Root Shock: Why Growth Often Brings Grief

The emotional cost of becoming more yourself

As an integrative psychosomatic therapist, one of the most consistent phenomena I witness is this:

After a breakthrough—especially a major one—something in the system panics.

A client will finally feel clarity or confidence, experience a profound moment of reconnection, or speak a boundary they’ve been circling for years. Then, within hours or days, something hits. A flare-up. A shutdown. A panic attack. A retreat into old survival strategies.

Sometimes it’s somatic: a migraine, nausea, physical pain.

Sometimes it’s emotional: despair, rage, dissociation.

Sometimes it’s relational: a fight, a rupture, a withdrawal.

These reactions often look purely emotional or physical—but they’re usually psychosomatic: the body and psyche responding together to sudden expansion.

I’ve had clients describe it like this:

“It’s like a voice inside of me grabs a megaphone and screams, ‘EVERYTHING IS CHANGING!’—and all the other parts freak out, wondering what’s going to happen to them.”

This article is born through witnessing that pattern.

And through naming what’s almost never talked about.

Expansion isn’t always euphoric.

Let’s be precise here. Expansion doesn’t just mean feeling good, achieving a goal, reaching a personal or professional milestone, or having a significant glow-up. Expansion means stepping into a more complex, coherent, or truthful version of yourself—one that holds more power, more presence, more responsibility. It means reclaiming agency that had previously been deferred or outsourced to others. It means leaving behind an identity that kept you safe.

And with that, comes grief.

Not because anything has gone wrong. But because a part of you knows—deep in your bones—that something old is dying.

We grieve not just what we’re leaving, but who we were when we stayed.

We grieve the safety of our stuckness.

We grieve the systems that couldn’t meet us, the relationships that never saw us, the former versions of ourselves that carried what they could. And often, as soon as something longed-for finally arrives—self-recognition, self-worth, a felt sense of being seen from within—there’s another wave. Tears rise. And the words come, almost always the same:

“Why didn't I feel this sooner.”

That ache is real. It’s the grief of what was missed. Of all the years this was out of reach. That, too, needs space.

This is the side of growth that no one talks about.

The system always responds to change—even desired change.

One of the most common mistakes I see is misreading post-expansion grief or destabilisation as failure. A client thinks: I thought I was doing better. Why am I suddenly exhausted and full of doubt?

But in this work, integration often looks like disintegration first.

When the false self loses power, the system doesn’t always throw a party.

It often throws a fit.

ROOT SHOCK: When growth disorients the system

In botany and horticulture, root shock (also called transplant shock) refers to the stress response a plant experiences when moved to a new environment—especially when its root system is disrupted or given more space than it knows how to immediately stabilise in. During this adjustment, the plant may wilt, slow its growth, or appear to decline before it roots deeper and recovers.

That’s what I see happen in people. They expand—but their system contracts. And not because the expansion was wrong. But because it disrupted the familiar structure of things.

For example: a client might experience a surge of self-worth and immediately try to build an entirely new life around it. But the people, structures, and nervous system aren’t ready yet. The roots aren’t strong enough to stabilise the new height.

This can lead to collapse, or what looks like self-sabotage.

But again—it’s not failure.

It’s just too much, too fast, with too little containment.

This is not a sign to stop.

It’s a sign to slow down.

Pacing isn’t weakness. It’s intelligence.

There is no rush to become the next version of you.

There is no emergency in transformation.

The nervous system knows what it’s doing. Your job is to listen.

Build the scaffolding. Anchor the changes. Let the roots settle before expecting them to fruit.

And when grief shows up—because it will—don’t bypass it. Don’t judge it. Let it teach you what is being released. Let it honour what was true, even if it is no longer needed.

Healing is a paradox.

The more whole you become, the more grief you may feel.

The more power you reclaim, the more tenderness you may uncover.

The more truth you step into, the more loss you may carry.

Expansion brings life.

But it also surfaces what was lost before it.

Root shock doesn’t mean you’ve made a mistake.

It means your system knows change is real—and it’s learning to hold you in it.

Ready to work with the real you?

If you’re navigating grief, growth, resistance, or radical change, this work is designed to meet you there. I offer a limited number of 1:1 spaces for those seeking deep, integrative transformation.

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