Into the Forest: A Practical Jungian Guide for Therapists

The Invitation into the Forest

Let’s be honest: Jungian theory can feel like wandering into a fog-drenched forest without a map, trying to decode dream symbols with one hand and light a therapeutic candle with the other. It’s mysterious, evocative—and occasionally downright confusing. But somewhere beyond the jargon of alchemy, shadow integration, and the collective unconscious, there’s something deeply human, wise, and wildly relevant waiting to be uncovered.

This isn’t a textbook. And it’s not a mystical pilgrimage. This is a therapist’s guide—layered, beautiful, and practical. A lantern-lit walk through Jungian psychology that honors its depth while making it usable in the therapy room (without needing to quote Latin or join a dream cult—unless that’s your thing, in which case, carry on).

And you won’t be walking alone.

At the edge of the woods, a figure waits—not with answers, but with questions you forgot you knew how to ask. They wear no name tag, but you’ll know them by their presence: equal parts warmth, mischief, and depth. They’ve seen a few things. Held stories in their hands like river stones. Guided others through grief, archetypal unravelings, and the unexpected delight of meeting one’s inner trickster on a Tuesday afternoon.

They are your guide for this journey. Let’s call them the Sage.

The Sage will be with you as we step into the psyche’s terrain. They won’t rush you. They might crack a joke when things get too heavy. They’ll point toward symbols, patterns, and parts. And above all, they’ll remind you that you’re not here to master Jung—you’re here to meet yourself more fully, and walk with clients as they do the same.

So if you’re ready—take a breath.

The forest is waiting. And somewhere among the trees, the Self is calling.

Mapping the Psyche – The Castle, the Garden, and the Wild Woods

The Sage doesn’t hand you a map. Instead, they tilt their head toward the trail ahead, a soft smile tugging at the corners of their mouth.

“It’s not about finding your way,” they say. “It’s about remembering you’ve walked this path before.”

In Jungian psychology, the psyche isn’t a single-room apartment with a flickering lightbulb. It’s an entire world—layered, sprawling, ancient. A living ecosystem made up of memories, instincts, roles, symbols, fears, longings, and stories—some personal, some ancestral, and some that have no name, only feeling.

To help clients (and ourselves) move through this vast terrain, Jung offered a structure—like topography for the soul.

The Garden: Conscious Mind

This is the part of the psyche we know best—what we think about, talk about, journal about. The Garden is tidy (or tries to be). It’s where we keep the thoughts we’re proud of, the emotions we’ve rehearsed, and the behaviors we label “productive.” Most therapy begins here—on the well-tended paths of conscious awareness.

But even the most organized garden has a gate. And behind it?

The Castle: Personal Unconscious

Inside the psyche’s castle are locked rooms and dusty halls. These are the repressed memories, forgotten beliefs, unresolved griefs, and old narratives that shaped us before we had the words to push back. The Castle is personal—built from our lived experiences—and it holds both treasure and ghosts.

This is where we meet the parts of ourselves we’ve rejected, tucked away, or disowned. The rage we swallowed. The joy we were told was too much. The intuition we learned to silence.

In therapy, this is where dreams often lead us. Where somatic responses make sense long before words arrive. It’s where the work starts to feel real—and realer still when we venture past it.

Because even the Castle has a back door.

The Wild Woods: Collective Unconscious

Step outside, and the air changes. The Wild Woods are older than you. Older than your family. Older than culture. This is the realm of myths, symbols, archetypes—the shared inheritance of what it means to be human. Here, the psyche speaks in image, story, and metaphor.

Ever had a client describe a dream you felt in your bones, even though it wasn’t yours? That’s the collective unconscious at play. It’s not just where archetypes live—it’s where they speak.

In the Wild Woods, there are no diagnoses. Only patterns. Recurring roles. Familiar strangers who walk through time and show up in our therapy rooms: the Hero, the Orphan, the Witch, the Wounded Healer.

The Sage pauses here, brushing a hand against a tree with bark like layered skin.

“Most people think healing is clearing a path back to the Garden,” they say. “But real healing is knowing how to walk in all three places—without losing yourself in any of them.”

Archetypes – The Cast of Inner Characters

A rustle in the trees.

You swear you’re alone—until you realize you’ve never actually been alone in here.

There’s a quiet audience inside each of us. Not just parts, but patterns. Not just memories, but roles we seem destined to play (and replay). These aren’t characters we’ve invented—they’re ones we’ve inherited. Ancient. Universal. Echoing through myths, fairy tales, religions, comic books, and client narratives alike.

These are the archetypes: the symbolic blueprints of the human experience. They live in the collective unconscious, surfacing in dreams, behaviors, projections, and even the metaphors your clients unknowingly use.

Jung never gave us a fixed list—because archetypes are living things. But there are some regulars in the inner ensemble cast:

The Hero

Brave. Burdened. Relentless. Often shows up in clients driven to prove their worth by overcoming struggle—sometimes to the point of burnout.

