Every house has a room you walk past without looking in. Shadow work is the practice of looking, on purpose, at the parts of yourself you usually keep out of view: the reactions you would rather not have, the wants you do not say out loud, the old rules you still live by. These forty prompts are for beginners. They run in five stages, arrive, notice, name, understand and set down, so each one prepares you for the next, and every sitting ends with a landing: three lines that tell you what to do with what you found.
What shadow work is, and what it is not
The term comes from the psychiatrist Carl Jung, who used “the shadow” for the side of the personality we disown: traits, wants and feelings we were taught, usually early, not to show. His observation was that those parts do not disappear. They turn up sideways, as a disproportionate irritation at other people, as patterns we repeat without choosing, as the qualities we judge hardest in others. Working with the shadow, in his sense, meant getting acquainted with it rather than defeating it.
In everyday use today, shadow work means a writing habit: reflection questions that help you catch those sideways appearances and understand what they are protecting. That is what this page offers. It is not therapy, these prompts do not treat anything, and we are writers, not clinicians. If you are working with a professional, show them this list and set the pace together.
Why most prompt lists leave you alone
The best-selling shadow work journal has reportedly sold more than a million copies, and the recurring complaint in its reader reviews is not that it is too intense. It is that it is shallow: readers describe it as repetitive, say it does not go anywhere, and, most often, that there is “not enough support”, no reflection after the questions. The competing volume sellers answer with more prompts: two hundred, five hundred, eight hundred.
We think the problem is not the number of questions. It is three missing things: an order that moves from light to deep, pacing that tells you how many to do and when to stop, and a landing after each prompt so you are not left holding whatever came up. This page is built around those three.
How to use these prompts safely
- One prompt per sitting, ten minutes, with a timer. When it rings, stop, even mid-sentence. Finishing is not the point; returning is.
- Go in order, and stay in the first two stages for at least the first two weeks. Stage one is easy on purpose. The depth comes from the sequence, not from any single question.
- Ground before and after. Feet on the floor; name five things you can see; three breaths with the out-breath longer than the in-breath; one hand on your sternum, one word for what is under it. Sixty seconds, both ends.
- Land every time. Three lines after every prompt, given below. Never close the notebook on an open question.
- Know when to stop. If you go numb or foggy, your heart races, you cannot feel the chair, or the room seems far away: pen down, five things you can see, water, another day or not at all.
- If a memory feels too big to write alone, it is too big to write alone. That is wisdom, not failure. If you are thinking about harming yourself or do not feel safe, please reach a person now. US and Canada: call or text 988 · UK and Ireland: Samaritans, 116 123 · Australia: Lifeline, 13 11 14 · New Zealand: call or text 1737 · Anywhere: findahelpline.com, or your local emergency number. (Numbers checked October 2026.)
The forty prompts
Stage one: Arrive (prompts 1 to 8)
Low stakes. Body, room, today. You are learning to sit down and tell the truth about small things.
- Right now, where in my body is the day sitting? Describe it as if it were weather.
- What did I do today that nobody saw, and how do I feel about it being unseen?
- Which room, drawer or folder do I avoid, and what is in it?
- When did I last laugh without deciding to? Who was there?
- What is one thing I would do this evening if no one could ask me why?
- Finish the sentence without thinking: “Lately I have been pretending that…”
- What sound, smell or taste took me somewhere else this week? Where did it take me?
- Write the sentence I am most tired of saying. Then write who I usually say it to.
Stage two: Notice (prompts 9 to 16)
Reactions and patterns, observed without explanation. You are collecting evidence, not judging it.
- Who irritated me this week, and which of their qualities would I never allow in myself?
- What compliment did I wave away recently? Write it down and let it sit on the page.
- When I scroll, what am I hoping to feel, and what do I usually feel when I stop?
- Which small decision did I hand to someone else this week so it would not be mine?
- What do I do when a conversation goes quiet? What am I afraid the silence means?
- Name a feeling I had this week that I would not have admitted to a friend. Where did it go?
- In which situations do I become a slightly different person? Describe the switch.
- What did I apologise for this week that was not mine to apologise for?
Stage three: Name (prompts 17 to 24)
The rules and stories underneath the patterns. Slow down here: one prompt every second or third day.
- Finish the rule: “People like me don’t…” Where did I first hear it?
- What was praised in my family, and what was never mentioned?
- Which part of myself did I learn to hide to keep someone comfortable? When did I learn it?
- What do I believe about people who rest? And about people who ask for help?
- Write the story I tell about my worst trait. Now write what that trait has protected.
- What do I want so much that I have never said it out loud? One honest sentence, in ink.
- When I imagine being fully seen, who is the person I least want in the room? Why them?
- What is my loyalty to the past costing me now? Be specific: hours, money, sleep, a relationship.
