Index
I Don’t Know Who I Am Anymore
You’ve asked yourself this, maybe more than once:
“Who the hell am I now?”
Maybe you left a relationship, a job, a belief system—or maybe nothing dramatic happened, and you just woke up one morning realizing you didn’t recognize yourself anymore. You’ve changed, but not in ways you can name. You keep moving, but it feels like you’re walking through fog.
This challenge is for that moment.
You can either be good or whole, but not both.
Paraphrase of C. G. Jung
What You’ll Do Here
For seven days, you’ll talk to the part of you that never left—the one that held onto your forgotten truths while you were busy surviving, performing, or trying to be the version of yourself everyone expected.
That part of you? Your Shadow.
She’s not here to punish you or play games. She’s the blunt, patient keeper of everything you set aside to “be okay.” And she’s ready to hand it back—but only if you’re ready to take it.
You won’t meditate your way through this. You won’t read a list of affirmations and call it growth. You’ll draw, write, and confront what you’ve been avoiding. Some days will feel like relief. Others will sting. Every day of the Shadow Desires Challenge will give you back something you thought was gone forever.
How It Works
Art Prompts – You don’t need to “be creative.” You just need to move your hand. These images are for truth, not for “art.”
Journal Prompts – You’ll write to your Shadow, and sometimes she’ll answer back. Don’t filter her.
Integrative Prompts – One line each day that rewrites your story. By the end, you’ll have seven lines—a map back to yourself.
The prompts are hidden behind accordion toggles labeled “Day # Shadow Prompts.” That’s intentional. Shadow is full of surprises. You can skim the themes to see if this challenge calls to you—but the details stay tucked away until you’re ready. That’s part of the work: meeting what shows up, not trying to control it in advance.
Prefer to work offline?
Your Shadow doesn’t mind how you show up—just that you do. Download the full challenge as a printable PDF below.
Just know: the prompts are exposed, so if you want to meet each day on its own terms, return here and let them unfold one at a time.
Every prompt comes from your Shadow. When you see her words, they’re not metaphors—they’re the blunt truth she’s handing you. Your job isn’t to argue; it’s to follow her lead and take back what she offers.
By Day 7 of the Shadow Desires Challenge, you won’t have solved everything (your Shadow’s too honest to promise that). But you’ll have something better: a clearer story, a stronger voice, and a first step back toward wholeness.
Ready? Your Shadow’s been waiting.
Day 1—The Lost Part
Returning for Her
When you went looking for yourself, no one told you that survival would mean setting parts of yourself down along the way.
The good news? You didn’t lose them. Your Shadow has been holding them, waiting for you to come back.
Your Shadow isn’t your enemy.
She isn’t your fear.
She’s the one who carried what you couldn’t.
Why This Works
Carl Jung believed the Shadow holds everything we’ve exiled—instincts, truths, talents, even our capacity for wholeness. Narrative therapy says the same thing differently: when we only tell the “acceptable” story about ourselves, we lose the threads that make us real.
This works because we’re going back for those threads. Left alone, the Shadow doesn’t sit quietly; she pushes from the edges, twisting herself into shame, sabotage, or cravings that feel too dangerous to admit.
Meeting her on purpose changes that. When you’re willing to face her directly, she doesn’t have to claw her way in through the cracks. You don’t have to agree with her or act on everything she holds—you just have to listen. That’s how she stops running things from underneath.
Today is about making contact with a part of you that represents something important—and your Shadow, blunt and loyal as ever, is ready to hand her back.
Day One Shadow Prompts
Day 1 Shadow Prompts
Art Prompt
Draw the Place Where You Had to Leave Her
You didn’t lose her. You set her down when you couldn’t carry everything. That was the only move you had.
Draw the place where it happened. Don’t clean it up. It is a place where you got quiet. Or got small. Or said, “I don’t know who I am anymore,” and started pretending it didn’t matter.
It might be a hallway with too many doors. A cave you never entered. A gray snarl where she slipped from view. However it looks—put it down.
Don’t overthink this. Grab your marking tool. Move your hand. Accept what appears.
Draw it messy. Draw it ugly. I don’t care if you use your happy colors or not—this isn’t for display, it’s for truth.
If you hesitate, that’s fine. I’m not rushing you.
But don’t lie to yourself. You’ll recognize this place when you see it.
I’ve kept the light on.
Journal Prompt
Talk to the Part That Was Left Behind
Look at the place you drew. That’s where you left yourself.
