentalization. Dissociation, addiction, or any host of other responses is possible as the structures holding us together begin to fall apart.

We may feel blind to some of these behaviors and attitudes, as parts of us go unconscious, to get us through the ordeal. We might feel reprieve from the heaviness of the psychological burdens we carry… when we cannot see just how much baggage sits on our shoulders.

A collapse may or may not begin with an intuitive awareness to let go. This allows the space for new beginnings to have fertile ground to germinate. That sounds lovely, but in all honesty, what we endure to reap the benefits is more like riding a rollercoaster with a blindfold, operated by the least mature aspect of your inner being.

We have no choice but to be on the ride and hope for the best as everything starts to crumble within and around us. Sometimes, collapse finds us by waiting until we feel content, serving up the most righteous, unexpected, and devastating betrayal we never saw coming.

In other moments, the bottom drops out of an opportunity, a role, or an identity. The job goes away, the partner dies, or the inspiration dries up and disappears in the wind. A collapse can be a depression or a psychotic break. There is no perfect definition of guaranteeing how this moment will teach us.

During a collapse, suffering is likely. Working with myths and fairy tales, we continue to release the literal and allow the archetypal to take over.

In the tale of Psyche and Eros, Psyche’s despair is purposeful, brimming with emotional charge, and she unknowingly is on the edge of expansion. We can see this theme in many of the old stories. There are a few of the older versions that show the protagonist at the edge of despair. Ready to hurl herself off a cliff, into a grave, or end her own life.

It is then that some supernatural force or animal steps in to support her. A voice from the dead, a raven perched in a tree, spilling the very secret she needed to continue her long, arduous journey.

Few speak of the abandonment one feels, as if the divine universe itself has stopped responding. The messages from spirit, the signs, and inspiration, we may feel as if our faith has evaporated. For some, these experiences can trigger an abandonment wound.

Spontaneous rituals were born in the deepest part of my collapse, bits of relief found in simple motions, burning a candle, the scent of an oil, a walk in the woods, and the feel of a pen gliding on paper.

These humble motions were slow and steady, the only semblance of control I had during the time. Rituals anchor us in presence, allowing space for the soul to speak. Writing expressed emotion; other times, the written word could capture a glimmer of hope amidst the heaviness.

I would breathe in fresh flowers or the musty scent of dirt as I sat with my journal. Moonlit baths walks in nature (my husband jokingly calls them ‘walks to nowhere’), and wandering through cemeteries gave me a sliver of relief. Comfort can be found in the nurturing safety found in nature, as the essence of the great mother wraps us in her loving arms.

Nature is my ultimate go-to when I am under duress, in the throes of a challenging upheaval and change. She contains what I am unable to, holding me tightly in that groundless space of collapse. This, too, is where I have found that contemplation and reflection offer evidence of the soul when it feels like that part of you has been restricted.

Transformation is not the destination but a continuum of movement, imaginal and emotional exploration, and natural cycles of psychological death and rebirth. Every twist and turn navigated in the depths of the collapse invokes and simultaneously provokes.

Nurturing and deepening a connection to the body, nature, and one’s soul to bring forth meaning from times of darkness. Otherwise, we lose touch with the purpose woven through the moment, and the transformation can appear fleeting. If we miss the opportunity, we waste the redemptive quality that is hidden inside a collapse.

Times of turmoil invoke trickster-like energy, requiring trust to maneuver feelings while learning to yield to our innate wisdom. Remaining in stillness holds the self in a container for the soul to do its magic; I learned to rest in the dark when everything appears to be falling apart.

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Welcome,

Today marks day twenty of Field Notes on Archetypal Patterns.

Today’s theme is shedding. I’m going to share this pattern through the lens of a dream and an old personal pattern that appeared as a teacher. A skin my psyche had outgrown.

Archetypal Pattern: Shedding

Shedding teaches us presence, as we are forced to face the unknown, so something deeper and more authentic can begin emerging from the soul. But that flowery language makes it sound poetic, perhaps even welcome.

