PERFECTIONISM, LOSS OF JOY, BURNOUT
PERFECTIONISM, LOSS OF JOY, BURNOUT
PERFECTIONISM, LOSS OF JOY, BURNOUT
From compulsive doing to joyful being
From compulsive doing to joyful being
From compulsive doing to joyful being
A successful entrepreneur who filled every moment with work, unable to rest without crushing guilt. Food became both comfort and punishment, a way to numb the constant pressure to perform. Through somatic work and inner child healing, he reconnected with the playful, joyful part of himself he'd abandoned at a young age—and discovered that his worth wasn't tied to productivity.
A successful entrepreneur who filled every moment with work, unable to rest without crushing guilt. Food became both comfort and punishment, a way to numb the constant pressure to perform. Through somatic work and inner child healing, he reconnected with the playful, joyful part of himself he'd abandoned at a young age—and discovered that his worth wasn't tied to productivity.
A successful entrepreneur who filled every moment with work, unable to rest without crushing guilt. Food became both comfort and punishment, a way to numb the constant pressure to perform. Through somatic work and inner child healing, he reconnected with the playful, joyful part of himself he'd abandoned at a young age—and discovered that his worth wasn't tied to productivity.
The challenge
The challenge
The challenge
Why can't I enjoy what I've built without guilt telling me I should be doing more?
Why can't I enjoy what I've built without guilt telling me I should be doing more?
Why can't I enjoy what I've built without guilt telling me I should be doing more?
Deep somatic work, FastReset® emotional clearing, inner parts integration
Deep somatic work, FastReset® emotional clearing, inner parts integration
Deep somatic work, FastReset® emotional clearing, inner parts integration
The Journey
The Journey
The Journey
He came to me as a driven company owner who couldn't stop—couldn't rest, couldn't relax, couldn't enjoy success without immediately filling the space with more work. His calendar was packed, his mind constantly racing, and food had become both his greatest comfort and his harshest punishment. What looked like work ethic was actually a survival strategy learned in childhood: stay busy, stay safe, never be "too much."
Time together:
Ongoing
The Challenge
Externally, he was successful—thriving business, respected in his field, achieving the external markers of success. Internally, he was exhausted and deeply unfulfilled. He couldn't enjoy what he'd built. He couldn't take breaks without spiraling into guilt. He couldn't simply be without immediately needing to do.
His calendar was his worth. Every empty space felt like a failure. Rest felt dangerous. Joy felt forbidden.
Food had become complicated—both comfort and punishment. He'd use it to soothe stress, then berate himself for lacking discipline. The cycle was relentless: overwork, overwhelm, eat to cope, guilt, more work to compensate.
The deeper pattern: "If I stop doing, I have no value. If I feel too much joy, something bad will happen. If I'm not performing, I'm not lovable."
The Starting Point
When he arrived, his nervous system was chronically activated—mind racing, body tense, never truly present. He described constant pressure on his chest, circular thinking, and an inability to simply be without immediately planning the next thing.
Physically, he carried the weight of decades of suppressed joy and unprocessed emotion. Food had become his primary way of regulating—the only moment he could relax was when eating, creating a pattern of using food to feel safe, then feeling shame about it.
Beneath the high-achieving exterior lived a terrified child who learned at six years old that joy was dangerous. A sibling's criticism shattered his natural playfulness, teaching him that being happy, silly, or light-hearted made him vulnerable. From that moment forward, life became serious. Performance became safety.
His family system reinforced this: achievement was praised, struggle was normalized, and enjoyment was viewed with suspicion. The unspoken rule: "If you're having fun, you're not working hard enough."
His operating system: "The more I suffer, the safer I am. Joy is risky. Lightness makes me a target."
Our Work Together
We worked somatically and systemically, addressing both his nervous system's addiction to stress and the childhood wounds that created the pattern.
