by Anna Laskowska | Jan 27, 2026
The domain of human emotionality is vast and largely unexplored, much like the immensity of the ocean. This is what I discovered while diving deep into the hadal zone of suffering. The deeper I went, the more these hidden, unresolved fragments began to appear—often when I least expected them. It is precisely in those moments, while we are distracted by the physical aspects of life unfolding around us, that what truly affects us, lies beneath the surface, within us.
Some of that murky, previously unrecognized inner content tends to emerge from the sediments during—or after—long, deeply binding relationships.
How is it that someone who once felt like the one, the love of our life, can hurt us through betrayal and eventually leave? Where is the logic in that?
Through my own exploration, I began to notice that very often we enter relationships not because of genuine connection, but because of a convincing imitation of it—a series of illusions that closely resemble love, yet never truly are.
From what I have observed, we tend to be far more equipped for suffering than for intimacy. We may be capable of performing loving actions, yet as we move through life, we frequently carry vast amounts of unresolved inner layers—burdens we remain mostly unaware of as we move through relationships.
Another observation is this: when distress becomes activated, we are often left completely in the dark—unsure how to meet what has been stirred, or how to remain present as it rises.
Yet suffering itself can become a remarkable and valuable resource—if only we knew how to stay with it. We are deeply unfamiliar with how to be with our inner tension in a way that allows it to release. This sphere of existence, as I mentioned at the very beginning, feels frightening and unknown to us, and very few people are truly able to dive into the dark depths of their own inner world.
I recall vividly being immersed in the most excruciating psychological and physical rupture of my life. I was struck by how this ache spread into every crevice of my existence, disabling me and erasing any memory of what it felt like to live without the vast darkness pulling me under. It exposed a depth of suffering I could not even begin to put into words.
The intensity of what came into view made distraction impossible. There was no other option but to learn how to stay with what was being activated—and released—from within me.
In most cases, our first instinct is to neglect our hurt and run away from it. For many of us, though, it is only through necessity and persistent practice that we begin to learn how to stay present with the weight of what we are feeling.
When someone appears to be the cause of our misery, they are often only the crucial activator of what was already buried within us. That underlying wound may take on a particular face. It may come from an almost-relationship that never fully took shape, a bond that lasted only briefly, or a long-stretched marriage that ended abruptly. No matter the form, what was awakened was an avalanche of grief.
Whatever that experience is, it cannot be covered, replaced by another person, or escaped through distraction. It must be fully met and felt for its movement to complete—otherwise, it risks circling back endlessly, never truly healed. One of the clearest indications that this process has resolved is the quieting of the incessant thoughts once tied to its activator.
What often appears to be grief over a specific person is, in fact, something far more ancient and primordial than we tend to realize.
What I came to understand is that healing does not require us to escape from the depths. It asks us to remain there long enough for suffering to stop shaping and expressing itself through our relationships—so that the pressure can finally ease.
When the pain is fully met, it no longer calls us back through old memories, faces, or names. Bonds do not dissolve through forgetting or even instant forgiveness, but through completion.
And one day—without any active effort to fight, manage, or outrun those currents—something shifts. The ocean grows quiet. We are no longer drowning. We are no longer being pulled downward by the weight of unresolved suffering.
What once felt overwhelming settles. And in that stillness, life becomes possible again—without the burden we carried for so long.
by Anna Laskowska | Jan 14, 2026
I am well aware that there is a vast amount of material on the dark night of the soul. Many people are going through it, and I am certain that most who have experienced it would agree that it is unlike anything else.
At this point, we understand it as an event initiated by some form of collapse—followed by a profound disconnection from the life one once knew and an inward turn into a kind of hermit mode, driven by the need to survive the existential rupture this experience evokes.
Over the past twenty years, I have been through numerous dark nights of the soul. It began with an hour of being completely “switched off,” if that makes sense. When one is accustomed to constant access to a functioning mind and suddenly finds that access entirely cut off, the experience is unforgettable.
It started as a miniature dark night, and over time, its duration gradually lengthened, preparing me for a much more prolonged dark night of the soul. By then, I was already becoming familiar with—and, in some sense, prepared for—being gradually disconnected from ordinary life. Very little in a true dark night of the soul resembles what we would call a regular life.
I will not disclose how long this particularly intense period of somatic release lasted, as I have no intention of frightening anyone. What I will say is that it spanned years and required total dedication to understanding and expelling the patterns of negativity that exist within this reality. It was complete hermit mode.
What is essential to clarify is that a true dark night of the soul—despite its poetic name—is more accurately described as a purgatory. After remaining in this process for so long, it became clear to me that what I was undergoing was a cleansing. It felt as though the very essence of existential suffering was being purged from my body, and it was anything but graceful or pleasant.
While this was happening, there was no one around. There were no parties. There were no conversations. Any contact with the world was painful. There were no drugs or alcohol involved. Even food could not be used as a numbing agent—everything tasted like cardboard anyway. Nor was there any form of relational or sensual distraction available to soften, bypass, or momentarily forget what was taking place. Nothing could be used to regulate or soothe the experience away.
There was nothing that could divert my attention from the process that was taking place within me.
My entire existence became focused on what was unfolding within me. And if people appeared at all, it was only to expose deeper layers of pain and the negative patterns in which I was entangled.
What I want to make absolutely clear is this: suffering is often mistaken for purging, and they are not the same. Going through pain, enduring distress, or waiting for something to happen to you is not what processing is about. Pain, on its own, does not heal anything.
True processing is not passive. It does not rely on collapse, endurance, or prolonged misery. It requires awareness, presence, and the capacity to remain in contact with what is arising without being overtaken by it. Without these elements, pain simply circulates within the system, reinforcing the very patterns one hopes to dissolve.
This is why many people remain stuck in cycles of suffering despite years of “inner work.” The system may be activated, but nothing is being metabolized. Purging, when it is genuine, is an intelligent and precise process. It involves the gradual dismantling of defensive structures, the safe exposure of what has been protected, and the release of energy that has been bound within those patterns.
When this distinction is not understood, suffering becomes normalized, even spiritualized. But suffering is not the goal. Clarity is. Integration is. Liberation—from both emotional suffering and physical pain.
In the next piece, I will go deeper into naming these energetic patterns and the paradigms they create, so they can be recognized—not mythologized—and consciously dismantled.