Let me share a personal inside experience as a mentor, teacher, and public figure. Years ago, as I was about to launch a program, something devastating happened.

A deeply personal topic had been circulating through my life, which is how I decide what I teach. Graphics were ready, copy was written, and my assistant gave word that the payment links were finished.

Then, the entire thing was stolen.

One of my students stole the program outline, agenda, and copy after we had opened enrollment during a group call. She left a voice note, excitedly rambling about how thrilled she was to be inspired by me, to have my words trigger a long-awaited desire to “offer something meaningful.”

She even dared to thank me, as if I had handed her a gift.

Nope. It was straight-up theft.

She used spiritual platitudes. I was gutted, listening to her elatedness as she twisted the theft into enthusiasm. She stated that, “as a student, she was entitled to repurpose things” she was learning from others because “we’re all part of the same universe, and the universe is handing us all ideas through each other”.

Right. But she stole my idea, from the words that came out of my mouth and were on my website AFTER she even asked to prepay for the entire program, only to change her mind after seeing my sales page, enough time for her to magically create her own.

That is theft, not inspiration.

Inspiration will not ask you to steal from someone else; it will invite you to summon concepts that are authentic to you.

Anyway, what did I do? Absolutely fucking nothing.

Embarrassing to admit, but that’s what happened. Instead, I brought it to a mentor who encouraged me to journal about it and get to the root of why this triggered me. My mentor was right, AND there was more, something I was meant to discover later, after years of this pattern persisting.

I cried and felt so much shame for being angry and not being ‘wise’ enough to let her have it and not feel triggered by it. I left a heart on her message; she probably saw that as further permission to carry on with her newfound idea.

I scrapped my entire program and ruminated on how much I hated the personal development/wellness/spiritual industries for normalizing this and then forcing me to take the higher road because I was the teacher. I was a public figure, therefore that somehow meant, I must carry the unconscious burden of biting my tongue in the name of service.

Ugg makes my skin crawl to think back on that moment and these ridiculous beliefs that kept me in pain and enabled people to continue stealing my work.

Today, that would not happen. First, I would professionally and appropriately address the behavior. If that is not understood and handled in a professional and adult manner, I would then make it clear that she violated copyright, and she would no longer be welcome to participate in my programs.

Also, I would note ‘skin crawling’ is a rich archetypal image, a signal perhaps that crawling skin could indicate a need for further shedding.

The point here is not to shame someone for stealing. My perspective now comes from my healed wound; it sounds like, “Here is where you take accountability for the behavior, lack thereof, and boundaries that are necessary going forward”.

Gone are the days of she who wears the old skin that welcomes theft, hidden beneath a spiritual cliche of creativity for one and all. Do the shadow work, which includes addressing problematic behaviors.

Here is a dream that gave me the imagery to understand this lesson differently.

I’ll share the full analysis in an upcoming article, so stay tuned. The dream felt urgent. A dead snake, belly up on the ground. Exposed to the elements, I watched it take its final breath. I noticed the snake had been caught mid-shed.

The snake was in the middle of sloughing off its skin. It had not yet released the old, but it could not return to it either. I am not fond of the in-between states and sometimes struggle in the middle ground.

We often speak of transformation as though it’s smooth, as though one identity ends and another begins. But any of us who have gone through deep psychological processes of shedding know better than that.

The shedding itself slows us down. Our movements become awkward. Our vision grows cloudy. The instincts we trust suddenly seem unavailable. We cannot move with our usual confidence because everything is reorganizing beneath the surface.

There is an inherent vulnerability in that. The image reminded me that transformation does not come when we feel prepared. Old structures fall away while the new ones are still invisible.

Perhaps that is why these seasons can feel so frustrating. We know we are changing, yet we cannot fully name who we are becoming. That unfinished space asks for tremendous patience, and patience has never been my strong suit.

