When the Soul Says, Bitch, Wake Up.

If you don't get yourself figured out, you're going to lose the best years of your life. 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.

I knew he'd have something to say. Because it's not just sick; it's sick again. 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.

But his words lingered. Because the truth is, it's not lost on me how mentally and emotionally worn down I've felt. 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. So why do I feel so depleted?

We hear a lot about the Peter Pan guys. The boys who won't grow up, avoid commitment, and fear being trapped. 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.

Something I didn't say to my dad 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 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. Angry or restless. Tired of performing, pleasing, pretending. Haunted by choices she never made.

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. I'm being initiated.

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.

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.

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. I think I'm being invited to integrate — to let the girl rest so the woman can rise.

And honestly? 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.