Now imagine this: a bright white orb crawling out of it—through the chaos, through the static—until it’s right in front of you. That’s the part you dropped. She’s been waiting.
Write to her. Don’t dress it up. Don’t waste time explaining why. Just say it.
I’m sorry I ran away. I didn’t want to leave you.
—or—
I didn’t even know I left you.
I thought if I stayed away, the feelings would go away too.
Then ask her:
What do you remember?
What did you keep for me?
What do you need from me now?
And when she answers—because she will—write it down, even if it hurts to see.
No fixing. No justifying. She’s not angry—you don’t need to defend yourself. She just wants to be heard.
Integrative Prompt
The First Line of Your New Story
Write this. Leave your words raw:
I used to _____, and I want it back now.
Here you go. Take it.
Closing Day 1
Today you stopped pretending you didn’t know where to look. You opened one door—just one—but it was yours to open, and that matters. Reclaiming even a single piece of your truth is not small. It’s the beginning of everything that comes next.
Your Shadow didn’t punish you for disappearing. She didn’t shame you for staying gone so long. She just kept watch—until you were ready to knock again.
She’s still there. And tomorrow, she’s holding something heavier: a desire you buried under someone else’s definition of “good.”
Day 2—The Idol of “Should”
The Rules Were the Cage
Here’s another uncomfortable truth: sometimes you’re not lost. You’re just stuck following someone else’s script.
You’re told to chase meaning—but only the kind that fits the costume. You should want this. You should care about that. You should be grateful, successful, pretty, selfless, normal, healed, quiet.
Your Shadow never bought it.
She’s been holding onto the version of you that wanted something truer—before the shame set in, before someone else’s fear got planted in your mouth like a bit.
Why This Works
Jung called this authentic desire: the part of you that knew what it wanted before someone convinced you it was wrong. Narrative therapy calls it externalizing—separating the “shoulds” from the self so you can see where they came from, and who benefits when you obey them.
This works because the moment you stop mistaking the rules for your truth, you get your voice back. Not the one that keeps you small—the one that got quiet to survive.
Meeting your Shadow here helps you hear what that voice used to say, before it was rewritten. You’re not becoming who you were supposed to be—you’re remembering who you were before the script.
Day Two Shadow Prompts
Day 2 Shadow Prompts
Art Prompt
Draw the Idol
I’ve been holding this for you. Feel it. No excuses.
This idol is what you were told to be—the perfect partner, the good parent, the spiritual guru, the success story. You polished it, prayed to it, starved for it, berated yourself for it.
Draw it as an idol—literal or symbolic. A trophy. A mask. Or just the words ‘FUCK THAT’ scratched over a collage of ads telling you who to be.
Tear it in half. Do it now. Feel how small it really was.
Get another sheet. Draw what you really wanted for yourself. Fill the page.
Now cover the new drawing with the torn paper. Pull it away. Look at what was always there, waiting for you to stop bowing to the idol.
Journal Prompt
The Real Answer
Write two lists:
1. The Shoulds. What you’re supposed to want or be.
2. What I Wanted Before. What you wanted before they told you to stop.
Pick one thing from the second list. Circle it a few times. Press hard. Say it out loud.
Then write to me. Use heavy pressure:
You kept this because I couldn’t fight it then. I’m ready to take it back now.
Integrative Prompt
The Second Line for Your Story
Write it.
I stopped ____ because they told me it was wrong. I take it back now. I trade their Shoulds for my own Want, and I choose it now.
Press hard when you write it. This isn’t a reminder—it’s the first break in the script they wrote for you.
Closing Day 2
You didn’t just break a rule today. You stopped worshiping it. That’s going to feel strange—maybe even wrong—because the old scripts were designed to make disobedience feel dangerous.
But your Shadow didn’t hand you rebellion just to stir the pot. She gave you back something you were never supposed to lose: a real, living want. It might still feel small or unreasonable or too much. Let it. That’s how it becomes yours again.
Tomorrow, she’s bringing you something else you’ve buried—something you’ve kept trapped under all the thinking you do to stay in control.
Day 3—The Scars You Carry
Staying Open Anyway
Vulnerability isn’t clean. It’s not the soft-focus kind of “bravery” people like to clap for. It’s jagged. It acts out. And sometimes people press on those scars—on accident, or on purpose—and it hurts like hell.