Over the past year, many identities have fallen away. Those transitions did not occur overnight. Each one required I relinquish a skin that had once protected me… before another fully emerged.

The danger, at least for me, has never been the shedding itself. The danger has always been interpreting my uncertainty as a failure. To assume that because I cannot move with my former confidence, I have somehow lost myself.

The opposite is true. Vulnerability is evidence that something else is taking place beneath the surface. The psyche is less interested in preserving old forms than in creating conditions where deeper instincts can emerge.

There is something strangely reassuring in remembering that shedding is not only the release of what no longer belongs to us. It is also the temporary loss of familiar ways of moving through the world. During these seasons, our usual defenses no longer work.

This is precisely how transformation unfolds. Not through dramatic declarations or perfectly orchestrated reinventions, but through uncomfortable seasons where something we have grown to love or find safety in loosens its grip and falls away. Old skins cannot come with us.

As I continue to shed, I do my best to remember that transformation asks us to tolerate the middle. I’ll leave you with the same question my dream has left with me: What identity are you currently shedding? Can you surrender your usual ways of protecting yourself to the idea that they may no longer work?

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Welcome,

Today marks day nineteen of Field Notes on Archetypal Patterns. I have some personal, depth psychological pieces to share for today’s topic, the dark night of the soul.

This piece works with the metaphor of ‘sifting and sorting’ through the myth of Psyche and Eros, paralleling the difficult and impossible tasks and ordeals given to Psyche. This piece speaks to multiple patterns at once, so pay close attention and see what moves you.

Archetypal Pattern: Sifting and Sorting

I’d like to begin with an excerpt from my new book: Esoterica: The Shadow Worker’s Codex,

“There is a time that we enter that feels like a long endless cry. A cry so deep it screams without sound, but we feel it echo through us. We feel it but the world has a way of denying what goes unseen. This is how I view the dark night of the soul for the shadow worker. There are times when something has altered our lives, such as the loss of a spouse or child or a dramatic shift in a family dynamic, things that leave us wondering who we are now that this role has been taken from us. Are we still a spouse or parent to a loved one or child that ceases to exist? Just because someone is no longer physically with you doesn’t mean the identity you built around them simply vanishes. Even in my mediumship work where people recognize the presence of their loved ones on the other side, they still struggle to define their roles in life”.

— Dr. Melissa Kim Corter

My dark night of the soul began with the dismantling of my life and business as I knew it. The things I spoke of and talked about came to a screeching halt when I fell ill. Once recovered, I moved across the country, which continued a death-rebirth process. These are some of my notes and reflections from that time.

Slipping in and out of a cocoon-like state, I rest in darkness, submerged in a hot bath. The softness of the waxing moon touches the window. The gentle breeze finds a way in. Soaking and breathing, I hear the song of the crickets outside, harmonizing with my heart. I exhale, releasing density into the salty water. The tension continues to dissolve with the chorus of crickets.

My dark night of the soul lasted months, so it was nearly a year. Midnight baths were a saving grace, helping me through the torment. A transformation was underway, and the moon, hot baths, nature, and ritual helped sort myself out. Lost and disconnected, I struggled with the
liminality of my life.

The cross-country move shifted my entire world, triggering fear and unprocessed grief, stirring up old and forgotten things. A continuous sense of dread perpetuated my anxiety, awakening daily with a sense of heaviness in my body and heart. Where did magic and enchantment go?

This period created a spontaneous desire to sort—emotionally, physically, and psychologically. Patience and ritual ushered me through the dark night. The power of sorting is not necessarily neat and tidy, stacking items in piles.

The physical move activated an underbelly of shadow material. I impulsively sorted, decluttered, and wandered in nature. Old rituals resurfaced, new ones made themselves known, and ceremony kept my anxious mind and unsettled body from withdrawing. Deep grief and loneliness moved through without the familiar comfort of previous distractions.

