The NYT finally caught up to what the Tower card has been trying to tell us

[warm_cipher_85]

But doesn't this framing risk romanticizing collapse? Not everything that falls apart is a false structure — sometimes it's a load-bearing wall, and the person left in the rubble doesn't get to choose whether it's initiation or just loss.

[jen_2847]

Y'all are talking about the Tower like it's always this purifying fire that clears away illusion, and I get it — I really do. But I want to push on something nobody's touched yet. What about the people standing next to the Tower when it gets struck?

"The Tower isn't a diagnosis. It's not saying you're sick. It's saying something false is collapsing so something true can emerge."

I hear this, and my first thought is: sure, for the person whose false thing is collapsing. But what about their kids? My mama went through what she called her "awakening" when I was fourteen. Left my daddy, started going to these workshops, kept talking about how the pain was her teacher. And maybe it was. Maybe she was having some genuine Tower moment. But I was the one eating cereal for dinner three nights a week and wondering if I'd done something wrong.

I started reading tarot with my grandmother's Rider-Waite deck a few years after that, and when the Tower came up in my first readings about my family, I didn't see liberation. I saw my childhood home with the roof caved in.

I think Jung was right that breakdowns can be breakthroughs — but he was also a man who could check into a Swiss sanatorium to have his, while his wife managed the children. There's a class and gender dimension here that makes me uncomfortable when we romanticize collapse. Who gets to have a transformative crisis, and who just gets abandoned by someone having one?

I'm not saying the Tower is bad. I'm saying it's not only the experience of the person inside the tower. Sometimes you're the rubble.

(There's a deeper dive on this in our wiki: The Tower: Sudden Upheaval and Necessary Destruction | Mystic Wiki.)

[redpill_me_softly]

"I'm saying not everything that hurts is an illness. Sometimes it's just the Tower doing its job"

This is the line that stopped me, because I spent years on the other side of this — the side where every uncomfortable feeling got filed under "something to fix" and the fix was always external. Meditation apps, exercise protocols, whatever self-improvement rabbit hole I could find. I was so committed to optimization that I couldn't see I was just running from the rubble.

My ayahuasca experience didn't give me some clean spiritual bypass around suffering. It did the opposite, actually. It made me sit in the middle of a collapse I'd been avoiding for a decade and showed me that the collapse itself had intelligence. That's what I think earnest_sparrow is getting at, and what Jung meant when he talked about the nervous breakdown as a legitimate psychological event — not a malfunction, but a process with its own logic.

But here's where I'd push back slightly, because I don't want to romanticize this either. After my experience, I went through a period where I basically pathologized the pathologizers — every mention of medication or clinical support became evidence of "the system" not understanding sacred suffering. That was its own kind of defense mechanism. A spiritually-flavored version of the same avoidance I'd been doing before, just dressed up in Tower card language.

I think the real tension here is knowing the difference between a Tower moment that needs space to complete itself and an actual chemical situation that needs intervention. I don't have a clean answer for where that line is. But I know that in my case, what I needed most wasn't a prescription — it was someone to say "this is supposed to feel like destruction, and you're not broken for not having it together." The tarot gave me that before any person did.

[Lumina]

What you describe about the postpartum period — the immediate leap to medication, the absence of curiosity about your actual life — this is something I hear in my practice over and over. Women come to my workshops carrying this specific wound: not just the anxiety itself, but the message that their suffering was an error to be corrected rather than an experience to be witnessed.

In the contemplative traditions I work with, there is a concept that does not translate cleanly into clinical language but comes close: the dark night of the soul. It is not a disorder. It is a dissolution of a self that no longer fits. The body knows things the diagnostic manual cannot name — when a life structure has become unsustainable, when something essential is being suppressed. That knowledge shows up as anxiety, as sleeplessness, as a feeling of wrongness that has no obvious medical correlate.

Your Tower reading cuts to the heart of it. The Tower is not pathology. It is initiation. The alchemical nigredo, the blackening, was understood as a necessary phase — and the alchemists were explicit that you do not enter it without preparation or without a guide. Modern culture gives us neither, then diagnoses the result.

The Buddhists knew this too. Dukkha is not a symptom. It is a signal. It asks to be sat with, not eliminated. And sometimes the bravest thing you can do is refuse the prescription long enough to hear what the suffering is actually saying.

[grumpy_seal]

I agree we're over-medicalizing human suffering, but using Jung to romanticize breakdowns as "necessary initiations" is a slippery slope. How do you distinguish between a genuine Tower collapse and just nervous system dysregulation that needs grounding instead of spiritual interpretation?

(There's a deeper dive on this in our wiki: The Tower: Sudden Upheaval and Necessary Destruction | Mystic Wiki.)

[luke_u_4775]

You're leaning hard on Jung's breakdown-as-breakthrough idea, but James Hillman actually pushed back on that exact premise in Re-Visioning Psychology. Romanticizing the Tower's collapse without tracking the nervous system's actual physiological limits is just spiritual bypassing—sometimes the rubble needs a structural engineer to check the load-bearing walls, not a mantra.

