Discover why Nicole King is so passionate about helping over-functioning moms with secret body shame to stop collapsing, start nourishing — and build body trust.
Discover why Nicole King is so passionate about helping over-functioning moms with secret body shame to stop collapsing, start nourishing — and build body trust.
Author of "Listening to Your Body | The Path to Balance"
Founder of Balanced Being Nutrition
Certified Nutritionist
Author of "Listening to Your Body | The Path to Balance"
Founder of Balanced Being Nutrition
Speaker, Coach & Guide for Women Healing Food Stress & Body Trust
I had spent years performing strength—managing everything, holding it all together, performing wellness on the outside while breaking inside—but inside, I was unraveling—even though I was checking all the boxes of what 'wellness' was supposed to look like.
Most days, I’d drop my kids off at school, then collapse into bed and sleep until just before they came home. I’d wake up groggy, numb, and flooded with guilt. I remember thinking, “What kind of mom are you?” and “Can you just leave me alone so I can silently not exist?” That was when it hit me: I wasn’t thriving. I wasn’t even functioning. I was disappearing.
I had spent years performing strength—managing everything, holding it all together, performing wellness on the outside while breaking inside—but inside, I was unraveling—even though I was checking all the boxes of what 'wellness' was supposed to look like.
Most days, I’d drop my kids off at school, then collapse into bed and sleep until just before they came home. I’d wake up groggy, numb, and flooded with guilt. I remember thinking, “What kind of mom are you?” and “Can you just leave me alone so I can silently not exist?” That was when it hit me: I wasn’t thriving. I wasn’t even functioning. I was disappearing.
Someone truly saw me—not what I did, not what I carried, but me—and something shifted. They saw how much I was holding without complaint… and didn’t look away. And for the first time, I realized: maybe I didn’t have to keep performing strength to be worthy of rest.
I felt safe enough to be tired. To not have all the answers. And in that safety, I started making different choices.
Not to prove anything. Not to be good. But because I wanted to feel. I began moving my body and eating in a way that honored me. I didn’t need to be perfect. I just needed to be honest. And that changed everything.
Someone truly saw me—not what I did, not what I carried, but me—and something shifted. They saw how much I was holding without complaint… and didn’t look away. And for the first time, I realized: maybe I didn’t have to keep performing strength to be worthy of rest.
I felt safe enough to be tired. To not have all the answers. And in that safety, I started making different choices.
Not to prove anything. Not to be good. But because I wanted to feel. I began moving my body and eating in a way that honored me. I didn’t need to be perfect. I just needed to be honest. And that changed everything.
For once, I didn’t have to pretend. I didn’t have to push. I didn’t have to explain why I was tired, or feel guilty for changing my mind. The pressure to perform, to prove, to be “on” all the time—vanished.
And in that stillness, I heard my truth.
I realized how often I’d abandoned myself in the name of being reliable, likable, capable. How I’d believed that slowing down meant I didn’t want life badly enough. But in the quiet, I saw it clearly: honoring my body wasn’t weakness—it was wisdom. And I started choosing from that place—and began building boundaries that honored the life I was finally willing to live.
That’s when survival stopped being the only way I knew how to live—and I started nourishing myself—not just with food, but with rest, truth, and boundaries—and slowly rebuilt trust with my body, even when it felt unfamiliar.
For once, I didn’t have to pretend. I didn’t have to push. I didn’t have to explain why I was tired, or feel guilty for changing my mind. The pressure to perform, to prove, to be “on” all the time—vanished.
And in that stillness, I heard my truth.
I realized how often I’d abandoned myself in the name of being reliable, likable, capable. How I’d believed that slowing down meant I didn’t want life badly enough. But in the quiet, I saw it clearly: honoring my body wasn’t weakness—it was wisdom. And I started choosing from that place—and began building boundaries that honored the life I was finally willing to live.
That’s when survival stopped being the only way I knew how to live—and I started nourishing myself—not just with food, but with rest, truth, and boundaries—and slowly rebuilt trust with my body, even when it felt unfamiliar.
I’d love to hear your story and support you on your next step.
I’d love to hear your story and support you on your next step!
For any questions or concerns please email [email protected].