Nervous System Regulation: His system was stuck in "on"—always planning, controlling, doing. We used breathwork and somatic practices to help him recognize when he was in compulsive productivity mode versus genuine creative flow. He learned that the constant doing was actually a way to avoid feeling.
FastReset® Emotional Clearing: We worked with the core wound—the moment his sister's harsh criticism crushed his natural joy and taught him that being playful made him a target. We released the terror of being "too much," the shame of taking up space with happiness, and the deep belief that suffering equals safety.
Food & Body Work: We explored how food had become his only safe place to relax—the one moment his nervous system could exhale. Rather than fighting the pattern, we worked to understand what he was actually hungry for: permission to rest, to feel, to simply be.
Inner Parts Integration: He discovered multiple parts—the relentless taskmaster, the joyful child he'd abandoned, the rebel who resented all the rules, the people-pleaser desperate for approval. We worked to help these parts coexist rather than war with each other.
Reclaiming Play: The most transformative work involved giving the six-year-old boy inside him permission to exist again. We worked to separate joy from danger, lightness from vulnerability, and self-worth from productivity.
Key Insights
"I'm not addicted to work—I'm terrified of feeling."
He realized the constant doing was a way to avoid the emptiness and fear underneath. When he stopped moving, he had to feel—and that felt unbearable.
"Food isn't the problem—it's the only place I let myself rest."
The food struggle was actually his body's attempt to regulate. It was the only "permission" he gave himself to stop performing.
"I decided at six that joy was dangerous. I've been living that decision for 40 years."
Recognizing that one childhood moment had shaped his entire adult life was both devastating and liberating.
"What if I'm allowed to enjoy what I've built?" The most radical question—and the doorway to transformation.
The Challenge
Externally, he was successful—thriving business, respected in his field, achieving the external markers of success. Internally, he was exhausted and deeply unfulfilled. He couldn't enjoy what he'd built. He couldn't take breaks without spiraling into guilt. He couldn't simply be without immediately needing to do.
His calendar was his worth. Every empty space felt like a failure. Rest felt dangerous. Joy felt forbidden.
Food had become complicated—both comfort and punishment. He'd use it to soothe stress, then berate himself for lacking discipline. The cycle was relentless: overwork, overwhelm, eat to cope, guilt, more work to compensate.
The deeper pattern: "If I stop doing, I have no value. If I feel too much joy, something bad will happen. If I'm not performing, I'm not lovable."
The Starting Point
When he arrived, his nervous system was chronically activated—mind racing, body tense, never truly present. He described constant pressure on his chest, circular thinking, and an inability to simply be without immediately planning the next thing.
Physically, he carried the weight of decades of suppressed joy and unprocessed emotion. Food had become his primary way of regulating—the only moment he could relax was when eating, creating a pattern of using food to feel safe, then feeling shame about it.
Beneath the high-achieving exterior lived a terrified child who learned at six years old that joy was dangerous. A sibling's criticism shattered his natural playfulness, teaching him that being happy, silly, or light-hearted made him vulnerable. From that moment forward, life became serious. Performance became safety.
His family system reinforced this: achievement was praised, struggle was normalized, and enjoyment was viewed with suspicion. The unspoken rule: "If you're having fun, you're not working hard enough."
His operating system: "The more I suffer, the safer I am. Joy is risky. Lightness makes me a target."
Our Work Together
We worked somatically and systemically, addressing both his nervous system's addiction to stress and the childhood wounds that created the pattern.
Nervous System Regulation: His system was stuck in "on"—always planning, controlling, doing. We used breathwork and somatic practices to help him recognize when he was in compulsive productivity mode versus genuine creative flow. He learned that the constant doing was actually a way to avoid feeling.
FastReset® Emotional Clearing: We worked with the core wound—the moment his sister's harsh criticism crushed his natural joy and taught him that being playful made him a target. We released the terror of being "too much," the shame of taking up space with happiness, and the deep belief that suffering equals safety.