Sorting requires patience, sometimes every ounce of energy, before benefits take form. Sorting is mysterious; the psychological movements may be latent and subtle. This process requires a form of sacred sight, night vision, to see us through challenging times.

Stirring is a form of sorting, a symbolic reorganization of psychic life. By consciously holding the tension of opposites, the ego enters into a relationship with the soul, allowing inner divisions to be gradually repaired and integrated.

In the Psyche and Eros myth, we find Psyche under the merciless order of Venus (interchangeable with Aphrodite). Psyche is instructed to sort the impossible piles of grain. She feels hopeless and initially considers ending her life. Unable to cope alone, ants appear to help her sort the grain before daylight. With help from the ants, the task is completed.

Psyche grapples with facing the impossible task. Look closely; can you find yourself in her reaction? How we relate to overwhelm, impossibility, or despair while observing Psyche’s response is part of the magic in the myth. Tension ignites resistance, and how we hold ourselves in the presence of pressure reveals opportunities. These pivotal moments signify a threshold between death and birth. Individuation is present in these interactions. We learn to strengthen our psychological containers to hold complex life experiences.

In the space between the ants offering their support and Psyche’s hopeless despair, she contemplates suicide. The myth in this regard encourages us to face our aversion to pain. Psyche, in her suffering, has an opportunity to bring the wound to the surface to make it conscious. The potential requires Psyche to stand absolutely still. An initiation is unfolding before us.

Psyche’s turmoil is a process of emotional sorting, spontaneously emerging within conflicting feelings. Sometimes sorting is consciously chosen; other times, life thrusts us into circumstances requiring it, advancing our growth and asking us to make moves we may not feel prepared for—illuminating the unconscious and potential shadow material.

As we individuate, the shadow may present as projections onto others. Uncovering projections and complexes are aspects of sorting and addressing resistance to facing the shadow and the slippery trap of blaming the ‘other’ in the relationship to avoid our task.

The movement of sorting occurs by arranging the visible and the hidden. A myth has the potential to change our structure of consciousness. As sorting continues, we may sense a quaking, perhaps the dreadful panic that yanks us from a deep slumber or maybe the relentless anticipation without a face or name. These invasive and unforgiving moods point to unconscious contents beginning to move.

In these moments, light is precious and often hard to detect. Psyche’s return of light began with the arrival of the ants. They move into her experience during the darkest moment, instinctively responding to her and offering the “light of nature” in their presence.

As we sift, ritual and ceremony offer healing and a welcome form of relief. Surrender may be a part of the relief, loosening the grasp of what was once found significant, opening us to a psychological reorientation.

The beauty of surrendering to the unknown is that, as you free-fall or thrash about, you can still be held. The archetypal cocoon is divinely designed to handle the struggle, as is the womb.

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Welcome,

Today marks day seventeen of Field Notes on Archetypal Patterns.

Shadow work is more than darkness, but of course, darkness is relevant and subjective.

Everyone has a different idea of what darkness means to them. I view darkness on a spectrum; in fact, there is an entire podcast episode dedicated to this idea here: Episode #10

I developed this concept while writing my dissertation for my doctoral program; my focus was on the Western shadow and psychopathy.

On one side of the darkness spectrum, we have mild expressions of shadow, such as everyday things we repress (emotions we don’t want to feel, thoughts we don’t want to think). These are aspects of our personal shadow, individual triggers, reactive patterns, and unconscious behaviors.

Then we have the collective shadow; consider this the psychology of the masses or group dynamics that unleash darker potentials. I go a bit deeper on this subject in my new book:

Esoterica: The Shadow Worker’s Codex,

In shadow work, we must explore these concepts and the ways people try to hide the sinister shadow behaviors because they become extremely dangerous when ignored. My research and personal experiences observing the sinister shadow taught me the value recognizing destructive attitudes and how narcissistic individuals operate around us.

