Shadow work: a term rooted in Analytical Psychology for “face your nameless, faceless ghosts head-on.”

Oh yes, we’re starting this solo date entry with Carl freaking Jung.

In Jungian psychology, the “shadow” contains the parts of ourselves we’ve pushed outside the light of conscious awareness—the feelings, impulses, fears, desires, and even positive qualities we’ve rejected, repressed, or simply haven’t learned to recognize as our own.

Shadow work is what happens when we turn around and look at these hidden parts.

People do this in therapy. In classrooms. In support groups and personal journals everywhere.

Many times, we do it through art.

And sometimes, apparently, we do it through anime. 🤷🏻‍♀️

I hadn’t planned on spending my Sunday doing shadow work. But Shadow Work, as it turns out, had planned on spending Sunday with me.

Earlier in the week, I was looking up showtimes for Practical Magic 2 for my third solo date.

Because of course I was.

I thought witches, autumn, and middle-aged women doing magic sounded like an excellent time alone in a movie theater with some popcorn and Twizzlers. Instead, I discovered that my little Wisconsin town was hosting a Studio Ghibli Fest.

The Universe, as we established on my last solo date, is an exquisite troll.

“Practical Magic?

No, honey.

You have some shit to work through.”

The Strength Card has entered the chat.

The Strength Card Has Entered the Chat | TheKeyOfJaye.com

So I put my hair in milkmaid braids, paired a pink Sailor Moon shirt with camouflage pants, and took myself to see Princess Mononoke on the big screen.

I settled into the darkness.

The projector came alive.

And somewhere between Joe Hisaishi’s phenomenal score abso-fucking-lutely destroying me through a theater sound system and Miyazaki’s maddeningly nuanced story about love, violence, nature, civilization, destruction, and renewal, something clicked.

I was watching someone else’s art projected onto a screen, and projecting my own life right back onto it.

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

Three solo dates in, and curiosity has been remarkably consistent at leading me exactly to where I didn’t know I needed to go.

Last time, I left home for shampoo and nail polish and somehow wound up sitting across from the ghost of my former relationship.

This time, I went looking for the Owens sisters and wound up riding with wolves.

And those wolves had questions.

Why was I trying so hard to heal correctly?

Why was I treating grief like a linear journey with checkpoints?

Why did I think moving forward required me to stop loving someone I still very much love?

Why did love need to become simple just because the relationship had ended?

Princess Mononoke offers no tidy division between good and evil. Its characters love things that hurt other things. They protect and destroy. They carry tenderness and rage in the same bodies.

Nobody gets everything they want.

And somehow, life continues.

Well… shit.

When the movie ended, I was emotionally annihilated and absolutely starving. The concession line had been so long when I got there, I had to skip my planned snacky-snacks.

Some of the best pizza in town was three miles away.

There was only one problem.

It was our pizza place: The Hermit and I.

And Sunday had always been our night.

I went anyway.

Healing remains incredibly rude, and kinda perfect.

You can feel powerful and independent and wildly alive, then walk through a familiar door and desperately miss the person who used to walk through it with you.

And yes, that tender spot of missing him was still pretty raw.

So I texted him something light and fun about seeing the film on the big screen. Because fuck The Dating Rules™ of “no contact for x-amount of days.” Internet, please. I am fifty-four years old. I’m no longer interested in engineering my humanity according to a relationship strategy designed to produce a desired response from a man.

My boundaries remain. I will not carry a relationship someone else chose to leave. And I refuse to pretend love disappears simply because expressing it might violate some imaginary post-breakup rulebook.

Love is maddeningly nuanced.

So is grief.

So am I.

Maybe the Hermit needs to rebuild Iron Town.

Maybe The Empress needs to go back to the forest.

I can love him from there. Near or far, love is still love.

And maybe my heart isn’t actually broken. Maybe it’s kintsugi—the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery so the fractures remain visible, illuminated with gold.

Maybe I don’t need to restore my heart to what it was.

Is it possible my heart has been whole this entire time, because the breaking became part of its story?

My Kintsugi Heart | TheKeyOfJaye.com

I sat there eating pizza alone on what used to be our Sunday night and realized something unexpected:

My heart felt full.

Not healed.

Not “over it.”

Full.

Sometimes you go looking for nail polish and find a ghost.

Sometimes you go looking for witches and find wolves.

Maybe that’s shadow work. Maybe it’s integration. Maybe it’s what happens when we remain curious enough to let life surprise us.

I don’t know where this particular path through the forest leads.

For once, I don’t think I need to.

I trust the Spirit of the Forest.

I trust myself.

And I trust the Universe to pick the movies and the playlist.

Because She always knows where to find the real magic.

One 50+ woman. Fifty-plus solo dates. No waiting for someone else to begin the romance. Join me for the journey.

The Date Debrief 🔮➕

Solo Date: #003
Venue: Sam’s Pizza, Schofield, Wisconsin
Quest: Post-Ghibli Fest Shadow Work
What I ordered: Pizza with sausage, mushrooms, green olives and onions
Food: 10/10
Vibes: 9/10
Would I return? The question is when, not would.

Sam’s Pizza is among the best in the Marathon County area. Just the smell of fresh dough and sauce baking in the oven when you walk through the door is enough to heal a soul.

On this particular night, I had the misfortune of arriving during a huge—and very loud—birthday party, which accounts for the missing vibe point. (I’m an introvert. Taking myself “out” regularly is already an act of personal growth, okay?)

The pizza was made to perfection, and the service was excellent.

Final ruling: The pie warmed my soul on a cool, cloudy autumn Sunday. Sometimes shadow work requires pizza. 10/10. No notes.

😂🍂🐺