Erin Coyle
Embodied Clarity Guide & Writer
Hi there, I'm Erin.
Here's a little about
how I got here.
Growing up as the youngest of seven means you learn pretty quickly how to make people listen.
If you don’t, you risk starving, getting teased to death, or ending up locked in the pantry until your parents come home.
I handled this by keeping notes on the endlessly interesting activities of my much older siblings—and by monetizing my creativity early. Crayon in hand, I was always scribbling, listening, and recording stories like a tiny undercover journalist.
I made fully illustrated, handmade books, stapled them together, and sold them to family members for $1, bites of their sandwiches, or in exchange for keeping their secrets.
“I saw you and Steve passing a funny-looking cigarette in the yard. Look at my picture! Want to buy my book?”
Sometimes I got $2.
If that isn’t early-stage entrepreneurship, I don’t know what is.
I’ve always followed what interested me. And I’ve always cared—a lot.
So naturally, I built an entrepreneurial life.
I sold my art in galleries, lived and worked as an herbalist on a 150-acre farm, opened a wellness center (and later a bookstore and yoga studio), and wrote essays, articles, and a book. If something interested me, I followed it. If someone needed something, I was already halfway to giving it.
I loved helping people. And I loved learning things — all the things. I had a lot of interests. A lot of directions. And not a lot of stopping.
But whenever my body whispered “I’m tired,” I said, “Totally noted — here’s some coffee.” Slowly, I became a one-woman giving machine, the kind of person who could run three businesses, care for aging parents, and still take on one more thing…
even when there was no room left.
I didn’t know it then, but I was living in the same pattern I now help people untangle—caring deeply, following all the things that mattered, and having no clue where to put my energy.
My sensitivity and intuition were a superpower.
Until they weren’t.
Then came the day 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.
Honestly? 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, like a flu that never went away. The whole “you can’t keep doing life like this” starter pack.
I wasn’t exhausted because I was failing. And I sure wasn’t lacking direction. I just had too many of them!
Running businesses, helping others, teaching, being busy all the time, isn't that what a spiritually evolved and mature adult should look like?
(Cue: the laughter of the gods.)
Eventually, I had to close my business and focus on myself. (Very challenging. Highly recommend avoiding the crash route.)
The Return
An economist friend introduced me to the concept of opportunity cost — the shocking idea that if I didn’t take care of myself, I was expecting someone else to. For a lifelong helper, this was… radical.
But he was right.
So I turned toward the deeper work: somatics, nervous system repair, and learning how to actually integrate and digest what I already knew.
There's a downside to spreading yourself too thin and trying to do with all the things. It's hard to lose your sense of what actually matters.
But when I paid attention to where my energy was actually going, my work—and my life—started to change.
The Work I Do Now
Everything I lived through taught me something surprising:
Words aren’t just information.
They’re invocation.
They’re boundaries.
They’re protection.
Today, I help sensitive, thoughtful people figure out where their energy actually goes—and make sure their language supports that, so they can move forward without burning themselves out.
Once we clarify what’s true for you, we start reshaping the places where overgiving hides—often in the language you’ve learned to use to be helpful, professional, or acceptable.
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
What that actually looks like
An About page that stops acting like an invitation to anyone with a pulse
and starts drawing in the people you actually want to work with.
Offers that don’t require you to be someone's emotional support animal
because your compassion has limits (and that’s called being human, not failing).
A booking process that respects your nervous system – and your energy
instead of treating you like a 24/7 on-call healer.
Website writing that stops attracting the clients you’re not available for
especially the ones who show up with “just one quick question…” that never is.
None of this is about becoming “more visible” or “marketing yourself.”
It’s about conserving your energy, honoring your time, and letting your language carry some of the weight you’ve been hauling alone.
If you’d like to know more about my formal training and professional background, you can read my professional biography here.
And if you’re wondering whether this work fits where you are right now, we can talk.
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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.”
Perfect or not, your story matters.
So let’s get it out there.
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For sensitive humans only. (Okay, maybe other-than-humans too.)