SoleBalance Therapies

SoleBalance Therapies Sole Balance Therapies SoleBalance Therapies provides alternative health care through the art of Reflexology, Bach Therapy, Reiki, energy work and Workshops.

We sometimes confuse the sympathetic nervous system as being the villain of the story, but in fact, it is our guardian. ...
02/06/2026

We sometimes confuse the sympathetic nervous system as being the villain of the story, but in fact, it is our guardian. When the brain senses threat, the amygdala signals the hypothalamus, and a cascade begins. Adrenaline and noradrenaline surge, while our cortisol rises, and our blood flow is redirected from organs to muscles. The body becomes action-ready, sensation-focused, and future-oriented as you slowly begin to descend the stairs.

This system can be like a pot of water sitting on a stove. When the flame turns on, it serves a purpose. Heat gathers, molecules move faster, and energy becomes available for us to use.

A short boil can be helpful.

A rolling boil can save a life.

But so many people are living with the burner always lit; sometimes at a low restless simmer, and others at a violent boil, but rarely ever turned fully off. Deadlines, trauma history, relationship strain, constant input, lack of sleep, unprocessed fear, and a culture that rewards urgency. The flame keeps licking the bottom of the pot and no one remembers to remove it from the heat.

Now if the body is largely water, imagine what chronic internal heat does to the bodies landscape. Inflammation rises. Tissue repair slows. Hormone rhythms drift. Even mood changes, because long exposure to stress chemistry reshapes our neurotransmitter balance. Our sympathetic system was built for moments of fire, not a lifetime slowly burning on the flame.

What helps you remove your pan from the stove and take time to replenish your water.

The abdomen is like a tidal basin where everything the body experiences passes through. When life moves too fast, it can...
02/04/2026

The abdomen is like a tidal basin where everything the body experiences passes through. When life moves too fast, it can become stagnant, but gentle, patient contact can help restore movement and clarity. The body doesn't need to be convinced to heal; it just needs patience and care to remember its natural flow.

The body was never meant to be an anchor dropped in fear, but a vessel shaped for tides, for weather, for long crossings...
02/03/2026

The body was never meant to be an anchor dropped in fear, but a vessel shaped for tides, for weather, for long crossings that change us. Built with curves that know how to meet resistance and still move forward. Built to sway, to adjust, to stay afloat even when the horizon keeps shifting.

When we trust the vessel, we stop fighting the sea. We stop demanding stillness from something designed for motion. We begin to feel the rhythm beneath the waves, the quiet intelligence that knows when to yield and when to hold course.

And in that listening, our journey can truly begin.

In bodywork, joy is not something we manufacture; it emerges when the body feels met without demand.  When joy moves thr...
01/28/2026

In bodywork, joy is not something we manufacture; it emerges when the body feels met without demand.

When joy moves through the body, our physiology follows suit. The chest opens as if it has more room than it remembered. Breath deepens without effort. Dopamine sparks motivation and pleasure, serotonin steadies mood and digestion, and endorphins move through tissue like warm light, easing pain and softening jagged edges. Cortisol, that constant companion of stress, finally steps back, and our fascia becomes more fluid, less guarded, and more willing to glide. The body doesn’t brace for what comes next; it expands into the moment.
Joy nourishes immune function, supports cardiovascular health, improves digestion, and restores rhythmic breathing.
It tells the body that it doesn’t have to survive every moment. Sometimes, it gets to live.

The Anger FamilyEmotions: anger, irritation, frustration, resentment, bitterness, rage, fury, indignation, hostility, co...
01/21/2026

The Anger Family

Emotions: anger, irritation, frustration, resentment, bitterness, rage, fury, indignation, hostility, contempt, impatience, agitation, annoyance, outrage, defensiveness

Anger is often misunderstood because we are taught to fear its heat rather than listen to its intelligence. But anger does not rise without reason. It arrives the moment something inside you senses that a line has been crossed, that your truth has been nudged aside, or that safety has quietly slipped out of reach. Anger helps us notice wounds that need healing and care. It shows us where we have been silenced, or asked to endure what we never should have had to carry. Anger is the moment the body says, this matters, and refuses to look away.

In the body, anger is unmistakable. It gathers in the jaw where words were swallowed, in the neck and shoulders where responsibility was carried alone, and in the upper back where vigilance became posture. The nervous system mobilizes, flooding the body with adrenaline and noradrenaline, priming muscles for action that never quite arrives. Cortisol lingers, sustaining readiness long past the moment it was needed. Our fascia thickens and grows reactive, holding heat and pressure that clients often describe as buzzing or tightness.

Psychotherapist Karla McLaren describes anger as the Honorable Sentry, and the body understands this instinctively. Anger walks the perimeter of your inner world, guarding your values, your voice, and your sense of self. When boundaries are crossed, anger rises to say, this is not okay! Not to destroy, but to protect. This is why anger so often lives close to love. It appears because you care deeply about something or someone, because a connection or value matters enough to defend. In this way, anger is not the opposite of compassion; it is compassion sharpened into action.

