Romancing the Shadow

"Most intimate relationships have some version of this story: one partner (or both) turns the other into a parental figure . . . We call this downward negative spiral the roller-coaster ride because the lovers get on at the same place, seem to spin out of control, but end up getting off at the same place--and nothing has really changed." (p. 158, Romancing the Shadow by Connie Zweig, PhD and Steve Wolf, PhD)

In a blog post at her web site, Connie Zweig explains what "romancing" the shadow means. Because this deeply unconscious aspect of yourself needs help in coming to awareness, it's necessary to seduce it with attention and questions: "Who are you? What are you trying to tell me? How did you form? What do you need?" 

I've often paired coaching with Jungian shadow work to explore relationships in work, in friendships, and in romantic pairings with clients. Here, I offer insight from my own first marriage at age 22. when I was stuck at Enneagram point Nine, before I had in-depth self-knowledge, but illuminated by what I've learned since.

Later I could see I'd married my father, but I thought I'd found his opposite in my husband, Dave. My father was a military officer and stern disciplinarian, probably mostly at Enneagram point Eight. I always felt an emotional distance from him, though he and my mother were responsible parents and he drove me wherever I needed to go as a teenager. Those rides were agonizing for me because neither of us could think of a word to say to the other.

Dad wore his toughness on the outside, however, so when I met Dave, I fell immediately in love with his sweet, quiet demeanor and our in-depth conversations. He was then at Enneagram point Five, I believe (he's long deceased), and his tendency to hoard emotions eventually began to feel very much like interacting with my father.

Unfortunately, I was young and naive, hadn't yet studied Jungian psychology, and was years away from learning the Enneagram, so I saw Dave as "the problem," having no notion that projections of my own shadow were keeping me from seeing our relationship as an opportunity for consciousness.

In their analysis of one couple cited in Romancing the Shadow, Zweig and Wolf suggested "The couple's parental complexes are shadow-boxing with each other . . . they can put on the brakes only by taking responsibility for their own feelings, romancing their projections, and moving out of the past into present time."

As we do our shadow work, waking up to unconscious drives, we can acknowledge that no one person is "the problem;" both contribute to the interaction dynamics that feed a self-fulfilling downward spiral. We look differently at feeling hooked and--instead of reacting as usual--we romance the shadow, describing to ourselves, our mate, partner, or friend what's happening inside, and asking for space or support or conversation to help us move through it in a way that doesn't perpetuate the cycle.

I don't take these suggestions lightly, nor do I expect anyone else to do so. But what relationship have you ever had that was easy, day after day, year after year? You know the pain of compromise, you know the depression of defeat. Romancing your own shadow will help you engage in the disquieting and lifelong task of being truly open and authentic in relationships:

No more blaming, manipulation, false diplomacy, retreating into melancholy, withholding emotions, casting worst-case scenarios, skating away from personal responsibility, shutting people down, or passive-aggressiveness.

"Oh, is that all?" you must be thinking.