Where Is the Soul?

by Cécile Rêve, ARTrelief co-founder - 9/5/25

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Carl Jung once wrote, “People will do anything, no matter how absurd, to avoid facing their own soul.” His words feel especially timely today, in a world where avoidance has not only become common but is often normalized—even celebrated. We have, in many ways, refined the art of evading our own inner lives, often without realizing the costs.

This disconnection fragments our relationships, undermines our health, and weakens our collective sense of purpose. When we are not attuned to our inner lives, we struggle to be present with others. Conversations become superficial, conflicts go unresolved, and emotional needs—our own and others’—are either ignored or misunderstood. Over time, this erodes trust, intimacy, and belonging, both in personal relationships and in the broader social fabric.

On a physiological level, chronic emotional avoidance can take a measurable toll on the body. Suppressed emotions—particularly grief, anger, fear, and shame—are linked to increased stress responses, which in turn contribute to conditions such as anxiety disorders, autoimmune diseases, gastrointestinal issues, insomnia, and cardiovascular problems. The mind and body, far from being separate, are in constant dialogue. When we silence the soul, the body often speaks in its place.

This disconnection also manifests collectively. Communities burdened by acknowledged or unacknowledged trauma may develop coping mechanisms rooted in denial, distraction, distortion, or dissociation. In such environments, meaningful dialogue becomes difficult, and cycles of harm are more easily repeated. Violence—whether self-directed, interpersonal, or systemic—often emerges when emotional pain has no space to be held or metabolized.

Avoidance, though it may present outwardly as calm, happy and put together, often conceals a buildup of dense, unprocessed emotional energy. Like a pressure cooker, the longer these emotions remain unacknowledged, the more intense their eventual release. For some, this may result in internal implosions—such as depression, addiction, burnout, or self-harming behaviors. For others, the release may be more outward: outbursts of anger, emotional volatility, aggression, or even acts of violence.

For example, a therapist may observe that a client who avoids grief following a loss begins to experience chronic fatigue and irritability. Without space to mourn, that emotional energy finds other ways to surface—perhaps through conflict in relationships or a sense of meaninglessness at work. On a societal level, a group of youth who have grown up in communities marked by instability and neglect may develop a deep sense of alienation, which can manifest in gang involvement or retaliatory violence—not because they are "broken," but because they have not been given safe ways to express their pain, fear, or longing for connection.

Avoidance offers short-term relief, but long-term consequences. It is only by turning toward our inner experiences with honesty and compassion that we can begin to shift these patterns—within ourselves, our relationships, and the systems we participate in.

Perhaps this widespread avoidance is part of a natural adaptive response—an evolutionary coping mechanism suited to the overload of our current moment. Or perhaps it signals something deeper: a turning point in the unfolding story of humanity, one we do not yet fully comprehend. Either way, the goal is not to fall into despair, but to notice—with sincerity and curiosity—what is happening.

Why is it that, across cultures and continents, so many people seem to be drifting into a collective state of distraction, numbness, or disengagement? And if this avoidance is becoming synchronized—fueled by the pace of technology, the omnipresence of social media, and the emerging complexities of artificial intelligence—might this, paradoxically, be where the soul is trying to speak?

In this context, facing the soul is no longer just a personal aspiration; it becomes an ethical and existential imperative. But how do we do this in an age that feels fragmented and disoriented? How do we stay in relationship with something as abstract and nebulous—and often as quietly demanding—as the soul?

For those called into roles such as therapist, healer, medicine person, shaman, or spiritual guide—regardless of cultural or professional framework—there is an implicit covenant: a commitment to turn inward, again and again. This is not escapism or self-absorption, though it can be misunderstood as such. It is a rigorous, ongoing practice of self-inquiry—an effort to meet ourselves with honesty so that we may meet others with clarity, care, and integrity.

To walk this path is to acknowledge a central truth: we cannot ask others to confront what we are unwilling to face in ourselves. The soul—often hidden, layered, and tender—requires our attention, not through ideas alone, but through lived, embodied presence. In a time shaped by noise, distraction, and detachment, choosing to stay in relationship with the soul—both our own and others’—may be one of the most radical, necessary, and compassionate acts we can take.

And in this process, not only do we serve others more authentically—we can also find greater stability and freedom within ourselves. These are the very qualities that sustain the long-term work of being a therapist, a guide, or a present human being in an increasingly complex world.

This journey inward toward soul is deeply personal. There is no single map, no universal method, no definitive language to describe it. For some, the soul reveals itself in the quiet of a forest trail, the rhythmic sound of footsteps on earth, the stillness of a sunrise or the shimmer of water. In those moments of solitude, something ancient and intimate emerges—a sense of fullness and shape. A sense of belonging not just to a place, but to oneself.

For others, the soul is found in connection: in the warmth of shared laughter at a crowded dinner table, in a prayer to a higher power, in music that moves through the body, or in the simple act of being truly seen by another. Soul doesn’t always whisper in silence—it can also roar through joy, dance, art, intimacy, or collective celebration. What matters is not the form it takes, but that we are paying attention.

Living with grace doesn’t mean living without flaw, doubt, or contradiction. It is not perfection, control, constant balance, or always having the answers. Rather, it is the daily practice of honoring what stirs within us—our longings, our questions, our instincts, our grief—and meeting those parts of ourselves with gentleness and honesty, given the resources available to us. It means letting the moments that move us become guideposts, even if we don’t yet know where they lead.

And it also means staying rooted in the world as it is—with realism, humor, and curiosity. To live with soul is not to escape the messiness of life, but to lean into it with courage and presence, and spend time imagining how it can become less painful or chaotic from within. It is to accept that beauty and struggle often live side by side, and that we can hold both without turning away from either.