When anger has nowhere to go, it turns inward. Energy meant to move becomes tension meant to hold. Over time, this can contribute to chronic pain patterns, jaw dysfunction, headaches, digestive disturbance, and a nervous system that never fully settles. Many people learn to stay calm at all costs, carrying resentment quietly until it fuses into their posture. Others apologize for their anger before it ever has a chance to speak. In both cases, the body is doing the same thing: holding energy that was meant to move.

Receiving bodywork offers anger a safer pathway. Our role is not to suppress it or provoke it, but to give it room to breathe. Work often begins by restoring the exhale, allowing the nervous system to discharge excess activation and find rhythm again. Grounded contact through the pelvis and legs reminds the body it has somewhere to send this energy. Gentle myofascial work through the jaw, shoulders, lateral lines, and abdominal wall invites tension to soften without demanding release. As anger begins to move, it may arrive as heat, trembling, deep sighs, or sudden emotion. These are not problems to fix; they are completions.

Anger is also a messenger. Beneath it often live more vulnerable truths: grief that was never witnessed, fear that needed protection, and shame that learned to hide. When anger is met with respect, it leads us toward these deeper layers, revealing unmet needs and unspoken boundaries. This is where the real healing begins, not by getting rid of anger, but by letting it do its job fully and then giving it time to rest.

Anger is not something that eats us alive unless we abandon it. When honored, it becomes fuel for change, courage to stand, and clarity to choose differently. It is energy in motion, meant to transform stagnation into direction. When the body is allowed to feel anger without punishment or fear, something remarkable happens. The heat cools, and the tension softens. Strength remains, no longer bound in bracing, but available as grounded power.

If anger has found its way into your body, let this land gently. You are not failing at being calm or kind; your body is stepping forward like a loyal friend, speaking up for you when something needs care, protection, or truth. And when anger is given room to be heard, it often becomes a powerful ally rather than a burden.

I've always perceived the body as a vibrant, living landscape that requires understanding, rather than just a machine th...
01/15/2026

I've always perceived the body as a vibrant, living landscape that requires understanding, rather than just a machine that needs fixing.
When someone lies on my therapy table, I'm not just encountering body systems, I'm tuning into the subtle rhythms of their inner world - the lingering echoes of past storms, the adapted paths of rivers that have flowed around injuries, and the compacted soil that has borne the weight of countless seasons. I'm aware of the valleys carved out by years of compensatory patterns, the ridgelines forged through resilience, and the hardened terrain that has learned to endure. Inflammation is a beacon of light, signaling that something needs attention.
Pain is a messenger, communicating in a language we're still learning to decipher. Scar tissue is a testament to the body's capacity for courageous, albeit imperfect, healing.
Many of the conditions we encounter are not isolated incidents, but rather interconnected patterns that ripple outward, influencing posture, breath, sleep, mood, and the way someone navigates their world.
As I place my hands on a body, I'm listening to the stories etched in the fascia and tissues, and seeking to understand them with compassion and empathy. This is where bodywork transcends technique - it becomes a sacred relationship.
It's not about altering the landscape, but rather about reviving pathways, rejuvenating circulation, soothing sensation, and reminding the nervous system what it means to feel at peace.
It's about creating a safe haven where the body can shift, not out of obligation, but out of possibility.

Your nervous system isn't broken, it's remembering. Through trauma-informed bodywork, I've learned that our bodies hold ...
01/09/2026

Your nervous system isn't broken, it's remembering. Through trauma-informed bodywork, I've learned that our bodies hold onto patterns and memories, shaped by early experiences and attachment. If you feel most alive in intense moments or restless in calm ones, it's not because you're flawed, but because your nervous system adapted to survive. With patience and presence, bodywork can offer a new language of safety and connection, teaching your body that survival is no longer the only option. Healing isn't about erasing your past, but about widening the river so your body can flow more freely. Nothing about you is wrong; your nervous system did its job beautifully.

Tears in bodywork signify the convergence of fascia, nervous system, and emotional body, releasing pent-up energy and re...
01/05/2026

Tears in bodywork signify the convergence of fascia, nervous system, and emotional body, releasing pent-up energy and restoring safety. They emerge from various sources, including vagus nerve relaxation, limbic system releases, interoception awakening, touch-stimulated oxytocin, wordless memories, resonance, and completion of survival cycles. Tears indicate regulation, adaptation, and emotional integration, revealing the body's narrative shift and restoration of safety.

01/01/2026

Gratitude & Blessings of Love and Light
for this 2026 Year

In the realm of healing, we often encounter individuals at their most vulnerable, standing at the threshold of their own...
12/24/2025