In session: “If I just work harder, fix more, save everyone, then I’ll finally be okay.”

Shadow side: the belief that rest = failure, or that vulnerability = weakness.

The Caregiver

Empathic. Devoted. Self-sacrificing. The archetype behind codependency, emotional burnout, and perfectionistic parenting.

In session: “I don’t matter as long as everyone else is okay.”

Shadow side: resentment, depletion, suppressed rage.

The Outlaw

Rebel. Disruptor. Challenger of the status quo. This archetype often walks into therapy with a middle finger half-raised and a trauma history that reads like a manifesto.

In session: “I don’t trust institutions, labels, or people who think they know better than me.”

Shadow side: isolation, self-sabotage, fear of belonging.

The Child (Innocent or Wounded)

Tender. Hopeful. Often buried beneath adult survival strategies.

In session: “I just want someone to care like I mattered.”

Shadow side: helplessness, dependency, or a deep fear of abandonment.

The Sage

Wise. Observant. Patient. Lives in clients who feel older than their years—or who intellectualize emotions to feel safe.

In session: “I understand it all, but I don’t feel any of it.”

Shadow side: detachment, spiritual bypassing, fear of emotional messiness.

The Magician

Visionary. Intuitive. The inner alchemist. Appears in clients seeking transformation, not just symptom relief.

In session: “I know there’s more to me than this pain—I just don’t know how to reach it.”

Shadow side: illusion, manipulation, escapism.

Archetypes aren’t diagnoses. They’re invitations.

And clients don’t embody just one—they shift, shape, and reassemble like a dream cast in motion.

The Sage kneels beside a stream, watching the water reflect the canopy above.

“Every archetype carries both a light and a shadow,” they say. “To guide your client, you must see both. And then help them find the one who’s trying to be heard underneath it all.”

This is the moment therapy becomes mythic.

Not in a grandiose way—but in the way that reveals: you’ve been walking a story all along.

🌿 Walking with Archetypes: A Deeper Field Guide

You’ve met a few familiar faces—the Hero, the Orphan, the Sage—but the forest holds many more. The psyche doesn’t travel with a solo act. It’s an ensemble cast, shifting with every wound, every memory, every invitation to grow. These inner figures rarely introduce themselves directly. Instead, they surface in metaphors, projections, somatic patterns, recurring dreams, and moments that feel mythic without explanation.

Below is a deeper map: a field guide for therapists, crafted not to label but to illuminate. You won’t find diagnoses here—only mirrors, echoes, and names for what’s been quietly walking beside your clients all along.

👉 Walking with Archetypes: A Therapist’s Field Guide to Inner Selves offers 20 archetypes commonly encountered in therapy, each with:

Core traits and protective patterns
Shadow sides and somatic signals
Common client quotes you might hear
A therapeutic invitation to guide the work
Integration goals for healing and transformation
Pairing suggestions to explore inner conflict or harmony

Use it in supervision, in session, or when a client’s words trail off and something ancient speaks through the silence. Let it be a symbolic compass—not to reduce a person to a role, but to better witness the deeper choreography at play.

You don’t need to name every archetype in every session. But when the Warrior shows up in burnout, or the Trickster in deflection, or the Muse in heartbreak—you’ll have language for what’s rising.

The archetype is never the destination.
It’s the signpost on the way to becoming.
It’s the signpost on the way to becoming.

Download the Jungian Practice Guide Archetypes Handout Download

The Shadow – The Backpack You Didn’t Pack (But You’re Still Carrying)

The Sage slows their pace.

They don’t warn you, but you feel it: the air shifts. The light dims, not in fear—but in honesty.

“We all carry something we didn’t choose,” the Sage says, gently. “But it still shapes the way we walk.”

Welcome to the Shadow.

In Jungian psychology, the Shadow isn’t “bad”—it’s simply banished. It’s everything we’ve disowned, denied, or decided was unacceptable. Not just the dark emotions—like rage, jealousy, or cruelty—but also the tender ones we were taught to hide: grief, softness, vulnerability, even joy.

The Shadow forms when we learn—explicitly or not—that certain parts of us are unsafe to show. So we tuck them away, believing we can move on without them.

But they don’t stay quiet forever.

How the Shadow Shows Up in Therapy

The client who insists they’re “not angry,” while their jaw is clenched and they haven’t exhaled in 45 minutes.
The perfectionist who loathes “lazy” people—because rest is a part they’re too afraid to claim.
The empath who attracts narcissists—because their own needs are buried so deep, they forget they’re allowed to have any.

The Shadow is clever. It sneaks in through projection (“I could never be like that”), overreaction, judgment, or sudden emotional shifts that make no rational sense.

It doesn’t care about your conscious values. It cares about integration.