Food & Body Work: We explored how food had become his only safe place to relax—the one moment his nervous system could exhale. Rather than fighting the pattern, we worked to understand what he was actually hungry for: permission to rest, to feel, to simply be.
Inner Parts Integration: He discovered multiple parts—the relentless taskmaster, the joyful child he'd abandoned, the rebel who resented all the rules, the people-pleaser desperate for approval. We worked to help these parts coexist rather than war with each other.
Reclaiming Play: The most transformative work involved giving the six-year-old boy inside him permission to exist again. We worked to separate joy from danger, lightness from vulnerability, and self-worth from productivity.
Key Insights
"I'm not addicted to work—I'm terrified of feeling."
He realized the constant doing was a way to avoid the emptiness and fear underneath. When he stopped moving, he had to feel—and that felt unbearable.
"Food isn't the problem—it's the only place I let myself rest."
The food struggle was actually his body's attempt to regulate. It was the only "permission" he gave himself to stop performing.
"I decided at six that joy was dangerous. I've been living that decision for 40 years."
Recognizing that one childhood moment had shaped his entire adult life was both devastating and liberating.
"What if I'm allowed to enjoy what I've built?" The most radical question—and the doorway to transformation.
The Challenge
Externally, he was successful—thriving business, respected in his field, achieving the external markers of success. Internally, he was exhausted and deeply unfulfilled. He couldn't enjoy what he'd built. He couldn't take breaks without spiraling into guilt. He couldn't simply be without immediately needing to do.
His calendar was his worth. Every empty space felt like a failure. Rest felt dangerous. Joy felt forbidden.
Food had become complicated—both comfort and punishment. He'd use it to soothe stress, then berate himself for lacking discipline. The cycle was relentless: overwork, overwhelm, eat to cope, guilt, more work to compensate.
The deeper pattern: "If I stop doing, I have no value. If I feel too much joy, something bad will happen. If I'm not performing, I'm not lovable."
The Starting Point
When he arrived, his nervous system was chronically activated—mind racing, body tense, never truly present. He described constant pressure on his chest, circular thinking, and an inability to simply be without immediately planning the next thing.
Physically, he carried the weight of decades of suppressed joy and unprocessed emotion. Food had become his primary way of regulating—the only moment he could relax was when eating, creating a pattern of using food to feel safe, then feeling shame about it.
Beneath the high-achieving exterior lived a terrified child who learned at six years old that joy was dangerous. A sibling's criticism shattered his natural playfulness, teaching him that being happy, silly, or light-hearted made him vulnerable. From that moment forward, life became serious. Performance became safety.
His family system reinforced this: achievement was praised, struggle was normalized, and enjoyment was viewed with suspicion. The unspoken rule: "If you're having fun, you're not working hard enough."
His operating system: "The more I suffer, the safer I am. Joy is risky. Lightness makes me a target."
Our Work Together
We worked somatically and systemically, addressing both his nervous system's addiction to stress and the childhood wounds that created the pattern.
Nervous System Regulation: His system was stuck in "on"—always planning, controlling, doing. We used breathwork and somatic practices to help him recognize when he was in compulsive productivity mode versus genuine creative flow. He learned that the constant doing was actually a way to avoid feeling.
FastReset® Emotional Clearing: We worked with the core wound—the moment his sister's harsh criticism crushed his natural joy and taught him that being playful made him a target. We released the terror of being "too much," the shame of taking up space with happiness, and the deep belief that suffering equals safety.
Food & Body Work: We explored how food had become his only safe place to relax—the one moment his nervous system could exhale. Rather than fighting the pattern, we worked to understand what he was actually hungry for: permission to rest, to feel, to simply be.
Inner Parts Integration: He discovered multiple parts—the relentless taskmaster, the joyful child he'd abandoned, the rebel who resented all the rules, the people-pleaser desperate for approval. We worked to help these parts coexist rather than war with each other.
