A Jungian Reflection on the High-Functioning but Disconnected Adult
By Dr. Michelle Hintz, Licensed Psychologist, MT-BC
On paper, they were fine. But something in them had quietly gone offline.
“There is a part of us that performs the version of our life we think the world wants to see. But there is also a quieter part, often buried, that knows what is real. My work helps people bring those two parts into conversation—with honesty, dignity, and space for the truth to emerge.”
— Dr. Michelle Hintz
Two Clients, Two Costumes
Ethan, 46, works in project management for a construction company. Married, two kids, owns a home—on paper, everything looks fine. He came to therapy because his wife asked him to. In our first session, he sat back, arms crossed, a little guarded.
“I don’t even know what I’m supposed to say. I’m not unhappy, but I also don’t feel anything. I’m just kind of… here.”
Maya, 38, is a marketing coordinator at a midsize tech company. She’s known for being dependable—the one who smooths tension, holds things together. But lately she’s been short with people at work, canceling plans, and waking up every day feeling like she’s running on fumes.
“I’m not falling apart. I’m just tired of living like a placeholder in my own life.”
Neither of them came in with a dramatic presenting problem. No panic attacks. No trauma disclosures. No urgent crises. What they were both struggling with was something quieter and more difficult to name: disconnection. From themselves. From meaning. From their own voice in the midst of lives they had painstakingly built.
When the Mask Sticks
Carl Jung described the persona as a social mask we create to meet the demands of the world around us. It’s not inherently fake—it’s adaptive. It allows us to function in society, fulfill roles, and meet expectations. In many ways, it’s essential. But over time, especially when shaped by environments that reward performance over presence, the persona starts to stick. We forget that it’s a mask. We begin to confuse it for who we really are and, when the persona becomes fused with the self, we forget there’s anything underneath. We lose access to our inner voice because we’ve trained ourselves to perform.
“The persona is that which in reality one is not, but which oneself as well as others think one is.”
— Carl Jung
The persona forms early in life. Often, it’s shaped by what our families praised and what they discouraged. It reflects what we learned was safe to show and what we needed to hide in order to belong. Eventually, we grow up and the world reflects back to us the version we’ve curated. The mask becomes the identity. And even when it no longer fits, we keep wearing it—because it’s what people expect. And, because taking it off feels dangerous, even shameful.
In my clinical work, I’ve seen this show up not as drama or dysfunction, but as a kind of soul-level fatigue. It’s not burnout. It’s not a mood disorder. It’s misalignment.
These clients aren’t mentally ill. They’re over-performing, over-adapting, and under-connected to who they really are.
The Hollis Perspective: When “Enough” Isn’t
Jungian analyst James Hollis describes this moment as the “summons of the soul”—a psychological awakening that often begins in midlife, or sooner in those who’ve been in performance mode for years. It often arrives when the external markers of success no longer satisfy the internal hunger for purpose. In his view, midlife—or any period of profound re-evaluation—is less a crisis and more a rite of passage. It’s when we realize that the life we’ve built isn’t the same as the life we’re meant to live.
“The task of the second half of life is to reclaim the discarded parts of the self and live more fully into our own authority.”
— James Hollis, Finding Meaning in the Second Half of Life
And what triggers that summons? Paradoxically, success.
I’ve seen a growing number of clients who have “checked all the boxes” of a good life—career, family, stability—and who find themselves asking:
- “Why am I not happy?”
- “Is this all there is?”
- “When will I feel like I’ve arrived?”
- “I’m grateful, but I feel empty. I hate even saying that out loud.”
This isn’t selfishness or immaturity. It’s a recognition that the life they built to be “enough” is no longer speaking to the parts of them that long for depth, connection, and purpose. These aren’t problems to fix—they’re invitations to go deeper. They mark the moment the psyche begins to whisper, ‘I’m still here. Are you listening?’
Therapy as Threshold Work
We’ve medicalized therapy in our culture—turned it into a place to “get fixed” or “stop the symptoms.” But in my office, therapy isn’t treatment. It’s a threshold.
Clients like Ethan and Maya are not asking for symptom relief. They’re asking for reconnection. They’re asking for truth. And that kind of work doesn’t start with solutions—it starts with silence, discomfort, and the courage to be seen.
Therapy often begins with disorientation. The shedding of scripts. The grieving of roles we no longer want to play. The terrifying moment when someone admits, “I don’t know who I am if I’m not achieving.”
Therapy becomes a sacred space where that re-entry is protected. But what follows is liberation.
As we work together, the self doesn’t explode back into the room—it comes little by little. It re-enters through memories, longings, and the quiet ache of recognition. It comes in pieces – as memories, longing, or a quiet ache of recognition. It is when people remember parts of themselves that buried for the sake of being liked, chosen, or rewarded. It’s the woman who reengages with her artistic side that she abandoned as a child. Or, the man who never learned to say no.
What the Work Feels Like
Real therapy—the kind I offer—is not prescriptive. It is not diagnostic by default. The process often feels more like unfolding than fixing. And it’s certainly not always comfortable.
It is:
- Unsettling. Letting go of roles and identities feels risky. Many clients describe it as losing gravity for a while.
- Tender. There’s grief in waking up. Grief for how long you lived without your own voice at the center.
- Nonlinear. Some days you feel clear. Other days, all you have is a question mark and a quiet ache.
- Empowering. Over time, the mask softens. And something truer begins to emerge—not because I told you who you are, but because you finally remembered.
If You See Yourself Here…
If you’ve been holding it together for so long that you forgot what it feels like to just be, you’re not alone. You don’t need to be in crisis to begin this work. You don’t have to wait until something breaks to begin.
You just need to be willing to get curious. To notice what isn’t quite right and trust that the part of you asking for more isn’t selfish or broken. And, you just have to be willing to ask:
What version of me have I been living—and is there more waiting underneath?
Because even the most high-functioning adults deserve to feel alive—not just efficient.
A Final Word
I don’t rush to diagnose. I don’t pathologize people for being tired of their own performance. And I don’t pretend to have all the answers.
But I do hold space—for the questions that matter.
For the ache of misalignment.
For the return of the inner voice.
For the sacred, messy, transformative process of reclaiming a life that belongs to you.
Even the most capable, resilient, high-functioning people deserve a life that feels like *theirs.*
And the path back to yourself isn’t a detour—it’s the destination.
Clinical References
- Jung, C. G. (1966). Two Essays on Analytical Psychology. Princeton University Press
- Jung, C. G. (1953). The Archetypes and the Collective Unconscious. Princeton University Press
- Hollis, J. (2005). Finding Meaning in the Second Half of Life: How to Finally, Really Grow Up. Gotham Books
- Hillman, J. (1996). The Soul’s Code: In Search of Character and Calling. Random House
- Kalsched, D. (2013). Trauma and the Soul: A Psychospiritual Approach to Human Development and Its Interruption. Routledge
- LaMothe, K. (2018). Recovering the Soul in Psychotherapy. Rowman & Littlefield