Working with the Shadow

The goal isn’t to eliminate it—it’s to meet it. To understand its function. To listen for its unmet need. Because what’s in the Shadow often formed to protect—but does so in a way that now limits us.

In therapy, this can look like:

Parts dialogue with Shadow figures (integrating IFS)
Exploring dream figures the client “fears” or “hates”
Mapping triggers back to disowned aspects of self
Naming projections: “Who does this remind you of?” or “What part of you do you want furthest away from this moment?”

Clients might resist this work—understandably. Shadow work often requires unlearning who we think we are to uncover who we’ve always been.

The Sage crouches to pick up a small, moss-covered mirror from the forest floor.

“The Shadow isn’t the enemy,” they say, “It’s the part of you that stayed behind when the rest of you moved forward. You can leave it here—or you can go back for it. But either way, it’s walking with you.”

And just like that, you realize: the Shadow isn’t just what hides in the dark.

It’s also what longs to be seen.

The Persona – The Costume That Started to Stick

As the trail bends, you notice a coat hanging on a tree branch.

It’s beautifully stitched. Worn in places. Familiar.

You’ve definitely worn it before.

The Sage glances at it knowingly.

“Ah yes,” they murmur. “The mask that helped you survive—and now forgets to come off.”

In Jungian terms, the Persona is your social mask. The identity you craft to be seen, accepted, and safe in the world. It’s the version of you that knows how to smile when asked “how are you?” even when your bones say otherwise.

It isn’t fake—it’s functional. But when the Persona becomes fused with the Self, the mask starts making decisions for you.

And that’s where therapy often begins.

How the Persona Shows Up in Therapy

The client who always performs “fine” even when everything is falling apart.
The therapist (yes, us too) who over-identifies with being the calm, wise one—and struggles to admit when they’re not.
The high achiever who can’t slow down without fearing irrelevance.
The people-pleaser who forgot what it feels like to want something just for themselves.

The Persona is a survival strategy. It helped us belong. It helped us stay safe. It helped us not get hurt.

But it’s not who we are.

Working with the Persona

Therapeutically, this is the work of de-fusion. Helping clients (and let’s be real—ourselves) notice when they’re performing rather than living.

This can look like:

Inviting moments of authentic emotional expression, even if messy
Exploring childhood messages about likability, professionalism, strength, or gender roles
Naming the cost of maintaining the mask
Asking, “What would it feel like to let that role rest—just for a moment?”

Sometimes the Persona is the first client we meet.

It takes trust, safety, and time before the others step forward.

The Sage brushes off the coat and hands it to you—not as an instruction, but an offering.

“Wear it when you need it,” they say, “But remember, you’re allowed to take it off. You existed long before it was stitched together.”

And maybe, just maybe, the parts of you beneath it are worth being seen—not despite their flaws, but because of their truth.

The Anima/Animus – Meeting the Inner Other

A hush falls over the path.

The trees part slightly, revealing a still pool of water—so clear, you can see your reflection.

But as you lean closer, you notice something curious.

The face staring back is you—and also not you. Softer where you’re hard, more grounded where you’re scattered. It isn’t opposite. It’s complementary. A counterbalance. A question mark in the shape of a mirror.

“Everyone holds within them an Other,” the Sage says. “The part you lost. The part you long for. The part you’re just beginning to remember.”

In Jungian theory, the Anima and Animus represent the inner opposite—not in a binary, gender-essentialist way (though early Jung leaned that way), but in the symbolic sense. The Anima is the inner feminine within men; the Animus, the inner masculine within women.

But in a modern clinical lens, we can hold these ideas more fluidly:

The Anima/Animus is the Inner Other.

The part of the psyche that holds qualities we’ve been culturally or personally discouraged from developing—but desperately need for wholeness.

How the Inner Other Shows Up in Therapy

A client who suppresses their intuition, softness, or creativity to maintain control or appear competent
Someone caught in relational patterns—constantly drawn to people who embody traits they’re missing (or afraid of)
Dreams of powerful female or male figures—either adored, feared, or mysterious
Deep yearning for a connection they can’t name, but always feel just out of reach

The Inner Other is often projected first—romantic infatuations, idealizations, “I can’t stop thinking about them.”

But what they’re actually seeking? A part of themselves they’ve never fully met.

Working with the Inner Other

Therapeutically, this work is rich, nuanced, and full of mystery.

You might explore:

Recurring patterns in attraction or rejection
Traits clients admire in others but feel disconnected from in themselves
Imagery of powerful figures in dreams or fantasy
Creative practices that allow the Other to express itself: art, movement, journaling, embodiment work

You can ask:

“What is this person showing you about yourself?”
“What part of you do they activate?”
“Is this trait one you’ve claimed—or one you’ve longed for from afar?”

The Sage dips a hand into the pool, sending ripples across the surface.

“Integration doesn’t mean becoming someone else,” they say. “It means remembering you were never just one thing to begin with.”

