Coherence isn’t balance

Balance is often imagined as a state where nothing tips too far in any direction.
A calm centre.
Evenness.
A steady, neutral line.

Coherence is something else entirely.

Coherence is not about holding everything in equilibrium.
It’s about whether the different parts of a system are able to communicate, respond, and move together.

A system can be highly dynamic - emotional, intense, creative, grieving, alive - and still be coherent.
And a system can look calm, functional, and ‘balanced’ on the outside while being deeply fragmented inside.

Many people I work with have spent years trying to achieve balance.
They regulate.
They self-soothe.
They manage their reactions.
They strive to stay centred.

And yet something still feels off.

Not because they’re doing it wrong, but because balance was never the right goal.

When balance becomes control

For sensitive people especially, balance often turns into a subtle form of self-control.

Emotions are moderated before they’re fully felt.
Impulses are softened before they’re listened to.
Intensity is toned down to stay acceptable, functional, or ‘regulated’.

On the surface, this can look like maturity.

Internally, it often creates tension.

You learn that some experiences are allowed and others are not.
Not because they’re dangerous now, but because they once were.

Over time, this creates a kind of internal diplomacy:
everything is kept in check, but nothing is fully alive.

Coherence allows movement

Coherence doesn’t require steadiness.
It requires connection.

In a coherent system:

• emotion can arise and pass

• energy can build and discharge

• attention can move where it’s needed

• intensity is not immediately corrected or suppressed

What matters is not how strong an experience is, but whether the system can stay present with it without fragmenting.

A coherent system can hold grief without collapsing.
It can hold excitement without scattering.
It can hold anger without acting it out or shutting it down.

Not because it’s balanced - but because it’s integrated.

Fragmentation is not failure

Fragmentation is not something that went wrong.
It’s something that happened intelligently, often early in life.

When parts of experience felt too much to process safely, your system learned to separate:
This part stays online, that part steps back.
This feeling is allowed, that one is postponed.
This truth is spoken, that one is kept quiet.

These adaptations are not mistakes.
They are protective strategies.

The problem isn’t that they exist, it’s that they often remain in place long after the original conditions have changed.

Coherence is what happens when these separations are no longer needed.

Coherence is relational

Coherence doesn’t come from effort.
It comes from being met.

When attention is steady and non-demanding, your energy trusts that it doesn’t need to manage itself so tightly.
When experiences are allowed to arise without being corrected, explained, or rushed, communication between parts resumes naturally.

This is why coherence can’t be forced.

You can’t command parts of yourself to reintegrate.
You can only create the conditions where reintegration becomes possible.

What coherence feels like

People often expect coherence to feel peaceful.

Sometimes it does.

But just as often, it feels:

• fuller

• more dimensional

• more honest

• less edited

There may be more sensation, not less.
More truth, not always comfort.

The difference is that the system is no longer working against itself.

Energy moves.
Information circulates.
Experience is allowed to complete its natural arc.

From balance to coherence

The shift from seeking balance to allowing coherence is subtle but profound.

Instead of asking:
‘How do I calm this down?’
the question becomes:
‘What is trying to move here?’

Instead of aiming for equilibrium, attention turns toward flow.

Not everything needs to be smoothed out.
Not everything needs to be stabilised.

Some things need to be listened to.

A different kind of steadiness

Coherence creates a different kind of steadiness than balance ever could.

Not the steadiness of control
but the steadiness of trust.

Trust that the system knows how to move when it’s not being interrupted.
Trust that intensity doesn’t equal danger.
Trust that wholeness is not something to achieve, but something to allow.

This work is not about keeping yourself in line.

It’s about letting yourself come back into relationship - with sensation, with energy, with truth - so that nothing needs to be held apart anymore.