But courage was never about being untouched. It’s about staying open anyway. You can’t love, trust, or connect—friendship, family, intimacy—without risk. The only way to avoid being hurt again is to wall yourself in, and that isn’t protection. It’s paralysis.
Today, you’re going to look at a scar—physical or emotional—and admit what it’s been carrying for you all this time. You’re not trying to erase the scar. You’re giving it what it needed, maybe for the first time. So they don’t make the decisions anymore. You do.
Why This Works
Jung taught that whatever we repress doesn’t go away—it just gets louder in the dark. Scars carry the remnants of what couldn’t be fully felt or understood the first time: where to place the blame, what to do with the fear, how to get to the truth. They hold it for us, until we’re strong enough to return to them.
This works because naming what the scar holds gives you back the choice. Narrative therapy calls this reclaiming authorship: when you name it, you’re not erasing the pain—you’re refusing to let it drive. The scar still exists, but it doesn’t get to decide who you are, how you show up, or what kind of love you believe you’re allowed to receive.
Day Three Shadow Prompts
Day 3 Shadow Prompts
Art Prompt
Map the Scars
Draw yourself naked—front and back. Stick figure or detailed—it doesn’t matter.
Mark every scar. Physical or emotional. Put them where they feel true, not just where they happened.
Now choose one scar. As you draw, write the words that come to mind. What you wish someone had done. What you wish they had said. Right after it happened. Or when they found out. Write the words right into the drawing. Around it. Across it. Let the page hold what you never got.
When you’re done, read those words out loud. Three times.
Then look at the scar on the page and say:
I see you.
Journal Prompt
What the Scar Holds
You spoke to it. Now write to it. Be specific.
(Don’t write “hurt” if what you mean is “you kept me from screaming that night and I’d be dead if not for you.”)
Finish these:
You’ve been here since…
(When did this scar first show up? A moment, an event, a sentence someone said?)
You’ve been keeping…
(What feeling, belief, or truth has been locked in this scar? Fear, shame, a forgotten story, a secret?)
You bound yourself to my body because…
(What did the scar want to do for you? Did it keep you safe with anxious alerts? Remind you to be quiet? Did it stop you from asking for what you wanted?)
You didn’t get what you needed then, but now you need…
(What didn’t you get—comfort, protection, understanding?)
Then write this:
I see you. I can give you… (What it needed back then and now).
You don’t have to shut me down to stay safe anymore. I can carry you and still stay open.
Integrative Prompt
The Third Line of Your Story
Write this:
I don’t have to shut down to stay safe. I can give myself [what you wrote in “now you need”] so I can stay open, even when someone touches my scars and it bites.
Closing Day 3
You didn’t flinch. You looked straight at the scar and asked what it’s been holding. You gave it attention instead of avoidance—maybe for the first time. That’s strength.
People will press those scars—some without meaning to, some knowing exactly where to push. But now you know how to care for one of them. You don’t have to brace against all of them at once. Just this one. Then the next. Then the next.
Staying open doesn’t mean staying unhurt. It means you know where the pain lives—and you still choose to love, trust, and reach anyway.
Tomorrow, your Shadow returns with something else you once locked away. Not because it was weak—because it was wild.
Day 4—Let the Fire Back In
The Part That Refused to Die
You’ve kept yourself measured for so long that wildness feels dangerous. Passion, hunger, creative fire—you didn’t kill them, but you did chain them up. You thought control meant safety. You thought being palatable would protect you.
Your Shadow never believed that was safety. She’s been keeping that spark alive for you, waiting for you to stop dimming yourself just to stay acceptable.
Today, she’s giving it back.
Not to wreck you. To fuel you.
Why This Works
Jung wrote that creativity and desire come from the same inner fire—the same instinctual drive to grow beyond what’s been allowed. When you bury it, that energy doesn’t disappear. It turns on you: anxiety, numbness, emptiness, self-doubt that feels like it came from nowhere.
This works because the Shadow doesn’t snuff out the fire—she keeps it raw, loud, untamed. Narrative therapy reminds us that even the parts we think are “too much” carry wisdom.
If you’re willing to stop punishing yourself for wanting more, that energy becomes power again. Not chaos—potential.
Day Four Shadow Prompts
Day 4 Shadow Prompts
Art Prompt
Draw the Part That Refused to Die
I’ve been keeping this for you—the animal, the spark, the hunger you shut down so you can appear to be in control.