And as the reflection settles, you don’t just see the Other—you see a fuller version of yourself, waiting patiently to be invited in.

The Self – The North Star at the Center of the Spiral

You’ve circled ruins. Climbed towers. Entered shadowy hollows and watched the light change in your own eyes.

And now, something familiar hums beneath your feet.

Not a destination. Not a finish line.

A center.

In Jungian psychology, the Self isn’t just the ego—the “I” we identify with. It’s something far deeper. The Self is the totality of who you are: conscious and unconscious, light and shadow, past selves and future potential. It’s the psychic organizing principle pulling you toward wholeness.

The ego wants to perform.

The Self wants to integrate.

And where the ego is often afraid, the Self is profoundly patient.

How the Self Shows Up in Therapy

When clients have breakthrough dreams or moments of deep clarity that feel “bigger” than language
When they’re no longer asking, “What should I do?” but instead, “Who am I becoming?”
In the grief that comes from shedding identities, and the relief that follows
When the conversation shifts from symptom management to soul alignment

The Self often arrives subtly—more felt than seen.

A grounding. A knowing. A return.

Working with the Self

The Self doesn’t demand anything. It waits. It invites. And therapy becomes the space where a client starts to hear that invitation.

Ways to engage the Self:

Reflecting recurring dream symbols or metaphors pointing toward integration
Inviting clients to imagine their “wise inner self” and begin dialogue
Asking: “What does the most whole version of you need right now?”
Creating rituals to honor transitions, losses, and growth
Noticing when all parts begin to speak in the same room—and none are screaming

This is where therapy transcends coping.

Where the client becomes the author again—not just of their narrative, but of their becoming.

The Sage steps into a clearing—a quiet circle of moss and stone, sunlight filtered through leaves.

“You’ve met your masks, your wounds, your protectors,” they say, laying a hand over their heart. “But this? This is the one who was always holding the map. Even when you didn’t know you were lost.”

The Self is the seed and the soil.

The thread and the weaver.

Not something you create—but something you remember.

Individuation – The Spiral Staircase of Becoming

The trail winds upward now. Not in a straight line, but in a slow, spiraling ascent—like a staircase built by a dream.

You pass old landmarks again, but they look different this time. Softer. Less threatening. More like memories than obstacles.

“You’ve been here before,” the Sage says, “but not like this. That’s the nature of the spiral—it repeats, but you’re never the same traveler.”

In Jungian psychology, individuation is the process of becoming your whole, authentic self—not by chasing an ideal, but by integrating all the parts you’ve met along the way. It’s a lifelong unfolding, where you shift from identifying with the ego to aligning with the Self.

It’s not about becoming someone new.

It’s about becoming more fully who you already are.

How Individuation Shows Up in Therapy

When clients begin seeing patterns instead of problems
When they stop asking “what’s wrong with me?” and start wondering “what is this trying to teach me?”
In the tension between old roles and new awareness
When grief becomes clarity, and resistance turns into curiosity

Individuation isn’t linear. Clients may feel like they’re backtracking or losing progress—but often, they’re spiraling deeper into meaning.

And sometimes, individuation requires letting go of who we thought we were supposed to be.

Working with Individuation

This is the deep work—the work beneath the work.

It often includes:

Revisiting themes across time (clients saying, “This keeps coming up, but it feels different now”)
Tracking growth not by external milestones, but internal shifts
Weaving together shadow, persona, dreams, projections, and newly integrated parts
Validating that discomfort isn’t regression—it’s recalibration

You might ask:

“What parts of you feel more in conversation now?”
“What’s being asked of you in this season of becoming?”
“If this pain had a purpose in your larger story, what might it be trying to shape?”

This is the therapy that doesn’t just heal—it transforms.

The Sage turns toward you, not with answers, but with deep, abiding presence.

“Individuation doesn’t promise clarity,” they say. “It promises meaning. And meaning, dear one, will carry you through far more than certainty ever could.”

And so you walk. Not because you’ve arrived. But because you’ve remembered how to walk like yourself again.

Complexes – Emotional Landmines with Their Own Gravity

The wind changes. You don’t see it, but you feel it. A sudden heaviness. A tug in your chest. A memory that isn’t quite a memory—just the echo of something too big for this moment.

You’ve stepped into a complex.

“Careful,” the Sage says softly. “This isn’t just emotion. It’s a whole constellation.”

In Jungian psychology, complexes are emotionally charged clusters of thoughts, memories, beliefs, and feelings. They form around a theme—often from early experience—and operate like self-contained psychic systems. Think of them as gravitational fields: invisible but powerful, pulling thoughts, feelings, and behaviors into orbit.

You may have heard of:

The mother complex
The father complex
The inferiority complex
The hero complex
The abandonment complex

But Jung didn’t limit these to clinical labels. Complexes aren’t pathologies—they’re patterns. Formed in childhood, fueled by repetition, and often activated in relationships (especially in therapy).

