Why Getting Out of Bed is a Heroic Act - a Jungian Perspective

by Dominik Mayer

What do your ex, your bed, and heroin have in common?

What if I told you these three things are just different expressions of the same psychological phenomenon/dynamic?

This essay has been brewing for a while—ever since I read a post from someone in my community about their daily battle with getting out of bed. He said something most people won’t admit or even recognize:

"I have all the necessary information about why I should get up early and how to do it, but I still struggle getting out of bed. I’ve realized it’s not that I want to die, but the act of living is a task I often don’t want to engage in."

If you’ve ever had mornings where simply facing the day felt like a monumental effort, you might recognize this feeling too. You know you should get up, but the weight of existence presses down on you.

We often tell ourselves it’s just exhaustion, bad sleep, or too much screen time. And sure, those things matter. We live in the age of attention hijacking and overstimulation. But you know deep down that’s not the only reason for the struggle to get up. You remember a time in your life, or even just one day, when you got even less sleep and still jumped out of bed excited to face the day.

So what's really going on?

The daily act of rising from bed is not a simple question of willpower and discipline. It is a deeply symbolic, even heroic act.

In this essay, I will explain how our struggle to get up in the morning is just one of the most common expressions of a battle that’s continually going on deep inside of us. It’s a battle that makes a difference between truly living and merely existing. Or, like it was the case for me, it can make a difference between choosing to live or to die.

The Jungian Battle: Regression vs. Individuation

Carl Jung once wrote that every morning, we awaken desiring to drown in our own source.

What does that even mean?

Jungian analyst James Hollis explained this by saying that we desire to fall back into the sleep of childhood unconsciousness.

But maybe it’s still unclear what these two great doctors of the soul were talking about.

To put it simply, if such a thing can be stated in a simple manner, we have a powerful regressive urge to escape the burdens of conscious existence. We want to be relieved of the effort it takes to live as an adult, authentic individual in this complex world.

Think of the first moment you wake up—there is a brief experience of almost childlike blissfulness when you’re still not processing all the responsibilities and challenges waiting for you in the real world. Maybe this lasts only for a split second, but you do feel it. And then reality kicks in, and the struggle begins.

That inner resistance isn’t a matter of being tired or lazy—it’s about a battle between two opposing forces inside you:

• Regression: The pull to retreat into unconsciousness, comfort, and passivity.

• Individuation: The challenge of stepping into full consciousness and embracing life's tasks and challenges.

This isn't just an abstract idea—it’s a battle manifested in many aspects of life.

Jung wasn’t the only one to recognize this pull toward regression. American Existential psychologist Rollo May called it "the urge to return to the womb."

Sounds weird, right? Well, it’s more familiar than you would expect. Let me explain.

Drugs: The Ultimate Regression

Many heroin addicts describe the feeling of being high as the greatest warmth imaginable—like being embraced by a mother. In Jungian language, what they’re actually seeking is to reunite with the Great Mother archetype, which represents both nurturing comfort and destructive dependence. The drug provides temporary relief from the burden of separate existence.

Drugs don’t just dull pain—they temporarily relieve one from the burden of individuality. The addict disappears into warmth, into nothingness. No responsibility. No separation. No burdens. Just being embraced.

I’m guessing most people reading this never tried heroin, but the same dynamic is present in all other psychoactive substances. It’s just that the warmth and the motherly embrace described by heroin addicts depicts it most vividly.

Now, a more relatable example.

Your Ex: The Regression of Unhealthy Love

Have you ever felt the irrational urge to go back to an ex you know was bad for you? I’m silly for even asking; of course you have.

But it’s not just that they’re not good for you. Maybe you don’t even love or miss them anymore. You miss a state of mind they enabled. This represents another form of regression - not toward the Great Mother archetype but toward (the illusion of) losing yourself in another person.

A certain level of isolation is an integral, unavoidable part of the human condition. No matter how rich your life is with meaningful relationships, you still remain a separate entity, the only one who can fully relate to your unique experience of life. Most people don’t think about this existential isolation often, but we are all aware of it on a deep level. And we don’t like it.

That’s why getting back to unhealthy relationships often isn’t about love but about escaping the burden of being a separate individual. It offers a temporary illusion that you’re not alone, that you can dissolve into another person and avoid the existential weight of standing on your own.

So we can see now that it's not just our bed that's tempting. Our bed represents one of the most universal and daily opportunities for regression - a chance to simulate Jung's concept of 'drowning in our own source,' to temporarily escape the demands of conscious existence.

Whether through sleep, substances, or losing ourselves in unhealthy relationships, the psychological mechanism is the same: resistance to individuation and the responsibilities it brings.

