We speak so often in this world of healing about love and light. It’s become a mantra of hope, a symbol of transformation, and a comfort we offer to those who are suffering. But what we don’t always speak about—at least not with the same reverence—is darkness. The grief. The exhaustion. The inner shadows. The parts of us that scream for our attention when we’re too busy lighting candles and setting intentions for others to notice.
As light workers, healers, and space holders, we spend much of our conscious time rooted in the energy of love and light. And while that is powerful, beautiful work, it’s not the full picture. If we’re not acknowledging the darkness within us, we’re not truly holding space for full-spectrum healing. We cannot preach integration to our clients while practicing avoidance within ourselves.
A Personal Reckoning
This past year has forced me to stop and take stock of the weight I’ve been carrying. In theory, I’ve known I needed to heal. But in reality, I was wearing a mask of light, shining it brightly for everyone else—clients, friends, even family—while ignoring the darkness creeping through my own nervous system.
Because here's the truth:
• My divorce was finalised late last month. A relationship of 16 years, 11 years married, disassembled and grieved in silence while I held space for others.
• I've been physically unwell—to the point where I had to seek real, medical support. Not just breathwork, not oils or reiki. I needed clinical help.
• I had to agree to a Do Not Resuscitate for my mum. She's only 61. Let that sink in.
• In a year, I’ve sold my supposed forever home, moved with three children and 16 years of belongings, lost friendships and pieces of myself along the way, and still kept smiling for the world.
This has not just been a hard year. It has been grindingly human. And in the chaos, I’ve found myself asking:
What happens to the healer when they abandon their own healing? What do we lose when our identity is so tied up in helping others that we forget to feed ourselves?
Lately, I've realised I’ve become exceptionally skilled at masking my own trauma with service. I’ve become the woman who tells her clients to rest, while running on 4.5 hours of sleep a night. Who blends nourishing teas for others while going days without eating properly herself. Who says “you matter” to everyone else, yet can’t remember the last time I believed it for myself.
The Myth of “Having to Be Okay”
There’s a quiet belief in the healing world that we must be the light. That if we go too deep into our own shadows, we might somehow lose our ability to lead others. But the truth is the opposite: our power comes from our willingness to hold both.
Darkness isn't failure. It’s initiation.
Grief isn't weakness. It’s a messenger.
And love without the willingness to face pain is just a performance.
My own trauma story didn’t begin this year. It goes back decades—to my parents’ messy separation, my father’s manic depression, my chronic illness from age 15, my eating disorders, leaving home at 16, difficult pregnancies and devastating loss. I’ve made peace with parts of it, yes. But I’ve also conveniently packaged and shelved a lot of it, telling myself: “It happened so I can help others.”
But you know what?
Healing isn’t linear. And it’s never “done.”
There comes a point where every healer must return to their own body, their own pain, their own truth.
Tips for Fellow Healers in This Space
If this resonates with you—if you're also the one who holds it all together for everyone else—here are a few things I’m learning (and re-learning) along the way:
1. Schedule time for your own healing like you would a client session. Set sacred appointments with yourself for rest, breathwork, journaling, or therapy. Honour them.
2. Track your depletion. If you’re regularly missing meals, sleep, or movement—pause. Ask: What am I trying to outrun?
3. Practice sacred selfishness. Boundaries are a form of love. Saying “not today” doesn’t make you less of a healer; it makes you more human.
4. Unmask your language. Notice when you spiritualise trauma. Are you saying “the universe had a plan” to avoid feeling the rage? It’s okay to be angry. It’s okay to say “this sucks.”
5. Find a therapist or supervisor who holds space for the healer in you. Not a mentor, not a coach. A trained, trauma-aware therapist who helps you be witnessed.
6. Create a dual-list:
• “Things I offer to clients”
• “Am I doing these for myself?”
Compare. Adjust. Begin again.
A Call to Conscious Integration
As I move more intentionally into trauma-informed work, I know I can no longer hide behind the mask of light. To guide others into the shadows, I must first light my own candle there. And so, I am choosing balance—between sacred service and radical self-awareness. Between love and grief. Between giving and receiving.
This isn't about becoming perfect.
It’s about becoming whole.
Reflection Questions to ask yourself
• Have you been avoiding your own healing under the guise of service?
• Where are you giving from an empty cup, hoping no one will notice?
• When did you last tend to your nervous system without trying to fix anyone else?
• What part of your own story still needs to be honoured, not spiritualised?
Final Thoughts
Darkness isn’t the enemy. It’s where our deepest transformation begins. And in the dance between light and shadow, we don't have to choose one or the other. We were made for both. And the more truthfully we allow ourselves to live in that space, the more authentic and effective our healing becomes—for ourselves and everyone we serve.
So today, I honour both.
The exhausted woman behind the healer.
The grief behind the grace.
The shadow behind the spell.
And I invite you to do the same.
...
Charlotte –The Holistic Mummy