How Complexes Show Up in Therapy

A client has a seemingly disproportionate emotional reaction to a benign situation
They describe feeling “like a child” during conflict, even when intellectually they know better
Repeated cycles of relational sabotage, self-doubt, or over-functioning
Sudden overwhelm that feels possessive, as if something else has taken over

This is where clients say, “I don’t know what came over me.”

Spoiler: it was a complex.

Working with Complexes

The goal isn’t to eliminate them—it’s to unhook from their gravity. To recognize when a complex is active, and gently bring it into consciousness.

Therapeutic approaches include:

Naming the felt experience (“It sounds like a young part of you is trying to speak here”)
Exploring origin stories (“When do you remember first feeling this way?”)
Separating past from present (“What does this current situation actually remind you of?”)
Inviting dialogue between parts of self using IFS or active imagination

You can ask:

“Who else is in the room when this reaction happens?”
“What story does this part believe—and what do you know now that it doesn’t?”
“Is this about now, or is now just waking up something old?”

The Sage brushes a hand through the air, and for a moment, you see it—a spiral of energy, colored with memory.

“Complexes aren’t trying to sabotage you,” they say. “They’re trying to finish a story they were never allowed to complete.”

And in therapy, we hold space for that unfinished narrative—not to rewrite it, but to let it rest.

Dreams and Symbols – The Unconscious Writes in Poetry, Not Prose

Mist begins to curl around the trees. The Sage says nothing at first—they simply pause, gaze upward, and listen.

“You’re not meant to interpret it all,” they say finally, voice low. “You’re meant to feel what it stirs.”

In Jungian work, dreams are not nonsense or neurological waste. They are messages from the unconscious, told in the language of symbols. They may not make sense to the ego—but they make perfect sense to the soul.

Symbols carry energy. They hold meaning beyond logic. And they show up in more places than dreams: in art, slips of the tongue, metaphors in a client’s story, even the archetypal figures they reference without realizing it.

How Dreams and Symbols Show Up in Therapy

The client who says, “I don’t know what it means, but I can’t stop thinking about this dream…”
A repeated image or metaphor that threads through their stories—wolves, locked doors, forgotten houses
A phrase they “just happened” to write in a journal that holds emotional weight
Visceral reactions to symbolic content in books, movies, or tarot

Symbols bypass defenses. They speak before logic can filter them out.

That’s why they’re so powerful—and sometimes disorienting.

Working with Dreams and Symbols

You don’t need to be a Jungian analyst to honor this work.

What you need is curiosity, attunement, and the courage to sit with ambiguity.

Try:

Asking clients to retell a dream as if it were a short story they wrote on purpose
Exploring the emotional tone of an image rather than rushing to interpret
Using active imagination to dialogue with dream figures
Inviting clients to journal from the perspective of a symbol: What would the locked door say?

And most importantly:

Respecting the dream’s timing. Sometimes its meaning isn’t ready to be known. Sometimes, it just needs to be held.

The Sage draws a small token from their pocket—a stone etched with a symbol you’ve never seen, yet somehow recognize.

“Dreams are letters from the unconscious,” they say, “but they’re written in metaphor, not instructions. Don’t ask them for answers. Ask them what part of you sent them.”

In a world that worships clarity, symbols offer something better: depth.

Synchronicity – The Universe’s Post-It Notes

Synchronicity is Jung’s term for meaningful coincidence—those uncanny moments when life feels like it’s trying to get your attention. When something shows up right as you need it, though there’s no logical explanation for how or why.

The client who dreams of a wolf, then opens a book randomly to a story about wolves.

The day they decide to finally speak their truth, and three strangers mention the same mantra: “Be honest with yourself.”

These aren’t signs of delusion. They’re signs of alignment.

Synchronicity is the psyche’s way of saying: Pay attention. Something sacred is in motion.

How Synchronicity Shows Up in Therapy

A client starts noticing patterns, symbols, or “weird little things” that feel eerily connected
Themes arise in session that echo dreams, song lyrics, or passing conversations
Deep inner work is mirrored by outer changes—relationships shift, opportunities appear, emotions surface in new contexts

These moments are rarely about what happened. They’re about how it made the client feel. That subtle knowing. That intuitive hum.

And as therapists, we’re invited to hold the frame steady—not explain it away, but also not force meaning where none exists.

Working with Synchronicity

You don’t have to spiritualize everything—but you can honor it.

You might:

Ask how a synchronous moment felt, rather than what it meant
Explore whether it’s amplifying an inner truth the client already senses
Help differentiate magical thinking from meaningful noticing
Let the experience be what it is: something sacred, strange, and possibly transformative

Because sometimes, a synchronicity is less about what it predicts—and more about what it reveals.

The Sage touches a tree with bark shaped like a spiral. At the center: a tiny stone embedded, marked with a symbol you saw once in a dream.