And we all feel this pull. Every. Single. Morning.

I know this struggle intimately. I almost lost it.

My Battle

In 2022, I finally fell into deep despair. I say “finally” because, in hindsight, this inner battle was years, if not my whole conscious life in the making. One of the manifestations of this despair was me dreading getting out of bed.

And no, it wasn’t because I didn’t get enough sleep or wasn’t productive enough. It wasn’t laziness or a bad routine that made it difficult and overwhelming to get up.

It was the existential weight of life itself pressing down on me. The idea of getting out of bed to face life was overwhelming and even terrifying. Waking up meant facing, once again, a task that felt too great for me.

Giving a detailed account of this experience here would mean major spoilers for my essay series on Getting out of Despair and Starting to Love Life. That’s why I’ll just address the role getting out of bed played in me snapping out of regression and stepping into life’s fullness.

In the moments when it seemed like I was losing the battle for my life, getting out of bed with more force became the spark of resistance.

I’m not saying it fixed everything. But I’m saying it’s one of the things that saved me from drowning in my source once and for all.

There was a period when that one act—throwing off the cover, putting feet to floor, standing up—was the single moment in my day where I declared: I choose life. I choose to engage, to move forward.

It might sound silly, but I made a decision and a passionate commitment to throw myself out of bed and into life every morning. That defiant rise from the bed became my first step toward healing.

It was the most literal, physical representation of the psychological choice to live.

Why Is This Struggle Harder Now?

Here’s the thing—our ancestors faced this struggle too. But they had something we don’t: systems that helped pull them out of regression.

Jung recognized that religions, myths, and rites of passage weren’t just cultural customs—they functioned as psychological systems that helped mobilize our energy toward growth rather than regression.

Without these systems, many of us face the daily struggle against regression without adequate psychological support.

To illustrate this point, we can look back on Jung’s favorite example of the importance of a symbolic life.

“I once had a talk with the master of ceremonies of a tribe of Pueblo Indians, and he told me something very interesting. He said, "Yes, we are a small tribe, and these Americans, they want to interfere with our religion. They should not do it," he said, "because we are the sons of the Father, the Sun. He who goes there" (pointing to the sun) -- "that is our Father. We must help him daily to rise over the horizon and to walk over heaven. And we don't do it for ourselves only; we do it for America; we do it for the whole world. And if these Americans interfere with our religion through their missions, they will see something. In ten years Father Sun won't rise anymore because we can't help him any more."
-Carl Jung, The Symbolic Life

Now, you might think this is crazy talk. But Jung noted that these people were more vital and healthy than most members of the “developed” society. Today, we talk about a mental health crisis. These people had no concept for it - because they didn’t need one.

“These people have no problems. They have their daily life, their symbolic life. They get up in the morning with a feeling of their great and divine responsibility: they are the sons of the Sun, the Father, and their daily duty is to help the Father over the horizon – not for themselves alone, but for the whole world. You should see these fellows: they have a natural fulfilled dignity.” Carl Jung, The Symbolic Life

Without the support system that Pueblo Indians or Medieval Christians had, every morning is a solo battle against forces of regression. And too often, the modern individual loses.

So what do we do? Jung believed there is no turning back; we cannot make collective religion the main pillar of society once again. The symbolic battle now must play out on an individual level. But there is an archetypal energy present in all of us. When activated, it can help us fight this battle with more courage, strength, and endurance.

The Hero Archetype

James Hollis said that the hero manifests ”when one summons the energy to confront fear, pain, and the regressive attraction of the womb.”

But make no mistake, the hero is not about outward achievements. The hero is the part of you that chooses life over retreat. The force inside you that says yes to the day, yes to life, even when every fiber of your being feels like it wants to collapse in on itself.

“It is the inherent capacity to mobilize the energies which serve life, to overthrow the demons of despair and depression.” – James Hollis

And what is the most literal, tangible representation of this daily heroism? Getting out of bed. Refusing to let fear and lethargy win.

Because the bed is not just a piece of furniture. Symbolically speaking—and it’s clear we need symbolic life more than ever—it’s a portal between passive unconsciousness and full, courageous living.

I’ve come to learn this through my struggle. Whether you are facing depression, grief, burnout, or just the crushing monotony of the late-stage capitalism ultra-consumeristic existence—choosing to get out of bed with as much vigor as you have at your disposal is a heroic act.

Tomorrow morning, recognize that moment of inner resistance for what it truly is—not exhaustion or laziness, but an invitation to heroism.

Because the simple act of rising with force is a statement that you choose life over fear. And some days, that statement is the greatest act of courage you can perform.

Thank you for reading.