The Moon Knows Your Shadow

Shadow work didn’t begin for me under a full moon. It began in April of 2016—when everything that looked “right” on the outside started to collapse from the inside out. At the time, my life appeared stable, even ideal. I had a two-story house, a marriage, children. From the outside, it looked like I was living the dream. But behind what society would call a normal family stood a man drowning in everything he could get his hands on—trying to get back to something he thought he had lost, but that had been within him all along. That was my first rock bottom. One of many.

And in that fall, I began to see something most people never name: we spend our lives trying to return to the divinity we were born from. Only we use synthetic versions to get there. We chase it in social validation, in sex, in substances, food, money and more. We get a jolt of satisfaction that mimics truth—but when it fades, we’re left with a deeper ache. We think we aren’t enough. That we are broken and need fixed. That somehow we are at fault for our illusion. So we reach for whatever will give us temporary relief from those false beliefs. That’s how cycles form. That’s how numerous forms of addiction take root. That’s how the shadow grows—unseen, but never unfelt. For me, shadow work started with journaling—writing down memories and traumas I hadn’t let myself speak aloud. Over time, it became a sacred practice. I didn’t call it shadow work at first. I just knew I was tired of pretending I was okay.

But slowly, the Moon began to reflect that journey back to me. Emotions intensified with her phases. Grief would rise. Rage would surface. And instead of feeling broken, I started to feel seen. That’s when I realized: the Moon knows your shadow. She doesn’t judge it. She reflects it. And if you’re willing to meet her there, she’ll help you bring it home.

Carl Jung, the Swiss psychologist who coined the term synchronicity and explored the unseen parts of the psyche, believed that our shadow contains nearly 80% of our unrealized potential—our gold. He didn’t see the shadow as something evil or dangerous, but as the neglected half of the soul—the part we hide, reject, or abandon because we think it makes us unlovable. The problem is, we’re taught to fear our darkness. We think we have to eliminate it or suppress it, or else it will destroy us. But the truth is, the shadow doesn’t go away. If we ignore it, it grows in silence. If we repress it, it moves underground and shapes our behavior in ways we don’t even realize. But if we learn to sit with it—if we ask why we do the things we do, where our pain really began, what we’re still trying to prove or protect—something changes. The shadow becomes less of a monster and more of a mirror. And when we integrate that mirror into our consciousness, we don’t just become “lighter”… We become whole. That’s the heart of shadow work—not fixing yourself, but knowing yourself. Not purging the darkness, but partnering with it. And the Moon, in her phases and her pull, has always known this. She waxes and wanes. She disappears and returns. She doesn’t fear her own cycles—and neither should we.

In recent years, I’ve deepened my relationship with the Moon—not just on full moons or new moons like I used to, but through her full cycle. What started as the occasional ritual became a rhythm. I now track the Moon every 2.5 days as she moves through each zodiac sign and through the houses of my personal birth chart. This practice has changed everything. Knowing where the Moon is helps me understand what energies are moving through me. When I’m having a hard time—when old habits rise up, when shame whispers, or when I feel like I’m spiraling—it gives me a lens. Not to blame the Moon, but to meet myself more clearly through her. Working with the Moon has become a form of shadow work for me. She reflects back the parts of myself I used to call ugly—the rage, the craving, the fear—and shows me they’re not here to punish me. They’re here to teach me. To grow me. To be integrated. Instead of rejecting those parts, I now ask: What are you trying to protect? What do you want me to feel? What do you want me to release? It’s not always easy. But it’s real. And for me, it’s sacred.

Carl Jung didn’t just believe in the shadow—he believed in symbols. He saw archetypes as living energies within the human psyche, universal patterns that appear in myths, dreams, and stories across cultures and time. And he believed Tarot was one of the most profound symbolic systems ever created. To Jung, Tarot wasn’t fortune telling—it was a mirror of the subconscious. A deck of archetypes. A living myth we could hold in our hands. He saw how Tarot could help us surface buried aspects of ourselves and give shape to the parts we hadn’t yet met. That’s what makes it such a powerful companion to moon work. Just as the Moon reflects our emotional cycles, Tarot reflects our inner archetypes—The Fool, The Devil, The Hermit, The Lovers, Death, etc… These aren’t just cards—they’re you. They’re the faces of your shadow, your strength, your longing, your resistance.

Using Tarot alongside lunar tracking has helped me bring even more clarity to the parts of myself rising in each phase. Some moons I might pull the 5 of Cups, and I know I need to grieve. Another moon it might be The Moon card itself, and I know I’m entering mystery, uncertainty, even illusion. Some moons, The Devil may show up—not to scare me, but to show me where I’m still chained by something that’s no longer true. Tarot gives the shadow a voice. The Moon gives it a rhythm. Together, they give it a path home.

In closing, I encourage every one of you to begin your own shadow work practice. It’s not easy. Looking into the unseen parts of ourselves can be emotional, even disturbing. But once we begin, once we learn to understand the reasons behind the ways we act, react, or self-sabotage, something sacred happens. We start to see that our former selves—those past versions of us—weren’t trying to ruin our lives. They were trying to protect us. What we often call “bad behavior” or “self-destructive tendencies” began as coping mechanisms. They were survival tools crafted in moments of pain, confusion, or fear. Over time, they hardened. They turned into patterns. They became the shadow. But when we return to those places with compassion—not judgment—we can thank the shadow for what it tried to do. And then we can release what no longer serves us.

Find your own way in. Maybe it’s journaling. Maybe it’s therapy, or inner child work, or internal family systems. Maybe, like me, it’s divination—Tarot, Oracle, archetype work—and the steady, sacred rhythm of the Moon. Luna has been my rock. My mirror. My guide. I hope you find a practice that helps you come home to yourself—and that you dare to meet your shadow not as your enemy, but as the guardian of the gold you’ve been carrying all along.

Because you don’t need to become someone else to be whole. You just need to remember who you were before the world told you to hide.