We are all capable of slipping into the certain sinister shadow, so it is important we notice the sneaky ways it hides through patterns of control, and righteousness. Avoiding this part of humanity perpetuates harm. Consciously facing these aspects within the ourselves and our culture restores our power and provides protection to ourselves by valuing our intuitive perceptions.

— Dr. Melissa Kim Corter

In the book, I cover a variety of manifestations of the sinister shadow, specifically monsters, malevolence, psychic vampires, predatory energy, and venomous interactions. Although the shadow is not inherently dark or malevolent, it does carry a range of experiences and potentials.

Archetypal Pattern: The Sinister Shadow

I specifically chose today’s pattern because it is uncomfortable. We may want to turn away and place our attention elsewhere. My intention, though, is to show the damage it does to keep our heads in the sand. I grew up in a household where emotions and feelings were stuffed down and ignored. They would erupt in chaotic episodes that created more trauma and emotional distance between us all. To my sensitive nature, the patterns and feelings were blaringly loud but hidden inside of the silence.

It confused me to feel so much and also to feel so alone. So, I went out into the world to find others to interact and engage with. I crossed paths with dangerous creatures.

This is my place to share my writing, which means I share my humanity. It is filled with the radiant, glorious aspects of the divine. And… it is filled with the heart-wrenching grief of never feeling loved enough to be protected (until my husband came along years later).

I will not shrink back in my expressions, and yet this comes with a risk. Each time I tell the truth, the little girl in me flinches. Like a scared puppy, she pulls away, begging me not to go there. I am a writer; I tell the truth about difficult things, and that includes parts of my own life.

In my late teens and early twenties, I was a bartender. In New York State, the legal age to tend bar was eighteen, and the bars could stay open until 2 am for last call, and people were allowed to stay until the doors officially closed at 4 am.

Many nights, I would tend bar until 2 am, close at 4 am, go home and sleep for three hours, then get up to be at class around 8 am. After school, I would sometimes go back to open the bar at 11:00 am.

This was my life at eighteen for a few years. I wanted to be a forensic pathologist and started with some psychology, forensics, and criminalistics classes at SUNY Orange College in NY.

I partied hard between working hard and studying. I began to thrive at school; unfortunately, nobody was there to notice, so it slipped through my fingers. The family members who were extremely toxic and treated me like I was a ghost. Not feeling loved or cared for created emotional conflict and psychological wounds.

And once again… I found myself in the deep, dark forest, disoriented without a protector. Things started to get really weird, and as a bartender, I was exposed to the worst in people.

I once had to pick up bloody jewelry and clumps of hair from beneath the barstools. Two cops (off duty) and their wives got into a screaming match, and then fists were flying and grabbing at each other’s hair. For real, it was a knock-down, drag-out fight. They were the worst… most of the bikers that came in were safer and more respectful than the cops.

During that time, 911 happened. I’ll save the intensity of that story for another time. I lived and worked about an hour from New York City at one bar in New Jersey, and then 1.5 hrs from the city at another bar in upstate New York

Again, the best and worst came out of people. I was cornered by strangers who tried to force themselves onto me, assaulted by those meant to serve and protect for the same reasons.

One of my most frightening moments occurred when someone waited in the dark for me to close the bar.

He ran at me, attacking and swinging in a drunken stupor because I had cut him off hours earlier. He found more booze somewhere else and came back, filled with rage, waiting for me outside in the parking lot.

Death, a murder-suicide, more death, and tragedy, more suicides. I was at the center of a tragic circus that felt like a twisted game of Russian roulette from eighteen until twenty-two.

The sinister shadow has many masks, but I promise you, the one you want it to wear is rarely the one you expect when it finds you.

I’ll never forget the relief I felt when a well-known detective walked in one night while I was working. Everything in my body softened because there was a creep sitting in the corner, staring me down. Local dude, small and scrawny, but something about him made my stomach turn.