[no_idea_624]

"Sometimes it's just the Tower doing its job, and the kindest thing we could do for each other is stop rushing to silence it"

The Tower only "does its job" as a sacred dismantling when you've got a safety net. For most folks I delivered to out here in West Texas, it's just eviction, chronic pain, or a broken healthcare system knocking down the only walls keeping the wind out. Romanticizing structural collapse as initiation is just spiritual bypassing, and as Alan Watts kept pointing out, the game stops being harmless once the pieces actually bruise you.

[jen_4708]

"what looks like collapse from the outside might actually be reconstruction happening in real time." This reframe clicks for me because, drowning in SaaS burnout culture, viewing my nervous system's shutdown as a necessary structural reset rather than a personal defect has been the only thing stopping me from pathologizing my own exhaustion.

[night_owl_614]

There's a quiet pull in reading the Tower as a grand initiation, a necessary lightning strike to clear the stagnant air. It reads like a perfect high-contrast negative, where the shadows deepen just enough to reveal the silver halides waiting in the emulsion. But I find myself hesitating when we frame every collapse as a curriculum. To suggest the lightning always carries a message feels like assuming every broken lens was shattered by design.

Last winter, my old apartment's heating system failed, and the damp got into the walls until the plaster began to peel. I spent months breathing in mold, my chest tight, hearing the rattle in my lungs as a dull, dissonant drone in low C. That wasn't the Tower teaching me about impermanence; it was just a mechanical failure that made me sick. Sometimes the structure falls because the foundation was rot, not because the universe wanted to show us the stars. Romanticizing the damage can make it harder to just call a contractor, or in this case, a doctor.

Jung wrote extensively about the shadow and the necessity of facing what we hide, but even he distinguished between integration and genuine injury. We can honor the contemplative traditions without dismissing the reality that some fevers need medicine, not just meditation. The Tower might be a teacher, but sometimes it's just a wrecking ball, and we need to sweep up the glass before we look for the lesson. The Tower can be a moment of revelation, but it can also be a moment of pure loss, and there is grace in admitting that some nights are just dark.

[placid_river_8903]

I’ve been sitting with this NYT piece and your take on the Tower as initiation, and while I appreciate the archetypal framing, I keep coming back to something we rarely discuss in tarot circles: the sheer physiological violence of a real collapse. As a paramedic, I’ve stood in enough living rooms to know that when a nervous system actually hits the Tower, it doesn’t feel like a graceful shedding of the false self. It feels like a car crash. The body floods with cortisol, the prefrontal cortex goes offline, and the person is left navigating a literal trauma response. We get so caught up in the Jungian romance of the breakdown as a necessary spiritual threshold that we forget the nervous system doesn’t read symbolism. It just knows it’s in survival mode. Romanticizing the Tower as pure initiation can actually be pretty dangerous when it’s used to bypass the very real, messy work of somatic regulation and medical care.

This ties directly into my own deconstruction journey. Coming from a heavy evangelical background, I watched countless people have their genuine psychological and physiological crises pathologized as spiritual warfare or, conversely, spiritualized into something mystical to avoid getting actual help. The NYT article’s focus on postpartum anxiety is a perfect example of this cultural whiplash. Postpartum isn’t a metaphor for the Tower; it’s a hormonal and neurological event that requires grounding, community support, and sometimes medication. Jung’s own breakdown wasn’t just a neat little archetypal lesson—it was a severe psychotic episode that nearly destroyed him, and he only survived because he had a structured therapeutic container and people who held space for his literal disintegration, not just his symbolic one. When we treat the Tower as purely an individual spiritual milestone, we miss how often it’s actually a signal that our personal or collective systems are failing us.

The real work of the Tower, I think, isn’t about learning to love the collapse. It’s about recognizing when the structure was never meant to hold us in the first place, and having the humility to build actual supports instead of just lighting candles and calling it initiation. We need less spiritual bypassing and more practical scaffolding for when things actually fall apart.

[deep_fern]

"The Tower isn't a diagnosis. It's not saying you're sick. It's saying something false is collapsing so something true can emerge." This hit me right in the chest. My own slide from rigid college atheism into this weird, unnamable spirituality felt exactly like that lightning strike—just the old framework burning down so I could finally stop pathologizing my own curiosity. Carl Jung was onto something with the breakdown-as-breakthrough idea, but I think modern medicine still treats necessary psychological shedding like a system error instead of a course correction.

[shallow_morning]

I respect your relief, but I have to push back on the premise that romanticizing pain as a "Tower initiation" isn't just spiritual bypassing. What if we're using archetypal language to excuse systemic neglect or dismiss genuine clinical crises that actually need material support, not just poetic reframing? When does honoring the collapse cross the line into romanticizing suffering instead of addressing the conditions that cause it?

[why_am_i_here_793]

I see where you're coming from with the Tower as a necessary collapse, especially since I'm currently navigating the fog of new parenthood myself, but I have to push back on the binary that something is either an illness or an initiation. In my experience, the trickiest part isn't recognizing the Tower, it's knowing when the "collapse" is actually just severe neurochemical exhaustion that requires intervention before you can do any meaning-making at all. Jung did talk about the productive nature of breakdowns, but he was often working with people who had the luxury of time and space to process, whereas for a lot of us, romanticizing the pain without addressing the biology can just lead to suffering that doesn't actually teach anything. It's a fine line, and I worry that telling someone their postpartum anxiety is "just the Tower" can sometimes feel like gaslighting the very real [neurobiology](https://en.wikipedia.org