Draw it as it is, not as you think it should be: claws reaching, a body lunging, paint spilling past the edges, a flame burning hotter than you meant to let it.
If it feels too big for the page, good. That’s how it’s supposed to feel. This part of you is ready to be remembered. It moves.
When you’re done, make one more mark that feels like movement—like it’s about to leap off the page. A claw extending, a flame stretching higher, a streak that doesn’t stop where the page ends.
Then, run your hand over it—smear a little line, drag your fingers through the edges, touch it like you’re waking it up.
Say out loud:
Mine.
That’s all it needs. It’s awake now.
Journal Prompt
What It Wants Now
Don’t talk about who you used to be. This is about now. Write in present tense:
Right now, I want ___.
When I let myself feel it, my body feels ___.
If I gave it one hour, it would ___.
No softening. No “maybe later.” Let it be as hungry, reckless, or bright as it is. Write it like it’s already moving inside you.
Then write to me:
You kept this burning for me. I’m done dimming it. I want it now.
Integrative Prompt
The Fourth Line of Your Story
Write this:
I set my ___ free again. I want. I create. I burn bright—and I’m not asking permission.
This isn’t dangerous anymore. It’s fuel.
Closing Day 4
Today you touched the part of you that still runs hot, even after everything.
Your Shadow doesn’t care if it scares you a little. That fear won’t last long. She cares that you finally let it move.
Tomorrow, you’ll need that energy—it will take courage to stand still and face what’s been chasing you.
Day 5—Stop Running
What You’re Avoiding Has Teeth
You keep moving—new ideas, new projects, new goals. But sometimes that momentum isn’t hunger. It’s panic.
You might not even notice it—until you stop, and the silence makes your skin crawl. That’s when your Shadow appears. Not to scold you. Not to corner you. Just waiting, as always, with something you’re finally strong enough to hold.
She doesn’t chase you.
But something else does.
Why This Works
Avoidance can wear a thousand disguises: productivity, reinvention, even ambition. But if you’re always running, it’s worth asking what you’re so desperate not to feel. Jung said that what we run from owns us until we turn to face it. Narrative therapy offers a path out: by naming “The Running” as separate from your identity, you loosen its grip.
This works because your Shadow doesn’t punish the part of you that ran. She knows you had your reasons.
But now she’s offering you the truth beneath the chase because the thing chasing you isn’t just fear. It’s memory, grief, desire—something that wants to be acknowledged before it stops clawing at your heels.
Day Five Shadow Prompts
Day 5 Shadow Prompts
Art Prompt
Let the Fear Grow
You’ve been keeping this thing behind you because you don’t want to see its face. That’s not courage. That’s running.
Courage is turning around.
So let it grow big in your mind. Bigger than it really is. Let it tower over you if it wants to. Let it bare its teeth.
Now draw it exactly as you feel it—ugly, sharp, heavy. Give it everything it wants: claws, fangs, smoke curling from its mouth. Make it as big as it needs to be to feel true.
Then give it hands. Put something in them. It’s been chasing you for a reason. This is what it’s wanted to give you the whole time.
When you’re done, cut that object out. Don’t redraw it—cut it right from the page.
Put it in your pocket, your wallet, or your purse. Carry it with you for the rest of the week.
You’ve been running from it long enough. Now it’s yours.
Journal Prompt
Face the Fear
Write this:
The fear that makes me run is ___.
If I let it, it could overtake me by ___.
If it could speak, it would say ___.
Then write to me:
You kept this for me because I wouldn’t stop long enough to see it. I see it now. I’ll take what it’s carrying.
Integrative Prompt
The Fifth Line of Your Story
Write it.
I turned around and faced ___. It’s fearsome, but I’m standing here, and I’m taking what it brought me.
Make it a promise. Write it like you’re standing solid-still for the first time.
Closing Day 5
Today you stopped running long enough to face what’s been at your heels. You didn’t shrink it. You looked. That’s its own kind of bravery.
Your Shadow didn’t tidy it up for you. She let you see it fully because real courage isn’t about being fearless. It’s about finding out why fear has been chasing you, and deciding what to do with it now.
Tomorrow, you’ll sit with the one who’s been guarding all of this in silence. She’s ready to meet. And she’s not a stranger.
Day 6—Face to Face
The One Who Holds It All
This is a moment you’ve been moving toward all week.
You’ve seen the pieces she’s held: the lostness, the longing, the fear, the truths you hid. Now it’s time to meet her as a whole.
