Roots of Balance Coaching Blog

There’s a myth we carry—that healing means erasing all the messy, jagged, unwanted parts of ourselves. That if we just work hard enough, meditate long enough, say enough affirmations, or do enough therapy, we’ll finally be only light. Only love. Only the good, shiny, easy things. But real wholeness isn’t about perfection. It’s about integration. Your shadow is everything you were told not to be. The anger you swallowed, the grief you hid, the hunger you were shamed for, the t

There’s a strange comfort in routine—a certain safety in letting the days blur together, each one shaped more by habit than by intention. But at some point, you might find yourself pausing and wondering, Whose life am I living?  Is this really what matters to me, or just what I’ve always done? Most of us inherit our “values” by osmosis. They seep in from family, culture, religion, school, social media. We absorb rules about what’s good, what’s worthy, what’s acceptable, often

There are losses that carve something out of us, leaving behind an ache words can’t quite reach. Grief isn’t just an emotion—it’s an experience that sinks deep into the body, woven into muscles, nerves, even the quiet between heartbeats. No matter how hard we try to outthink or outrun it, loss finds its way beneath the skin. The body remembers. We talk about grief as something in the mind or heart—a sadness, a longing, a storm of memories. But so often, grief settles in the f

There are wounds we carry that don’t always leave visible scars. Some are old, passed down quietly, generation after generation, echoing through the way we love, lead, fight, and flee. One of the deepest is the father wound—the ache that shapes our sense of enoughness, security, and value in the world. The father wound isn’t just about having an absent or distant dad, though that can leave its mark. It’s about the ways we learned to measure ourselves—our worth, our capability

There’s a longing that lives inside almost all of us—a quiet, aching hunger to belong. Sometimes it shows up as a craving for approval, a relentless pursuit of connection, or a gnawing sense that we’re always just a little bit on the outside, looking in. Most of us don’t realize how much of this ache is inherited. It’s not just personal; it’s generational. And so often, at the center of this longing is the mother wound. The mother wound is more than the absence or presence of

There’s a secret romance that most of us have forgotten, if we ever knew it at all—the romance of being with ourselves. Not just being alone, not just independence, but truly dating ourselves. The kind of self-intimacy that isn’t a stand-in for a relationship, but the foundation for every other relationship you’ll ever have. It’s a strange thing, isn’t it? We spend so much of our lives chasing intimacy with others—longing to be seen, understood, adored. We twist ourselves to