Erin Coyle
Embodied clarity and support for life transitions.
Hi there, I'm Erin.
My last name, in Irish, is Ní Cumhaill.
Same as Fionn — the boy who accidentally swallowed all the wisdom in the world.
He didn't become wise by being the best student. Or by getting a degree in "a bunch of weird shit." Or even by earning it. But by screwing up, burning his thumb, and sticking it in his mouth.
In thirty years of this work, I've never met anyone who found their way through by getting it perfect.
Here's where that story comes from.
There was a salmon in ancient Ireland — the Salmon of Knowledge — who had spent its life swimming in sacred waters and feeding on hazelnuts from a magical tree at the edge of a well. It was said that whoever caught this salmon and ate it would acquire all the knowledge in the world.
An old druid had been trying to catch this salmon for seven years. Finally, one day, he did.
He built a fire on the riverbank and told his apprentice, Fionn, to mind the fire and cook the fish. Two caveats: Don't let it burn. And don't eat any of it.
So that's what Fionn did.
But as these things go, Fionn noticed a blister rising on the skin of the salmon. He pressed his thumb down to smooth it out. Burned his thumb, and stuck it in his mouth to cool it.
And suddenly, he had acquired all the wisdom of the world.
He didn't mean to. He didn't even catch the fish. But he tended the fire. Respected his teacher. And burned his thumb by accident.
When his teacher saw Fionn shining with wisdom, he wasn't mad. He was delighted — accepting that Fionn was destined to have it.
I spent my twenties feeding the fire.
Traveling and studying with writers and wildcrafters, nuns, neurobiologists and elders. As the youngest in an Irish Catholic family of seven, I was well-supplied with elders.
I opened a wellness center, then a bookstore and yoga studio. I worked hands-on as a Clinical Herbalist, Somatic Coach, and Bodywork Therapist, with nervous systems in every state of wellness, illness, overwhelm, and sensitivity.
I was burning through knowledge – classes, teachers, traditions, degrees – without ever stopping long enough to let any of it become wisdom.
There's a difference between feeding and tending a fire. I was doing the first.
Running three businesses, caring for aging parents, taking on one more thing even when there was no room left – I was using everything I knew to help everyone around me.
I forgot to include myself.
Then a longtime client looked at me and said: "Honey, I think you're the one who needs the massage." And then she paid me double.
She was right.
I wasn't bouncing back the way I did at twenty. Shortly after, my body staged a full intervention — fatigue, brain fog, mystery symptoms. The whole you can't keep doing life like this starter pack.
Eventually, I had to close my business and focus on myself. Very challenging. Highly recommend avoiding the crash route.
That descent taught me more than anything I'd studied.
Because I didn't just learn about thresholds — I crossed them. I got burned. I had to stop, tend the fire, and cook the fish responsibly.
I learned to catch early signals before they become a crash. To track patterns across weeks and months, and to distinguish between I'm tired but I can push through and I'm tired and the price of pushing through is going to be higher than it's worth.
If you have a body that's more tuned in than most, one that picks up more, holds more, and hits its limits faster and harder, you have to build a relationship with your own capacity in ways most people never have to develop.
That became some of the most important work I know how to do. And the most important work I do with others.
What I came back with wasn't a system or a method. I came back with thirty years of gathered tools — mythology, plant medicine, ancestral lineage work, somatics, story, and the ancient traditions of Ireland and Scotland where my people are from.
If a university ever offered a degree in "a bunch of weird shit," I'd be first in line. Instead I got a BA in Writing & Holistic Studies — mythology, folklore, embodiment, and the ways stories take root in the body. Which is close.
The Work I Do Now
I'm not an expert in any one thing. I don't teach a tradition.
I tend the fire while people find their way through.
The people who helped me most weren't the ones with all the answers. They were the ones who genuinely lit up when I found mine. After thirty years, that's the only kind of guide I want to be.
This work is for you if you're navigating a life transition — in work, health, identity, relationships, grief, or purpose.
Especially if you're someone whose system runs deep and sensitive, who's been trying to manage it alone, and who's ready to stop white-knuckling and start actually tending.
In my experience, the salmon always finds its way to the right person. If you're wondering whether that's you — let's talk about it.
Erin doesn’t do surface-level conversations. From the moment you meet her, you’re talking about things that actually matter — the kind of 4-a.m., six-pack conversations that we had in broad daylight—exactly where they belong. She just lives there. It’s refreshing and grounding at the same time.
Amy Funderburk
Award Winning Visionary Artist,
Arts Educator, and Freelance Writer
Information about my formal training and professional background, live here.
And if you’re wondering whether this work fits where you are right now, we can talk.
Learn more about the Embodied Clarity Session.
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Well, you've made it this far so... here's six things about me you might not guess:
I love tea, and if you came to my house, I’d offer you a cup. And keep offering until you said yes. Because saying no isn’t really an option. (It's an Irish thing).
I play fiddle, mandolin, and banjo, mostly in the "old-time" tradition. Think songs about drinking, love, raising a ruckus, and losing an eye—sometimes all in one song!
I’ve lived in an Airstream and a tipi. I spent my 20s traveling around, studying with writers, wild-crafters, nuns, scientists, poets, magic-makers, neurobiologists, and healers. I love meeting all kinds of people.
Yes, that is my natural hair, and yes, it’s naturally curly. I found my first strand of silver at 12. (I’ve been told it’s a sign of wisdom, but I used it to buy a six-pack at 16. So…you be the judge.)
I’m a dual U.S./Irish citizen and a student of Irish Gaelic. While my Irish isn’t perfect (at all), I know “Is fearr Gaeilge briste, ná Béarla cliste”—“Broken Irish is better than clever English.”
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Join the list for stories, reflections, and things that help you think more clearly in the middle of change.
For sensitive humans only. (Okay, maybe other-than-humans too.)