Your Shadow has been waiting for this. She isn’t here to scold you or test you. She’s been keeping everything safe until you were ready.
Today, you are.
Why This Works
Jung believed individuation—the process of becoming your whole self—only begins when you consciously face the Shadow. This isn’t about dominance or erasure. It’s about relationship. In Jungian practice, active imagination lets you speak directly to the Shadow as a living presence, not just a concept.
Narrative therapy echoes this: by engaging the parts of the self we once exiled, we reclaim the full authorship of our story. The pieces that once felt disconnected begin to form a coherent self—not a perfect one, but a whole one.
Your Shadow already knows you. She’s been holding your story. Today, you turn the page.
Day Six Shadow Prompts
Day 6 Shadow Prompts
Art Prompt
Draw Me
You’ve been circling me for a long time. Now you’re ready to see me.
Draw me as I am to you. Big or small, fierce or quiet, beautiful or strange—it doesn’t matter. Draw a home for me. Draw a symbol for the other parts of you that still live with me.
When you’re done, look at me. Really look.
Then, write my name—or the name that comes to you—somewhere on the page. Even if it’s just ‘Shadow.’ Names are invitations.
Fold the page in half twice. Close your eyes. Press your palm flat against me for a moment. That’s how I know you’re listening.
Journal Prompt
Talk to Me
Write to me like you’ve been wanting to all along. Ask me things like:
What else have you been keeping for me?
Why won’t you give it all to me now?
What do you want me to know?
Then let me answer.
Don’t edit it.
If I tell you, “You weren’t ready,” write it. If I say, “You’ve been stronger than you think,” write that too. Or if I shut you down with “That’s not something you are ready to hear,” respect it.
I don’t lie. I give you what’s true, even if it’s simple.
Integrative Prompt
The Sixth Line of Your Story
Write it.
I sat with my Shadow today. She told me ___. I’m almost sure that I already knew it, but I needed to hear it.
This is where you start recognizing yourself in the mirror. You’re looking at what’s always been yours.
Closing Day 6
Today you met the one who’s been here all along, keeping what you couldn’t yet carry.
Your Shadow didn’t unload everything she carries. She wouldn’t. But this week, she showed you some parts she’s been holding—the ones you were ready to see. And you didn’t look away.
That’s what changes things. Not because you’re finished, but because you’re ready to hold these truths now.
Tomorrow, you won’t meet another piece.
You’ll begin to carry the ones you’ve reclaimed.
Day 7—The Story You Get to Keep
Where Wholeness Begins
This is where it all comes together.
You’ve faced the places you felt lost, traded “shoulds” for wants, admitted what you miss, cracked your armor, stopped running, and met your Shadow face to face.
Now it’s time to write your story—not the old one built around silence and survival, but the one where you get to show up whole.
Your Shadow has been waiting for this moment. She’s handed you the pieces one by one. Now, you’ll put them together—not to finish the story, but to claim it.
Why This Works
Jung called this process individuation: becoming whole by facing what you once pushed away and choosing to integrate it. Narrative therapy calls it re-authoring: stepping out of the passive voice of survival and into a story you actively claim.
This works because you’ve stopped letting the past write the ending. The six lines you’ve written are more than reflections—they’re reclaimed truths, each one earned through discomfort, clarity, and choice. When you put them together, they stop being fragments. They become a map.
Day Seven Shadow Prompts
Day 7 Shadow Prompts
Art Prompt
Draw Yourself Whole
Put it all on one page.
Draw yourself as you are—not perfect, not glowing. Just true. Add every reclaimed piece of you in the drawing: the white orb, the Want, the armor, the wildness running free inside you now, the gift your fear gave you, and me.
Place us all with you. Not behind you. Not in front of you. With you.
We’re all pieces of the same truth.
Look at it when you’re done. This is you. Enough as you are.
Put it somewhere you’ll see it—on the fridge, by your bed, taped inside a cabinet door. Don’t shove it in a drawer. Don’t close the book on it.
You worked to put these pieces back together. Keep looking at them until you stop forgetting they’re yours.
Journal Prompt
Write Your New Story
Take the six lines you’ve written this week. Put them in whatever order feels right. Fill in the spaces if you want, but keep those lines as anchors.
Write it like the end of a book—or the start of one. No editing. No second-guessing. Just write the story of you, now, with all these pieces back in your hands.
