Nothing to Hold On To
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.