Art Therapy

I have been thinking about balance. Not the pretty kind. Not the kind where everything is calm, organized, peaceful, and solved. I mean balance when the world feels unsteady. When cruelty is loud. When control and fear seem to be taking up too much room. When the earth feels overheated, and our bodies are trying to carry what our minds can barely take in. This is where July brings me in my reflections on the MARI Great Round. July brings us to Stage 7, Balance, also known as Squaring the Circle. That phrase feels right to me. Squaring the Circle. It sounds like something human beings are always trying to do. How do we bring the circle of our inner life into the square of the world we actually live in? How do we stay connected to what is true inside us while still functioning, responding, loving, working, parenting, creating, caring, and trying not to lose ourselves? Stage 7 is about autonomy, stability, consciousness, and independent thought. The ego is more expressed here, and I do not mean ego as arrogance. I mean the healthy ego. The part of us that can say, “I am here. I can think. I can choose. I can respond.” There are times when healing asks us to simply be. To rest. To grieve. To soften. To let ourselves not know. And there are other times when something in us begins to say, “Now I need to do something with what I know.” Stage 7 carries that movement from being into doing. Not frantic doing. Not proving. Not overworking or overgiving. I know that road, and many of us do. This is a different kind of doing. A doing that comes from a more centered place. A doing that has roots. A doing that remembers the body. That feels especially important now. When life feels overwhelming, we can swing between urgency and shutdown. We may want to respond to everything at once, or we may want to disappear under the covers and let the cat handle the emails. Some days, honestly, the cat seems qualified. And still, Stage 7 asks a quieter question: What is mine to do? Not everything. Just what is mine. This is one reason I keep returning to mandalas. A mandala does not fix the world. It does not ask us to pretend we are fine. It gives us a circle when things feel scattered. It gives the hand something to do when the mind is spinning. It gives the psyche a place to gather without needing perfect words. In therapy, I have seen again and again that so much of what we carry lives beneath language. The body knows. The nervous system remembers. The image may speak before the mind can explain. A mandala can hold more than one truth at a time. It can hold grief and beauty. Fear and hope. Outrage and tenderness. The part of us that wants to act and the part that needs to lie down for a while. To me, that is balance. Not perfect regulation. Not denial. Not pretending to be peaceful when we are not. Balance as return. Return to the body. Return to breath. Return to center. Return to the next honest step. Stage 7 also connects, for me, with the number 7 as the Seeker. The Seeker wants meaning, truth, wisdom, and deeper understanding. This is beautiful, and it can also pull us too far into the mind. We can analyze, search, read, track, and try to understand what may not be fully understandable. Then the body gets left behind. The heart gets tired. The nervous system keeps carrying what the mind keeps collecting. Mandala making helps bring the Seeker back into the body. It lets insight move through color, shape, image, and feeling. It allows knowing to become embodied, not just understood. A Quiet Seed for What May Come Next As I continue writing about the MARI stages month by month, I am beginning to imagine a simple monthly mandala ritual for clarity and integration. I am not ready to launch it yet. Summer is full, and I will be traveling on and off through September. For now, I am letting the idea take root quietly. What I imagine is a gentle space to pause, make a mandala, and return to center. A way to gather what we are living, notice what is becoming clear, and let the image help us integrate what words cannot always hold. For now, July and Stage 7 are asking me to sit with this kind of balance: staying awake without becoming hardened, caring without disappearing, and acting without abandoning myself. Balance is not always stillness. Sometimes balance is the brave, imperfect practice of staying connected to ourselves while we keep living, loving, creating, and choosing. Not everything at once. Just the next true shape.