In the realm of healing, we often encounter individuals at their most vulnerable, standing at the threshold of their own resilience. Where words have fallen short, the memory of sensation lingers, a distant echo, and the body has learned to endure by subtly dimming its radiance.
Trauma insidiously convinces them they're solitary figures in the darkness, narrowing their world, silencing their body, and drawing their nervous system inward, as if cradling a fragile flame that must remain hidden. It weaves a narrative of isolation, whispering destructive truths that they're unworthy, invisible, and incomprehensible.
In the healing arts, our approach is not to hastily rescue them from this darkness but to gently sit with them, bearing witness, steadfastly present without attempting to fix, force, or demand anything until the body is ready to reclaim its narrative. Often, the most profound act of compassion is simply being a steady, grounding presence while they navigate their way back to themselves.
I've come to realize that the journey of healing doesn't always commence with the individual discovering their inner light; sometimes it begins when another person generously shares theirs, not in overwhelming abundance but in gentle, soothing warmth, like the soft glow of a lantern on a long, dark night, reassuring them, “You are not alone.”
When trauma has conditioned the body to tense, to suppress, and to hide, it's not because the light has vanished; it's been safeguarded, nestled deep within, awaiting the right conditions to unfurl again.
With gentle care, unwavering consistency, and profound compassion, we enable the nervous system to release its grip, rediscovering the capacity to rest.
In my practice, I frequently witness the subtle yet pivotal moment when something shifts within a person—their breath deepens, their jaw relaxes, or their hands unclench. It's a quiet, almost imperceptible sign that the body is not being fixed but reminded—reminded of warmth, of rhythm, and of companionship in the darkness.
I offer my light in subtle ways: the reassuring cadence of my hands, the warmth of my presence, and the quiet affirmation that hope still exists, even when obscured.
I'll sit with you in the darkness as long as necessary, but I'll also remind you of the warmth of sunlight on your skin.
Healing isn't about transformation into someone new; it's about reconnecting with the innate light within you—a light that may fluctuate but never truly extinguishes.

When you were young, someone likely taught you about physical hygiene. You learned how to wash your hands, brush your te...
12/20/2025

When you were young, someone likely taught you about physical hygiene. You learned how to wash your hands, brush your teeth, and cover your mouth when you were sick. You learned that these things mattered not only for your own health, but for the health of the people around you. We understand this instinctively now. We know that unaddressed physical illness spreads, weakens, and affects entire systems, not just one body. But very few of us were ever taught about emotional hygiene.

No one sat us down and explained that emotions, when left unattended, also move through systems and are carried in tone, posture, breath, and nervous system state. How chronic stress, unresolved grief, unprocessed anger, or long-held fear don’t stay contained neatly inside one person, but ripple outward, shaping relationships, households, workplaces, and even the bodies of those nearby.

Science now shows us why this happens. Emotions are not abstract experiences; they are biological events. Every emotional state creates a chemical response in the body. Stress hormones like cortisol and adrenaline surge through the bloodstream. The immune system shifts. Inflammation rises. Heart rate and breathing patterns change. Over time, a body living in chronic emotional strain begins to show physical symptoms. Pain increases, sleep becomes disrupted, and digestion falters. The nervous system stays on high alert, exhausting the tissues it is meant to protect. And just as physical illness is contagious, emotional dysregulation is too.

The nervous system is designed to co-regulate. We unconsciously mirror the states of those around us through facial expression, vocal tone, body language, and subtle cues processed by the brain long before conscious thought. This is why being around someone in chronic distress can leave you feeling drained or unwell, even if no words were spoken. The body is reading signals and responding as if danger or imbalance is present.

Emotional hygiene is not about suppressing feelings or being endlessly positive; it is about tending to the inner landscape with the same care we give the physical body. It is the practice of noticing when emotions need movement, expression, rest, or support before they harden into patterns that strain the nervous system and spill into the tissues.

In the bodies I have worked with, I have seen what happens when emotional hygiene is ignored. The fascia tightens like fabric being pulled too long in one direction. Muscles brace as if waiting for an impact that never comes. Breath becomes shallow, and pain appears without an apparent injury. I have also seen what happens when emotions are given space and gentle attention. The body softens, and the nervous system exhales. Healing begins not because something was fixed, but because something was finally tended.

So, why does this matter? Because emotions live in the body. They influence physiology, immunity, pain, and resilience. And when we care for them with intention, we don’t just protect our own health; we create healthier systems for everyone we touch.

Emotional hygiene is not a luxury, and it is not optional. Just as a virus can move unseen through a room, unprocessed emotional stress moves through the nervous system, the fascia, and the people around us. The body does not distinguish between external and internal threats. Chronic emotional strain activates the same stress pathways as physical danger, elevating cortisol, suppressing immune function, altering inflammation, and reshaping how the brain and tissues respond to the world. When emotions are never tended, the body eventually takes on the burden of expression through pain, fatigue, illness, or shutdown. This is not a weakness. It is biology asking for care.

So I invite you to consider this not as self-improvement, but as responsibility. Tending to your emotional hygiene is how you protect your body, your nervous system, and the spaces you move through. It is how you show up cleaner, clearer, and safer for yourself and for others. Just as you would not knowingly spread illness, you can learn not to carry unexamined emotional weight into every room, relationship, and touch. When emotions are acknowledged, metabolized, and given space to move, the body softens. Systems regulate. Healing becomes possible. This is not about perfection. It is about care. And the body has been waiting for us to understand that all along.

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Webster Road
Creemore, ON
L0M1K0

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Tuesday 12pm - 4pm
Wednesday 12pm - 4pm
Thursday 12pm - 4pm
Friday 12pm - 4pm

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