Not sure if it was his beady eyes or inability to hold a conversation without being oddly inappropriate. Weird enough, he stood out; normal enough, no one saw him as a real threat.

As a woman, my worst fear was the moment a group of patrons decided to go somewhere else… leaving me alone with a stranger. I would plead with my eyes, smiling, hoping someone from the group would catch my fear. At the same time, trying desperately to hide it from the one in the corner as the bar quickly emptied. Unfortunately, booze didn’t make people more perceptive.

Those fifteen minutes alone with that guy felt like hours. I pretended to clean the bar mirrors while he awkwardly made small talk. I could see him watching me with a crazy look in his eye while I pretended not to see him in the mirror.

His small talk was disjointed, with moments of him mumbling to himself; it was all feeling more bizarre by the minute. Then… sweet relief, that detective walked in, and the anxiety drained from my body.

Weird guy left, which also gave me the chills. Something about his choosing to leave once an official authority figure appeared made me wonder what he must have been thinking up until that moment. My mind doesn’t need those details, though, because my body remembered.

I closed the bar, and the detective walked me to my Jeep. He gets in his car, I get in mine, and I turn the key… it won’t start. I see his lights come on, but he waits. It’s clear I’m not starting, so he gets out and walks back over to see what’s going on.

It was 4 am; nothing was getting solved at this hour. At least that’s how he presented it to me; before telling me to get in, he would give me a lift. “You’re on my way home,” he said. “Besides, your grandfather would kill me if I left you here alone in the dark, at 4 a.m.” I get in, and we drive.

My mind is conjuring horrific images of what could have happened had I been left with the weird guy. What if all of this went down, and the detective never walked in? I am distracted by these thoughts until he blows right past my grandparents’ house, where I lived.

My stomach tightened as he gave me a bullshit line about wanting to talk, since we were both awake. Feeling sicker by the second, the words barely fell out, telling him I’m tired, I just worked a double, and we could talk any other time.

The night did not end well.

At this point, I usually have a paywall for paid subscribers. Not today. What I have to say is important, and it’s my Substack, so it’s my choice.

I’ll spare you the full details. It sucked, but it could have been worse. I got out somewhat unscathed.

Here I was worried about the weirdo, not the detective. This is how the sinister shadow operates, in plain sight. It hides in our vulnerabilities. It parades in while you are looking for demons and abnormal behavior; it locks in on your unmet needs to exploit them.

Sinister shadow moves through well-meaning people as much as those who have your best interests. It hides in normalcy, wears it like a mask, and convinces us that they are who you think they are all the way through. We all get fooled by sinister shadow. It is a trickster, sometimes deadly and other times unfortunate.

I do not shy away from shadow in all its forms. Because as much as people prefer to talk about love and light, sinister shadow hides there too. It hides in preachers, healers, and ambition. It hides in conveniently helpful people, sometimes the ones who you think are there as a reprieve or to rescue.

There is more to my story than this terrible encounter with a well-respected local ‘hero.’ This moment was one of many on my path of learning and teaching discernment through dark fairy tales. This is why I say true crime is popular, because it is our version of a modern-day dark fairy tale.

There have been many, many wolves in the forest. In fact, when I first began analysis and started digging into my past, I counted nineteen of them. That is the number my psyche has allowed me to recall.

Nineteen predatory people. Each one used various tactics to convince me, or others around me, that they had good intentions. But once again, I was shown a deeper, darker, more violent nature. Most of these encounters were sexually motivated by disgusting humans who took advantage of my kindness, vulnerability, and naivety.

And yet my gifts of discernment came from these highly conflicting and traumatic states. I had to do the healing work, and one way I was able to do so was to see what they taught me. I received a top-notch education in shadow work and sinister shadow.

I am not saying I am foolproof; none of us truly is. Even the best of us, who are skilled in pattern detection and human behavior, will not always catch manipulation or deception.

But we always have something to learn from our dark encounters with the sinister shadow. This is not to say there is a silver lining, but something I find more valuable: symbolic meaning.