Haven’t we had enough already? That was my honest first thought when I sat with Stage 6, the stage sometimes known as Struggle or the Dragon Fight. Not the polished answer. Not the wise therapist answer. Just the human one. Because really, haven’t we? So many of us have been carrying a lot. Some of it visible. Some of it tucked away in the body. Some of it held quietly because life kept asking us to keep going. And then June arrives. The light comes in differently. The days stretch longer. There is this pull toward summer, toward movement, toward freedom, toward something easier. Part of me wants to exhale and say, please, can we just have some softness now? And yet Stage 6 does not necessarily bring us softness first. It brings us to the place where something presses back. In the language of this stage, there is struggle. Tension. Opposition. A dragon at the gate. At first, that sounds like the opposite of June. It also sounds like the opposite of the number 6 in numerology, which is often connected with care, home, responsibility, harmony, and healing. But the more I sit with it, the more I feel how connected these energies actually are. Care is not always soft. Sometimes care has to become honest. Sometimes, care has to say this is too much. Sometimes care has to stop smoothing things over and start telling the truth. That is not easy for many of us, especially for those of us who learned to survive by being agreeable, useful, quiet, pleasing, capable, or low need. If peace once depended on us not having too many feelings, then struggle can feel dangerous. Conflict can feel like failure. A boundary can feel like betrayal. But in therapy, and especially in trauma work, I do not always see struggle as something to get rid of. Sometimes, struggle is a doorway. It shows us where two parts of us are trying to be heard. One part wants rest. Another part feels responsible. One part wants to say no. Another part is afraid of what will happen if we do. One part wants freedom. Another part is still bracing for impact. This is where Stage 6 feels less like a battle and more like an invitation to listen. The dragon may not be here simply to fight us. It may be guarding something. A fear. A younger part. A grief. A need. A truth we have not yet been ready to name. As an art and trauma therapist, I often think about how much the body and imagination know before words arrive. We may not be able to explain why we feel tense, restless, resentful, or exhausted, but something in us is already making an image. A wall. A fire. A locked door. A tired animal. A storm. A dragon. These images matter. They give form to what has been living underneath the surface. They help us approach what feels too big to meet directly. They let us be in relationship with the struggle instead of being swallowed by it. Maybe this is part of the medicine of Stage 6 in June. Not to force ourselves into harmony, and not to fight everything that feels uncomfortable, but to ask what kind of harmony is actually true. Because harmony that requires self abandonment is not healing. Care that has no boundaries eventually becomes resentment. Love that asks us to disappear is not love we can live inside of. So perhaps the question this month is not, how do I avoid the struggle? Perhaps the question is, what is the struggle trying to protect, reveal, or restore? Where have I been overriding myself? Where am I tired of pretending something is fine? Where does my body say no before my mouth does? Where is the dragon standing, and what might it be guarding? I do not think we have to answer these questions quickly. In fact, I hope we do not. Some questions are meant to be lived with for a while. Some truths need gentleness before they can become clear.So as June opens, maybe we let ourselves be both tired and hopeful. Maybe we let ourselves want ease without shaming the places that still feel tangled. Maybe we allow the longer light to show us what needs care, not so we can fix ourselves, but so we can return to ourselves with more honesty. Stage 6 reminds me that courage and tenderness do not have to be opposites. We can have limits and still have love. We can tell the truth and still be kind. We can face the dragon without becoming hard. And maybe, just maybe, the dragon is not here to defeat us. Maybe it is here to show us the part of ourselves that has been waiting to come home.