Stage four: Understand (prompts 25 to 32)
Compassion and function. Every rule in stage three once did a job. Find the job.
- The younger me who made these rules: how old was she, and what was she trying to survive?
- Write a reply to that younger self from the person I am now. Three sentences.
- Which of my “flaws” is a strength that has been running too hot? What would the right temperature look like?
- What would I lose if I let go of this pattern? There is always something. Write it.
- Whose approval am I still working for? Would they even notice if I stopped?
- What does the critical voice in my head sound like, and whose voice is it really?
- Where does my envy point? Treat it as information about what I want.
- What do I keep “forgetting” to do, and what might the forgetting be protecting me from?
Stage five: Set down (prompts 33 to 40)
Release and return. End every week here, whichever stage you are in.
- What am I ready to stop carrying this month? Name it, thank it for what it once did, and write the date.
- What would I say to myself after a slip, if I spoke to myself the way I speak to a friend?
- Which rule from stage three will I break, in one small, safe way, this week? When and where?
- What do I want to keep from this writing? Which page can be folded shut?
- Who could I tell one true thing to this week? What is the thing?
- What is good enough, right now, exactly as it is?
- If the next month went gently, what would an ordinary Tuesday look like?
- Write the sentence I want to find when I open this notebook in a year.
After the question: the landing
This is the part the bestseller leaves out. After every prompt, before you close the notebook, write three lines:
What I noticed: one sentence, in plain words.
What I am keeping: one thing from the page worth remembering.
One small kind thing: something for the next hour. Tea, a walk, a message, an early night.
The landing does two jobs. It turns a raw answer into something you understood, which is where the research on expressive writing by James Pennebaker and others suggests the benefit comes from: making sense of an experience, not just venting it. And it ends the sitting with an act of ordinary care, which is Kristin Neff’s point about self-compassion in its simplest form: the tone you take with yourself after looking at something hard is a choice, and the kind version works better.
Marcus Aurelius, in George Long’s 1862 translation of the Meditations (VII.59), gives the whole practice in one line:
“Look within. Within is the fountain of good, and it will ever bubble up, if thou wilt ever dig.”
Note the “ever dig”. Not once, deeply. Often, a little.
An eight-week way in
You do not need to answer all forty. Three or four from each stage, in order, is a complete first pass. This pace is deliberately slow; faster is not deeper.
| Weeks | Stage | Choose | Pace |
|---|---|---|---|
| 1 to 2 | Arrive (1 to 8) | Four prompts | Two sittings a week; end each week with prompt 38 |
| 3 to 4 | Notice (9 to 16) | Four prompts | Two sittings a week; end each week with prompt 36 |
| 5 to 6 | Name (17 to 24) | Three prompts | One sitting every two or three days; end each week with prompt 34 |
| 7 to 8 | Understand (25 to 32) | Three prompts | Two sittings a week; end week eight with prompts 33 and 40 |
After eight weeks, go back to stage one. The second pass is different, because you are.
With the moon, if you like
Shadow work does not need the sky, but a rhythm helps. Many people use the days around a new moon for the arriving and noticing stages, and the full moon, about fifteen days later, for the set-down prompts, as a review you cannot postpone. Our ten-minute full moon release ritual is built that way.
Our 2027 calendar, Thirteen New Moons, carries the same pacing into a year, one lunation at a time: a safety page and a cut-out grounding card at the front, a Release page at each of the twelve full moons with a timed, structured space to set something down, a grounding footer on every one of those pages, and an Evidence Ledger at the back where the landings accumulate into a record of what you actually changed. The prompts on this page are free; the calendar is for people who want the dates and the structure already on paper.
FAQ
Is shadow work dangerous?
Writing about yourself for ten minutes is not dangerous for most people, and the ordering, timer, grounding and landing on this page exist to keep it that way. It can stir things. If what it stirs is a memory too big to hold alone, or if you feel worse for days rather than hours, that is the signal to pause and talk to someone. Shadow work is not a substitute for that conversation.
How often should I do it?
Two sittings a week is plenty for a beginner, and once a week is fine. Daily shadow work is not a goal; daily self-scrutiny becomes its own pattern.
What if I cannot answer a prompt?
Write “I don’t know” and what you notice about not knowing, then land and stop. A blank answer is an answer. If the same prompt stays blank three times, it may be the one worth bringing to a professional rather than forcing on paper.
Do I have to share what I write?
No. Prompt 37 asks who you could tell one true thing to, and the choice of thing is yours. Everything else is private. Keep the pages, fold them shut, or tear them out; the writing has done its work either way.
What is the difference between shadow work and journaling?
Journaling records the day. Shadow work asks a particular kind of question, about the reactions and rules you would rather not look at, and it needs more care in return: order, pacing and a landing. You can do it in any notebook.