“We are not always in control,” they say. “But we are always in connection. And sometimes, the world responds.”

Synchronicity is not a formula—it’s a conversation.

And sometimes, just knowing you’re in one is enough.

Psychological Types – The Inner Compass of Perception and Judgment

Before the Myers-Briggs test, before Enneagram spirals and Instagram typology memes, there was Jung’s Theory of Psychological Types—a framework for understanding how people orient to the world and to themselves.

It doesn’t dictate personality.

It reflects preferences in perception and decision-making—the internal compass we use to navigate the forest of life.

And for therapists? Understanding these types can help you track why clients respond so differently to similar experiences, and where your own lens might blur the view.

The Two Attitudes: Introversion & Extraversion

Not about how social you are, but where your psychic energy flows.

Introversion: Draws energy from within. Processes internally. Needs space to recharge.
Extraversion: Draws energy from external engagement. Processes out loud. Gains clarity through interaction.

In therapy:

Introverted clients may need more silence, metaphor, or space between insights.
Extraverted clients may need reflection-in-motion—talking it out, external prompts, experiential work.

The Four Functions

Think of these as the ways we take in information and make decisions—each one valid, each one with its blind spots.

Perceiving Functions

–

How we take in the world:

Sensing: Practical, grounded, detail-oriented. Sees what is.
Intuiting: Pattern-focused, abstract, future-oriented. Sees what could be.

Judging Functions

–

How we evaluate what we’ve taken in:

Thinking: Logical, analytical, objective. Makes decisions based on truth.
Feeling: Values-based, empathetic, subjective. Makes decisions based on meaning.

Jung believed we all have access to each function, but we tend to favor one—especially under stress.

How Psychological Types Show Up in Therapy

The “overthinker” may be a dominant Thinking type whose emotional world hasn’t been safely explored.
The “emotionally flooded” client may be a dominant Feeling type overwhelmed by disharmony.
The one who “just wants the facts” may favor Sensing.
The one who’s constantly dreaming about possibilities? Intuition is likely in the lead.

Understanding your client’s type can:

Help pace your interventions
Avoid unintentional invalidation (“You’re being too sensitive/logical”)
Deepen the therapeutic alliance by speaking in their psychological language

Working with Psychological Types

This isn’t about typing clients and sticking them in boxes.

It’s about noticing:

What kind of information they trust
How they make decisions
What might feel threatening or expansive to them
Where growth might come from developing their less-dominant functions

You might ask:

“Do you tend to rely more on your gut, your feelings, or logic when something’s unclear?”
“Do you usually need quiet reflection—or interaction—to figure out what you’re feeling?”
“Is it easier for you to see the details… or the big picture?”

The Sage kneels and gathers four stones from the path—each carved with a different symbol: eye, flame, feather, root.

“Each traveler walks with a different compass,” they say. “The path may be the same—but how we walk it, and what we notice along the way… that’s where the story lives.”

And in therapy, knowing the compass can make all the difference.

Practical Jungian Tools for the Therapy Room

For all its mythic language, Jungian work isn’t only abstract. It’s deeply embodied, imaginal, and experiential. When clients feel stuck, misunderstood, or like logic has hit a wall, these tools can offer a different door into the work.

They help clients explore instead of explain.

To get curious about what’s underneath, around, or within—without having to dissect it first.

Active Imagination – Dialoguing with the Unconscious

Think of this as guided improv with the psyche. Clients intentionally engage with a dream figure, part, or image as if it were real—not to “fix” it, but to hear what it has to say.

Use when:

A dream character or emotion won’t let go
A client keeps looping in a conflict or self-doubt
A symbol keeps showing up in art, writing, or life

How:

Invite the client to visualize or journal a dialogue between their ego and the symbol/figure
Explore: What does this figure want? Fear? Protect?
Let the story unfold, even if it doesn’t make sense yet

Dream Dialogues – Mining the Psyche’s Night Language

Rather than “interpreting” dreams, Jungian work invites relationship with them.

Try:

“What part of you does this dream character represent?”
“What would happen if you stepped back into that dream right now?”
“How did the dream feel, even more than what happened?”

Encourage dream journaling, creative expression, or revisiting dreams from different angles over time.

Symbol Exploration – When the Image Says What the Words Can’t

If a client brings up a recurring image (wolves, wings, locked doors), don’t dismiss it—lean in.

You can:

Ask them to draw, paint, sculpt, or embody the image
Explore its mythological or cultural resonance (without over-pathologizing)
Let it become a guide or co-therapist in the room

Sometimes, the symbol knows what the conscious mind does not.

Archetype Mapping – Who’s in the Room Right Now?

When clients feel fragmented or reactive, archetypes can help clarify which part is speaking.

Use archetype decks, guided visualization, or a parts-based approach to explore:

Who is showing up right now?
Who has been silenced?
Who is exhausted and needs rest?

This works beautifully with Internal Family Systems (IFS)—Jung just got there first with different language.