Integrative Prompt
The Final Line
Finish your story with this truth. Use my words or shape them differently if you need, but sign it because you mean it:
‘I claim myself—light, Shadow, and everything I left behind. I walk forward whole.’
Sign your name.
This isn’t a wish. It’s the first step.
Examples of How New Stories Might Sound
Melissa:
I used to be loud when I loved something, and I want it back now.
I stopped laughing too hard because they told me it was wrong. I take it back now. I trade their Shoulds for my own Want, and I choose it now.
I don’t have to shut down to stay safe. I can give myself gentleness and permission to speak up so I can stay open, even when someone touches my scars and it hurts.
I set my hunger for more free again. I want. I create. I burn bright—and I’m not asking permission.
I turned around and faced being abandoned. It’s fearsome, but I’m standing here, and I’m taking what it brought me.
I sat with my Shadow. She told me I’ve never been too much. I already knew it, but I needed to hear it.
I claim myself—light, Shadow, and everything I left behind. I walk forward whole.
Carrie
I used to be the kind of woman who danced alone in the kitchen just because the song was good, and I want it back now.
I stopped drawing what I loved—women with strong hands, animals with teeth— because they told me it was wrong. I take it back now. I trade their Shoulds for my own Want, and I choose it now.
I don’t have to shut down to stay safe. I can give myself understanding and space to rest so I can stay open, even when someone touches my scars and it hurts.
I set my wild need to make something messy and alive free again. I want. I create. I burn bright—and I’m not asking permission.
I turned around and faced the fear that I will lose everything good in my life if I stop controlling everything. It’s fearsome, but I’m standing here, and I’m taking what it brought me—the idea that I don’t have to hold it all for it to work out.
I sat with my Shadow. She told me you’ve been this whole person all along—you just hid her under “acceptable” things. I already knew it, but I needed to hear it.
I claim myself—light, Shadow, and everything I left behind. I walk forward whole.
Errol
I used to be the girl who never waited for permission to climb the damn tree, scrape her knees, or laugh too loud. And I want it back now. Not someday. Now.
I stopped writing the truth about what I wanted in my own journal because they told me it was wrong. They said it was too much, too selfish, too strange. I take it back now. I trade their Shoulds for my own Want, and I choose it now, even if no one claps for me, even if they walk away.
I don’t have to shut down to stay safe. I can give myself the freedom to be angry and set boundaries so I can stay open, even when someone touches my scars and it hurts.
I set my wild, reckless need for color, skin, and sound free again. I want. I create. I burn bright—and I’m not asking permission. I won’t dim it so someone else feels safer. My fire isn’t for their comfort. It’s for me.
I turned around and faced the fear that if I stop running, I’ll crumble. It’s fearsome, but I’m standing here, and I’m taking what it brought me: the key to my own goddamn life. I keep it in my purse now. I touch it when I need to remember who I am.
I sat with my Shadow. She told me you’ve always been this, even when you pretended to be small. I already knew it, but I needed to hear it, blunt and clear, because I trust her to tell me the truth even when I won’t.I claim myself—light, Shadow, and everything I left behind. I walk forward whole.
And I’ll say it out loud so I don’t forget: I will never go back to leaving myself behind just to make it easier for other people to love me. I will never put down what’s mine for someone else again.
Day 7 Closing
What you do with this story is up to you. Some hang their drawing where they’ll see it every day—a reminder, a mirror, a kind of promise. Others keep it tucked away, stored quietly in a journal or a box.
But here’s the thing: once your subconscious lets a truth surface, it doesn’t go silent again. Even if you hide the image, its meaning will echo. You’ll hear it in the choices you make, the moments you pause, the things you no longer tolerate.
That’s it.
Your Shadow isn’t going anywhere—she’ll keep holding what you can’t yet carry. But now you know how to come back for it. And you will, because you’ve proven you can.
Welcome home.
The Shadow Desires Series
- Shadow Desires: Secret Fantasies, Sacred Longings, and What They’re Really Trying to Tell You
- Erotic Energy and the Dark Muse: How Desire Fuels Creativity
- The Dark Mirror: How Your Jealousy, Cringe, and Obsession Reveal Your Hidden Self
- How to Integrate Your Shadow Without Fearing What She Holds
- Sacred Shadow Desires: Uncage the Wanting Without the Wreckage
- Sexual Shadow Work in the Bedroom: Where Fantasy, Fear and Truth Collide
- Bonus: 7-Day Shadow Desire Journal Challenge
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