Inside my phone is a small collection of photos from what I now call my enantiodromia journey. It was a brief escape from the everyday grind of therapy–grad school–mom life. It took me months to realize why I kept the trip secret from my spouse and kids. I thought I just wanted something for myself, but there’s something deeper going on there.
A long-time friend of mine was getting married in Sta. Maria, Bulacan, which is around forty kilometers from where I live. Going there would mean taking the MRT, buses, and tricycles.
For those who know me dear, you’re well acquainted with my homebody tendencies. Even work that works is WFH for me. So yes, this trip already counted as an adventure. For lots of people, traveling is enjoyable, a sought-after experience. If you’re of the introverted bent, you would understand.
Furthermore, I never conformed to this “you must travel, traveling is fun” mandate; maybe I’ll get the traveling bug when I’m older and the kids have flown the nest, but as it is, I’m adequately stimulated with the inputs in my life.
One of the photos was taken on the northbound train, headed to North Avenue. Step one of the trip that would take me all the way to my destination via a Point-to-Point Bus in SM North Edsa. I snapped the pic not because I like taking selfies, but because it was documentation—proof. I also knew at that point I would not share these photos with my family.
I’m kind of peculiar this way because I’ve never become (or desired to become) Facebook friends with my spouse and my kids…well, because I respect their space and they respect mine. What I told them back home the day before was that I was out for my usual mental health talk trips.
For months I couldn’t explain, even to myself, why the secrecy mattered. It was crystal clear, though, that I wasn’t hiding something dirty or evil. Looking back, I realize I was guarding a part of me that was only beginning to form, something I was not ready to share with the world yet. Because like a butterfly emerging from its cocoon, it needed time to strengthen its wings.
I was heading only to Bulacaan, not the boondocks, but even with the relatively short distance, the exercise was already about knowing the unknown. This brings to mind what the psychologist Carl Jung says about calls to adventure: it is often necessary because stepping outside routine loosens our rigid structures of identity. Jung elaborates that adventure enables the psyche to rediscover or discover fragmented parts of itself, and this reckoning is essential for what he calls the process of individuation.
When I left for the event that day, I only had a vague feeling that I needed some distance from my known surroundings. This was so that I could see how far I can push myself, test how much I could stretch, and what other parts of me would emerge. I guess I was unconsciously following what Jung explained about the psyche’s workings.
Have you ever wanted to run away from everybody and just be an anonymous someone, unshod of your responsibilities? That was what happened to me; that was quintessentially the reason for the secret trip.
Now that I’m reflecting on it, I realized that responsibility, predictability, and duty had been dominating my psychical landscape for too long.
Carl Jung mentions that inside us lives the Persona archetype, which is the social mask we wear so we can function smoothly in our roles. For me, embodying the role of mother, graduate student, and therapist became too central in my life. I forgot how to have fun! My serious ENTJ side had been running the show. Jung says that when one pole dominates, the opposite eventually pushes back. That movement is enantiodromia.
This was why I called the trip my enantiodromia journey. I had encountered the term during research, but only during my little escape did it began to repeating itself incessantly my mind.
Enantiodromia is the tilt from an overdeveloped side toward its counterpart. It’s a movement that makes your psyche counterbalance itself. Think too much Yin leading to Yang; think boredom launching the need to hunt. During my trip, my predictability gave way to taking chances. My need to always be transparent with my actions (especially to family and clients) gave way to being a bit vague, even mysterious. I needed this time to take off the mask so I could just be a carefree woman out for a day, wandering.
Individuation also needs containment. Inner change requires a protected psychological space. In chemistry, you need a proper vessel so outside elements do not interfere. My vessels that day were the trains, buses, and tricycles that carried me to Sta. Maria, and symbolically, the anonymity of traveling as someone not-Mommy and not-Therapist—just another rando commuter. Inside that containment, I was alchemizing autonomy and giving room for other archetypes to breathe.
Ultimately, my enantiodromia journey reminded me that I need to honor all my parts, not only the public-facing one. Facing the unknown awakened my Wanderer; disobeying the rules brought forth my inner Rebel. They had always nudged at me, yet I ignored them for too long.
Around that time, a reader sent me a message about my book, saying it deserved more attention. I held that praise close because it gave me hope that the writer in me might truly have a future. I do not yet know who that writer is, but I refuse to betray her again. This woman: I want to see more of her in the coming days. Just wait until she gets bolder.
The secret eventually began to feel harmless. Now I am not holding tightly to it, and there is no guilt. I can simply let it slip. My husband and kids now know there will be evenings when I cannot be Mommy or the dinner-maker. They will have to sort themselves out because there are days when I am simply an independent woman with no one’s interests to pursue but my own.
The trip also brought me face-to-face with Lyn the Principal, a fellow godparent at the wedding. We talked psychology and education, and my Persona made a subtle appearance. Watching that part of me arise naturally reminded me how our inner figures work together when we let them. This, after all, is what psychological integration looks like.
In the end, the enantiodromia process fulfilled its goal. My overexpressed Persona loosened its grip, and my energy flowed toward a more spontaneous, internally anchored version of myself.