As we move into May, we also enter Stage 5 of the Great Round in the MARI Mandala. This stage carries a very different energy from Stage 4. Where Stage 4 often reflects emergence and new life taking shape, Stage 5 feels more defined. It speaks to identity, boundaries, and the growing need to protect what matters. In therapy, this stage can feel especially meaningful. It often reflects the point where a person begins to sense themselves more clearly. There is a stronger awareness of what feels safe, what feels important, and what needs care. Stage 5 brings attention to self protection, self preservation, and the early formation of healthy boundaries. In the MARI system, Stage 5 is known as The Target. That image holds a lot. It suggests focus and direction, but also exposure. There can be clarity here, along with vulnerability. At times, this stage may bring a stronger sense of inner structure, helping us notice patterns, rhythms, and what belongs in our lives. At other times, it may leave us feeling seen, pressured, or emotionally exposed. That is part of what makes Stage 5 so relevant to emotional growth. This stage is not only about defense. It is also connected to the Explorer, which adds another layer of meaning. Alongside the instinct to protect, there is also a desire to move outward. Curiosity, freedom, adaptability, and expansion are all present here. One part of us wants to explore new possibilities, while another part is learning how to stay grounded and safe. This inner tension is deeply human. We want growth, but we also want security. We want freedom, but we also need boundaries. From a Jungian perspective, every MARI stage includes both light and shadow. The shadow is not something negative or shameful. It simply points to what has been hidden, denied, or pushed out of awareness. In Stage 5, that shadow may appear through defensiveness, fear, control, or avoidance. It may also show up in the ways we protect ourselves when something inside still feels fragile. This stage invites honest reflection. What am I protecting right now?What feels worth preserving?Where am I setting boundaries from wisdom, and where am I reacting from fear? These are powerful therapeutic questions because Stage 5 often points to the search for center. It marks a movement away from unconscious innocence and toward greater autonomy. There is a growing awareness of self in relationship to the outside world. That process can be empowering, but it can also feel tender, especially when we are adjusting to change or learning to trust ourselves more deeply. People may experience this stage in many different ways. Some may feel a stronger need for privacy or alone time. Some may become more protective of their energy, routines, or emotional space. Others may feel drawn to structure, order, or familiar rituals that create steadiness. There may also be discomfort with uncertainty or a stronger reaction to outside demands. All of these responses can be understood with compassion. They may be attempts to stay connected to the self while something important is still taking shape. The mythological symbols connected to Stage 5 are the Witch and the Magician. These archetypes speak to transformation, ritual, and the focused energy required for change. There is something alchemical about this stage. It can feel like being inside a vessel where pressure builds, not to harm us, but to help something new form. In that sense, emotional pressure is not always a sign that something is wrong. Sometimes it is part of healing and becoming. Growth is not always comfortable. Sometimes it asks for protection before it asks for expression. That may be one of the deepest truths of Stage 5. Something within has begun to emerge into form. It is more visible now, more defined, and because of that, it may need care. Protecting ourselves during this phase is not always about shutting down. Often, it is about honoring what is still tender and allowing it to develop with patience. In this stage, we are not only defending ourselves. We are protecting who we are becoming. There is also a natural connection between May and the number 5. In numerology, 5 is linked to movement, freedom, curiosity, and change. It carries an adventurous energy, but also a certain restlessness. This mirrors Stage 5 beautifully. The same energy that supports growth and exploration can also lead to escape, overextension, or instability when we are not rooted in ourselves. That is why boundaries matter so much here. May offers an invitation to slow down and ask what truly needs care right now. Not everything needs to be shared immediately. Not everything needs to be rushed. Some parts of healing need privacy. Some parts of transformation need time. Some parts of growth need a safe container before they are ready to be seen. This is where therapy can be especially supportive. It can help create space to understand what you are protecting, why it matters, and how to build boundaries that support healing rather than isolation. Stage 5 reminds us that protection can be loving. Boundaries can be wise. And tending to ourselves is part of transformation. As May unfolds, Stage 5 asks a gentle but important question: What in me is asking for protection right now? There is wisdom in listening for the answer. There is wisdom in honoring what is still becoming. And there is wisdom in creating the conditions for real healing, one thoughtful boundary at a time.