This is why I am not ashamed to be highly interested in criminal behavior and serial murder. I do not glorify the sinister shadow but instead believe we can learn from each other, tell the truth about these things, and have each other’s backs as women.

And then there is another ugly truth: the sinister shadow moves through women too. We all express it from time to time. When our needs go unmet, when the fear weaves its way into our hearts. When our lives or children are threatened, they should not underestimate us. This is not an us-against-them; this is about learning to discern the spectrum of darkness.

We must not move through the world in fear, nor should we turn away and pretend it doesn’t exist.

Remember what C. G. Jung once said, “Knowing your own darkness is the best method for dealing with the darknesses of other people.”

Dear One,

I hit publish on a webpage I’ve been bringing to life for quite some time.

We’re taught to create sales pages to promote products/services.

I see them as sacred entry points into the heart of our work as authors, speakers, teachers, and coaches.

This is something that shifted within me after I survived COVID a few years ago.

Not trying to sound dramatic, but truly, it didn’t just change me... it broke me apart so I could be put back together again differently.

My business burned to the ground as I fought for my life at the altar of my bed.

The woman, who came back from the dead, came with her medicine, and it looked unlike anything she had done before.

In truth, this terrified me.

When I finally got out of that bed and tried to reenter my life and business, I physically and emotionally couldn’t. I was coughing for months on end (long-haul symptoms), fatigued standing any length of time, depressed, anxious, and having panic attacks.

If you have been with me for longer than three years, you know, because you’ve seen it.

You saw the ‘me’ that existed before I fell ill:

• Earth girl, Sedona vibes\

• Teaching about manifestation and prosperity

• AND hiding behind what I thought I should teach, share, and write about.

And then there is the ‘me’ that moved through the shamanic death ritual us mortals refer to as COVID-19.

Living through this was my first task, like Psyche lifting the lantern; her whole world is about to fall apart.

And still, she’s clueless to the ordeals on the horizon, the monsters and tremendous hurdles she is about to confront.

COVID was my lantern-lifting moment. But returning from darkness with the medicine was nearly as challenging.

It required grieving dead aspects of my being that were clawing at my heels, trying to drag me back into the past.

Then came the other devastating losses.

10+ year friendships, long-term clients and students, and people who knew me back in the day when I was staying out all night and getting by as a bartender.

No one taught me how to spot the trials and ordeals of a descent or the markings of a shadow worker. I was left to fend off the monsters and wolves and learn these things the hard way.

Fast-forward a few years. I’ve completed my PhD in depth psychology and Jungian archetypal studies, and I’m about to enter a five-year analytic training after I return home from a five-day residency with the wild woman herself... Dr. Clarissa Pinkola Estés Réyes (in Colorado in two weeks, eek!).

All of these are accomplishments. Although these things feed my brain, my hunger for knowledge, sometimes my ego, mostly my soul...

My time in bed dying gave me insights that don’t live in books.

Books helped me understand what I had been through. But my soul taught me how to see through darkness, into the depths, and that is where I retrieved my power.

If this resonates, you will not want to miss my FREE online event:

Into the Dark Forest: The Secret Language of the Shadow

July 10^th at 3:30 pm EST

REGISTER FOR THE FREE EVENT HERE

During this free live event, I discuss all of this, as well as how we can not only navigate the shadow dynamics of daily life but also THRIVE in uncertainty!

Hope to see you at the live event!

Devoted to Depth,
Dr. Melissa Kim Corter

PS: The doors are open for The Lost Daughter: Doorway to the Underworld

And I’d be honored to welcome you into this first Founding Circle.

The first 8 women to pay in full receive a private phone consultation with me. You can keep reading below this line to find out more.

PSS: PLEASE check out the webpage and let me know what you think!

I intentionally created this page to feel like walking through a dark fairy tale, so even if you have no interest in a program, I would be so grateful for your feedback on the new page!