When the Soul Says, “Bitch, Wake Up.”
Marie-Louise von Franz wrote, “Only when the eternal girl dies can the woman be born.” I think my body got the memo before I did.
before we begin:
Be sure and scroll to the end. I have a special announcement + I’ve included a worksheet for paying subscribers to help you explore the eternal girl within. The part of you being called to evolve into the woman you’re meant to become.
And for fun, I keep thinking about that scene in Death Becomes Her — Isabella Rossellini handing Meryl Streep the potion, saying, “Take care of yourself. You and your body are going to be together a long time.” The irony, of course, is that she says it right before selling her soul for eternal youth.
The things we’ll trade for forever.
Unfucking Midlife is the real potion — but it only works if you’re willing to feel it.
“If you don’t get yourself figured out, you’re going to lose the best years of your life. I’m serious. Your 50s into your mid-60s are the best — that’s when you finally stop caring about the shit that doesn’t matter and really live. But you’re running yourself down mentally and emotionally.”
That was my dad, after I told him I had the flu this month.
I’d hesitated to even call. I was embarrassed to admit, yet again, that I was sick. But I made a commitment to check in with him once a week, and that overrode whatever discomfort I was feeling.
I knew he’d have something to say. Because it’s not just sick; it’s sick again. When I was recovering from Covid back in June, he’d said, “You’ve been sick a lot this year.”
As predicted, his tone this time was less sympathetic and more scolding. I hung up feeling slightly stung… until I realized I’ve used that same tone with my own kids when I’m worried.
I can’t speak for my dad, but when I see my children suffering, especially from choices I know aren’t helping, I can’t help but step in to defend “my child.” Concern and control often get tangled. It’s fucked up.
But I will tell you; his words lingered. During those eleven days in bed, I kept thinking about them. Because the truth is, it’s not lost on me how mentally and emotionally worn down I’ve felt this year. Which is confusing, considering the circumstances.
My kids aren’t home. I work from home. I’m sober. I have a strong recovery and spiritual program. I’m surrounded by supportive, loving people. So why do I feel so depleted?
On the flip side.. because there’s always a flip side.. I’m also in the middle of Unfucking My Midlife. Make no mistake, this platform and its name are nothing short of a projection.
Questions surrounding time circle the drain. If I’ll ever fully realize the Self that’s been so patiently waiting for me. If these patterns will finally dissolve for good.
Ironically, we hear a lot about the Peter Pan guys. You know the ones: the boys who won’t grow up, avoid commitment, and fear being trapped or limited. In Latin, they’re called Puer Aeternus, the eternal boy.
But you rarely hear about Puella Aeterna, the eternal girl. She’s dependent on others for grounding, allergic to confrontation or structure, and terrified of aging.
I’ll be the first to admit, I’ve been the eternal girl. She’s been running the show for decades.
Left unchecked, me and my eternal girl pendulate between euphoria and despair. We escape through fantasy, sex, travel, or substances, convinced that this next thing will be it… only to never actually land.
Did I mention she has commitment issues?
Something I didn’t say to my dad — maybe because I couldn’t yet articulate it — is that my Soul came knocking a few years ago.
I believe her exact words were, “Bitch, wake up.”
And I started to.
I’ve wondered, and this is going to sound a little woo-woo, but it’s the truth, if my body being sick this year has been a kind of cleanse. Maybe it’s old emotions moving through, or the death of parts of me that can’t come with me where I’m going.
My body has been rejecting activity, keeping me in stillness and quiet, forcing me into a new rhythm.
In some ways, being sick has taught me to listen to my intuition and instincts; not my impulses.
There’s a difference.
My impulses want action, distraction, attention.
My intuition wants quiet, connection, trust.
Marie-Louise von Franz wrote, “Only when the eternal girl dies can the woman be born.”
The midlife Puella often feels:
Disoriented — I used to know what I wanted.
Angry or restless — I feel stuck, like I missed something.
Tired of performing, pleasing, pretending.
Haunted by choices she never made — the life unlived.
But here’s the sacred part:
These aren’t failures. They’re signals.
They’re the psyche’s way of saying, it’s time.
For a long time, I resisted that death. I thought I could outrun it, out-work it, or stay forever lit by the potential fantasy of who I might become. But the truth is, I’m not being punished by this season of slowing down or being sick. I’m being initiated. My body slowing down, my emotions surfacing, my spirit asking me to integrate? This is the work.
The woman I’m becoming isn’t trying to escape the girl I was. She’s learning to bring her home.
The Puella believes freedom comes from flight. She thrives on possibility, intensity, and beginnings.
But the mature Puella learns that real freedom is found in landing, in presence and embodiment.
She learns how to be erotic without escaping, spiritual without floating away, ambitious without abandoning herself.
She stops performing and starts belonging to her body, her boundaries, her life.
When she finally says yes to descent. what Jungian analyst Sylvia Brinton Perera calls ‘the goddess’s initiation’, she begins to understand what aliveness actually feels like.
(What our culture calls crisis, breakdown, or illness, depth psychology calls descent — the soul’s way of getting our attention when we’ve stayed on the surface too long.)
It looks like:
Saying no to fantasy and yes to presence.
Learning to stay — in discomfort, in relationship, in her own body.
Making peace with imperfection and limits.
Letting go of potential for embodied power.
In this descent, she meets the body she has, the age she is, and the choices she’s made.
I don’t think I’m being punished by this season of slowing down or being sick.
I think I’m being invited to integrate — to let the girl rest so the woman can rise.
The mature Puella knows that freedom isn’t flight; it’s presence.
She learns how to be erotic without escaping, spiritual without floating away, ambitious without abandoning herself.
She stops performing and starts belonging — to her body, her boundaries, her life.
And honestly?
I don’t know about you, but I’m over feeding on what drains me.
Maybe all this time, my Soul’s been waiting for the girl to get tired enough to let the woman in.
Because I think my dad is right.
I do need to figure myself out.
And I know just the woman to do it.
I’ve started something new.
Somewhere between getting sober and staying sober is learning how to live sober.
That’s what I’m exploring in my new Substack, This Side of Sober — essays and reflections on emotional sobriety, self-trust, and what it really looks like to live well without alcohol.
If that’s a conversation you’ve been craving, you can read the coming soon post and subscribe here →
Death Becomes Her: Worth the 6+ minutes. I promise 😂
Worksheet: FROM ETERNAL GIRL TO WOMAN 👇👇👇