Shadow Work Practices – Meeting What Was Banished

Invite clients to write letters from their shadow selves
Explore triggers and projections as invitations to reclaim exiled traits
Use “what do you hate in others?” as a prompt to find buried gold

Remind clients: the shadow isn’t bad. It’s just been surviving outside the spotlight.

Myth + Story Integration – Making the Personal Universal

When clients feel alone in their struggle, stories connect them to the human experience.

Try:

Offering mythic parallels: “This reminds me of Persephone… Or Prometheus…”
Letting the client cast themselves in a symbolic narrative
Building a therapeutic mythos: “If this were a chapter in your story, what would it be called?”

Stories hold pattern. And sometimes, they offer the mirror a client didn’t know they needed.

The Sage passes you a handful of objects—feathers, charcoal, a mirror shard, a compass—and places a finger to their lips.

“These aren’t instructions,” they say. “They’re invitations. Not every tool will speak to every client. But when the right one is offered at the right time… something ancient stirs.”

And in that moment, you realize: Jungian work isn’t about fixing—it’s about remembering.

The Therapist as Archetype – The Mirror, the Torchbearer, the Trickster

Jungian psychology doesn’t just invite clients to explore their archetypes—it invites us to explore our own. Because therapists aren’t blank slates. We are storytellers, mirrors, challengers, holders of sacred tension.

And depending on the client, the moment, and the wound… we shift forms.

The Sage watches you now, eyes soft but unblinking.

“You’ve been all of them,” they say. “You just forgot to name it.”

The Mirror

You reflect truth—gently, precisely, and without distortion. You help clients see themselves in a way they haven’t dared to.

But beware: mirrors can be painful. And they can also be seductive.

Ask yourself:

Am I reflecting their truth—or my own lens?
What am I afraid they’ll see?
Where am I avoiding the mirror in my own work?

The Torchbearer

You illuminate the path just enough for the next step. You offer hope, insight, and guidance through the fog.

But light can overwhelm. And it can blind.

Ask yourself:

Am I leading—or walking beside?
Is this light for them… or to ease my own discomfort in the dark?

The Trickster

You ask the uncomfortable question. You challenge the polished narrative. You laugh when the moment gets too precious—and cry when it’s least expected.

The Trickster breaks the rules to reveal the deeper truth.

Ask yourself:

Am I disrupting for insight—or control?
Where does irreverence create freedom?
Can I tolerate not knowing?

The Wounded Healer (Unspoken, but Always Present)

Every therapist carries their own shadow. Their own wounds. Not to project—but to relate. This archetype reminds us that our healing is never separate from the work—it’s just woven in differently.

Reflection for the room:

What part of you did this client activate?
What wound are you silently tending alongside them?
What story are you still unraveling through the act of witnessing?

The Sage turns toward you now—not as a guide, but as a peer.

“You’ve been walking this forest for a long time,” they say. “But you still pause at the same places. That’s not failure—it’s ritual. And every time you return, you carry more light.”

Archetypes aren’t roles we choose.

They’re roles that emerge when the work calls for something deeper than protocol.

When and With Whom Jungian Work Shines

Jungian work isn’t a one-size-fits-all modality. It doesn’t aim to solve problems as quickly as possible or reduce suffering to a symptom checklist. It’s slow. Symbolic. Soulful. And some clients won’t be ready for that.

But when it clicks—when it fits—the transformation is unlike anything else.

The Sage gestures to a worn bench near a tree’s roots—deep, wide, ancient.

“This work isn’t for everyone,” they say. “But for some, it’s the first language they’ve ever truly understood.”

Jungian Work Resonates With:

The Seekers – Clients asking, “Who am I really?” rather than “How do I fix this?”

They may have done CBT, solution-focused work, even trauma reprocessing… and still feel like something’s missing.

The Grievers – Especially those moving through ambiguous loss, identity death, or spiritual crisis.

Jungian work helps name what cannot be solved but must be carried.

The Creatives – Writers, artists, dreamers, daydreamers.

They already think in metaphor. This just gives them the map.

The Neurodivergent – Those whose lived experience doesn’t fit the “norms” they’ve been told to follow.

Symbol, story, archetype—these bypass conventional frameworks and make space for the full self.

The Stuck – Clients who say “I’ve been in therapy forever and still don’t feel like myself.”

Jungian work doesn’t force forward movement. It loops, spirals, reflects—and honors the mystery in the mess.

Jungian Work May Not Be the First Fit For:

Clients in acute crisis who need immediate stabilization
Those looking for direct advice, structure, or problem-solving
Anyone who feels overwhelmed by metaphor or ambiguity (although… even then, sometimes the right symbol unlocks everything)

When to Integrate It Gently

Jungian tools can be woven into many other frameworks—IFS, narrative, psychodynamic, ACT, somatic work. You don’t need to be a Jungian therapist to use this lens. You just need to notice when something archetypal is rising—and honor it.