In the Great Round of the MARI, Stage 4 corresponds with April, the fourth month of the Gregorian calendar. This stage lives at an important threshold. The MARI is a circle, and it is also divided into four quadrants. The upper half reflects consciousness, while the lower half reflects the unconscious. Stage 4 rests along the place where something from below begins to rise into awareness. What has been quietly forming is no longer staying hidden. It is beginning to reach toward the light. This is part of why April can feel so tender. Like the first signs of spring, something in you may be stirring. A bud on the branch. A shoot pushing up through the soil. A quiet sense that something new is beginning, even if you cannot fully name it yet. What was once beneath the surface is now asking to be seen. This is the season of emergence. Stage 4 is about beginning, but not in a big, fully formed, confident way. It is not the moment of full bloom. It is the softer beginning that comes before that. The first breath. The first movement. The first small yes toward bringing something into form. Because of that, this stage can feel both hopeful and vulnerable at the same time. You may sense that something in you is ready. A new idea. A creative project. A different way of relating to yourself. A desire that has become clearer. A part of you that wants more space to exist. And still, what is emerging may not feel strong yet. It may feel uncertain, delicate, or hard to trust. You may feel the pull to begin, while also feeling unsure of how. That is very much the energy of Stage 4. This is often a time to come back to the basics and care for yourself in simple, steady ways. Rest matters here. Food matters. Rhythm matters. Encouragement matters. These are not extras. They are part of what helps something new feel supported enough to grow. When a new part of you is trying to come forward, it needs care. It needs enough safety to unfold. Stage 4 also touches something very deep. It can bring up early developmental themes, especially around the mother child relationship. At this point in the cycle, there may be a longing for support, reassurance, or permission. There may also be a pull toward passivity, dependency, or waiting for someone else to tell you it is okay to take the next step. This is not a sign that you are doing anything wrong. It is part of being human. It is part of the cycle of growth. When we are on the edge of something new, it is common for part of us to want to move backward before moving forward. We may want certainty before action. We may want someone else to guide us. We may want to stay in the realm of possibility a little longer rather than face the discomfort that comes with choosing. Stage 3 holds many possibilities. Stage 4 asks for a choice. And choice can feel tender. To choose is to begin giving shape to what is emerging. It is to say yes to one thing, even if only for now, and to let other possibilities wait. It is to begin claiming your place in your own life. That is why this stage can stir so much emotion. Underneath the surface, the question is often not only, “What am I ready to begin?” It may also be, “Am I really allowed to begin? Am I allowed to take up space? Am I allowed to trust what I feel? Am I allowed to bring something of my own into the world?” These are deep questions. They often come from more than the thinking mind. They may rise from old emotional layers, early experiences, and relational memories. They may touch places in us that remember what it felt like to be seen or not seen, supported or interrupted, welcomed or dismissed. So if April feels emotionally tender, that makes sense. If beginning feels less like a dramatic leap and more like standing at the edge of yourself with shaky hands and a hopeful heart, that makes sense too. A Deeper Look at Stage 4 Stage 4 is the place where inner life begins to take outer form. What has been developing quietly within now wants expression in the visible world. A feeling, idea, desire, or emerging part of the self begins to move into awareness. This can feel vulnerable because what is coming forward is still new. It may not yet feel steady or established. It needs gentleness. It needs attention. It needs support. This stage can also awaken questions around dependency, care, and permission. You may notice a part of you that wants to pull back, become passive, or wait for someone else to authorize your next step. That response is not unusual. It reflects the natural tension that often comes with growth. Where Stage 3 held open many directions, Stage 4 asks you to choose. Choosing does not mean having everything figured out. It simply means beginning to give shape to what wants to unfold. And when what is emerging matters deeply to you, that choice may feel especially tender. April invites us to notice what is just beginning and respond with steadiness rather than pressure. This is not the time to force full bloom. This is the time to support what is just starting to break through. Reflection and Grounding Practice for Stage 4 Before you begin, stand with your feet about hip width apart and place your hands on your hips. Let your shoulders gently move back and allow your head to rise. Notice what it feels like to take up space. If that feels awkward or uncomfortable, simply notice that and stay with yourself. Breathe in for a count of four.Hold for four.Exhale for four.Pause for four. Repeat this cycle four times, if that