Reclaiming Play: The most transformative work involved giving the six-year-old boy inside him permission to exist again. We worked to separate joy from danger, lightness from vulnerability, and self-worth from productivity.
Key Insights
"I'm not addicted to work—I'm terrified of feeling."
He realized the constant doing was a way to avoid the emptiness and fear underneath. When he stopped moving, he had to feel—and that felt unbearable.
"Food isn't the problem—it's the only place I let myself rest."
The food struggle was actually his body's attempt to regulate. It was the only "permission" he gave himself to stop performing.
"I decided at six that joy was dangerous. I've been living that decision for 40 years."
Recognizing that one childhood moment had shaped his entire adult life was both devastating and liberating.
"What if I'm allowed to enjoy what I've built?" The most radical question—and the doorway to transformation.
In his words
In his words
In his words
"I spent most of my life believing that if I stopped achieving, I'd have nothing. That if I enjoyed myself too much, I'd be punished. Now I'm learning that the little kid who just wanted to play and laugh and build things for fun—he's still here. And maybe he was right all along."
"I spent most of my life believing that if I stopped achieving, I'd have nothing. That if I enjoyed myself too much, I'd be punished. Now I'm learning that the little kid who just wanted to play and laugh and build things for fun—he's still here. And maybe he was right all along."
"I spent most of my life believing that if I stopped achieving, I'd have nothing. That if I enjoyed myself too much, I'd be punished. Now I'm learning that the little kid who just wanted to play and laugh and build things for fun—he's still here. And maybe he was right all along."
The Transformation
His work is ongoing, but the shifts have been profound. The compulsive calendar-filling has decreased. The guilt around rest has softened. He's beginning to experience moments of genuine pleasure without immediately needing to "earn" them.
Physically: The constant chest pressure has eased. His relationship with food is becoming less charged—he's learning to eat without punishment, rest without guilt.
Professionally: He's creating space in his calendar intentionally. He's saying no to clients and projects that drain him. The frantic energy is being replaced with more grounded, sustainable rhythms.
Emotionally: He's reconnecting with playfulness. He's allowing himself to laugh, to be silly, to enjoy moments without making them productive. The joyful child is slowly emerging.
Internally: He's learning that his worth isn't tied to his output. That rest isn't laziness. That joy isn't a luxury to be earned but a birthright to be reclaimed.
The Transformation
His work is ongoing, but the shifts have been profound. The compulsive calendar-filling has decreased. The guilt around rest has softened. He's beginning to experience moments of genuine pleasure without immediately needing to "earn" them.
Physically: The constant chest pressure has eased. His relationship with food is becoming less charged—he's learning to eat without punishment, rest without guilt.
Professionally: He's creating space in his calendar intentionally. He's saying no to clients and projects that drain him. The frantic energy is being replaced with more grounded, sustainable rhythms.
Emotionally: He's reconnecting with playfulness. He's allowing himself to laugh, to be silly, to enjoy moments without making them productive. The joyful child is slowly emerging.
Internally: He's learning that his worth isn't tied to his output. That rest isn't laziness. That joy isn't a luxury to be earned but a birthright to be reclaimed.
The Transformation
His work is ongoing, but the shifts have been profound. The compulsive calendar-filling has decreased. The guilt around rest has softened. He's beginning to experience moments of genuine pleasure without immediately needing to "earn" them.
Physically: The constant chest pressure has eased. His relationship with food is becoming less charged—he's learning to eat without punishment, rest without guilt.
Professionally: He's creating space in his calendar intentionally. He's saying no to clients and projects that drain him. The frantic energy is being replaced with more grounded, sustainable rhythms.
Emotionally: He's reconnecting with playfulness. He's allowing himself to laugh, to be silly, to enjoy moments without making them productive. The joyful child is slowly emerging.
Internally: He's learning that his worth isn't tied to his output. That rest isn't laziness. That joy isn't a luxury to be earned but a birthright to be reclaimed.
More Transformational Journeys