Use it when:

A client starts speaking symbolically without realizing it
A dream won’t let go
A part of them feels ancient, mythic, larger-than-life
You feel something stir in you that’s hard to name

That’s the moment to pause. To listen. To remember:

Sometimes the client isn’t just telling you a story.

They’re living one.

The Sage presses a hand to the earth.

“This isn’t faster. It isn’t linear. It isn’t always clear. But it is sacred. And for the ones who need it… it’s home.”

Resources for Deeper Exploration

This isn’t a comprehensive library—it’s a curated starting point for the therapist who wants to go deeper, slower, and soul-first. Whether you’re new to Jungian thought or ready to revisit it with fresh eyes, these resources bridge the clinical, the mythic, and the practical.

Foundational Texts (Accessible but Rich)

Man and His Symbols by Carl Jung

Jung’s most accessible work, written for the public. If you only read one Jung book, make it this one.
Inner Work: Using Dreams and Active Imagination for Personal Growth by Robert A. Johnson

Grounded, clear, and deeply soulful. A beautiful intro to Jungian tools without academic fog.
The Portable Jung edited by Joseph Campbell

A greatest hits collection—ideal for therapists who want the original language without diving into Collected Works right away.

For Therapists Looking to Integrate Jungian Themes

Care of the Soul by Thomas Moore

Part memoir, part depth psychology guide. A reminder that the psyche longs for poetry and meaning, not just treatment plans.
Romancing the Shadow by Connie Zweig & Steve Wolf

Shadow work made tangible—ideal for therapists interested in integration through metaphor and relational dynamics.
The Archetype Cards Deck by Caroline Myss

A tool to use in sessions for identifying and reflecting on archetypes at play—non-pathologizing and insight-provoking.

Creative + Mythic Companions

Women Who Run With the Wolves by Clarissa Pinkola Estés

A must-have. Deeply layered stories + psychological insights through a feminist Jungian lens.
The Hero with a Thousand Faces by Joseph Campbell

For the mythology-leaning therapist ready to explore narrative therapy through a mythic lens.
Tarot decks, oracle cards, dream journals, or symbolic art tools

Jung himself would approve. These aren’t fortune-telling devices—they’re symbolic springboards for internal dialogue.

Podcasts, Blogs, and Platforms

This Jungian Life (Podcast) – Three Jungian analysts explore dreamwork, archetypes, and depth themes in modern life.
Jung Platform – Offers webinars, online courses, and resources for both therapists and curious souls.
Depth Psychology Alliance – A collaborative space with writing, courses, and dialogue for practitioners and seekers alike.

For the Wild-Hearted Integrators

If you’re blending Jungian work with:

IFS – Think of archetypes as parts with symbolic costumes
ACT – Use symbols to explore values and metaphor-rich acceptance
Somatic Work – Track the body’s response to symbols and dream figures
Spiritual Practice – Explore archetypes, synchronicity, and the Self as spiritual paths

You’re not betraying Jung—you’re expanding the spiral.

The Sage gathers the final book and closes the satchel, now lighter in weight, but deeper in meaning.

“Take what speaks. Leave what doesn’t. But remember: the psyche always recognizes itself when it’s being seen.”

Returning from the Forest

You emerge from the trees with mud on your boots, a few leaves in your hair, and something else—something quiet and rooted—settled inside you.

This wasn’t a straight line. It wasn’t meant to be.

Jungian work doesn’t offer shortcuts.

It offers mirrors, myth, mystery, and meaning.

It reminds us that healing isn’t about erasing pain.

It’s about becoming intimate with the full spectrum of who we are—light, shadow, symbols, instincts, inner cast members and all.

You won’t always name what’s happening in session.

You won’t always recognize which archetype just entered the room.

You won’t always know why a dream shook your client so deeply.

But if you pause—if you listen—you’ll begin to track something beneath the surface.

Not a solution. A story.

And stories, when honored, heal in ways that no worksheet ever could.

The Sage stops beside you at the edge of the forest. Not with a farewell, but a knowing.

“This work doesn’t end here,” they say, eyes reflecting a thousand symbols. “The forest is always with you now. And somewhere within, the Self is still listening.”

You turn to look one more time. The path is still there.

Not waiting for you to master it—just inviting you to return when it’s time.

And when your clients ask, “Why am I like this?” or “Where do I even begin?”

You’ll remember the forest.

And the Sage.

And the part of you that already knew the way.

Written by Jen Hyatt, a licensed psychotherapist at Storm Haven Counseling & Wellness in Temecula, California.

Disclaimer

This blog post is intended for informational and educational purposes only and reflects the author’s perspectives and experiences as a mental health professional. It is not a substitute for formal training, supervision, or individualized clinical guidance. Therapists are encouraged to consult their own professional resources, supervisors, or peers when applying concepts to their practice.