Why I coach Shadow Work

My name is Missie Pace—though my birth certificate says Melissa. Somewhere along the way, that name changed, and in many ways, so did I. Please note, there could be parts of my story that you find trigging in your own story, read with caution.

I grew up as a military child, moving from place to place, though most of my early years were spent in California. My parents separated before I was even two years old, and both eventually remarried, growing our family into a mix of siblings and stepsiblings. I was the oldest—one of only two girls among mostly boys—and I spent most of my childhood living with my mother, stepfather, and two brothers.

From the outside, it may have looked like a full home. But inside, my childhood was anything but easy.

Some of my earliest memories are filled with fear and confusion. I remember sitting at the table for hours, forced to eat when I wasn’t hungry. I remember staying hidden in my room, afraid to come out, listening to the sounds of anger echoing through the house. I didn’t know what I might walk into—or what might happen to me if I was seen at the wrong moment.

Even as a young child, I was trying to understand how to survive.

Anxiety became overwhelming. At times, it felt like the walls were closing in, like I couldn’t breathe. By the age of seven, I ran away, hoping—somehow—that my biological father would notice I was gone and reach out. That same year, I struggled with thoughts no child should ever have, including trying to end my own life.

I grew up being told I didn’t matter. That my voice didn’t count. That my feelings weren’t real. I was called too emotional, too much—and often punished for simply existing. There was physical abuse, emotional neglect, and a constant sense that I needed to stay small to stay safe.

And there were deeper wounds, too—moments of sexual assault that left lasting scars. One of those moments became a turning point in my life. It was the day “Melissa” faded, and “Missie” was born. At 17, I knew I couldn’t stay in that life any longer. I didn’t have a plan, but I knew I had to leave.

What followed was a period of chaos and survival for the next couple of years.

The summer before my senior year, my parents dropped me off in Kansas while they moved on to Pennsylvania. I was left to figure life out on my own. Though I had extended family nearby, they were strangers in many ways, and even those situations became unsafe at times.

I eventually left school, moved in with friends, and tried to navigate adulthood before I was ready. During that time, I fell into heavy partying, substance use, and a deep sense of not wanting to be here anymore. I felt abandoned, heartbroken, and completely untethered.

Eventually, I made my way back to California on a Greyhound bus, returning to the only place that felt somewhat familiar. I was homeless for a time, sleeping on the beach, relying on friends and their families to get by. For months, I lived recklessly, pushing myself to the edge.

Until one moment that changed everything.

My body was not reacting well to the drugs I was on, and a close friend reminded me of who I was—who I could be. And somehow, through everything—even her yelling—that spark inside me responded. I realized I didn’t actually want to die. I wanted to live. I wanted more than survival—I wanted a life.

I began my journey of healing and sobriety.

Not long after turning 20, I found out I was pregnant with my first daughter. Her father was no longer in the picture, and suddenly, everything became very real.

I was terrified.

How do you become a mother when you’ve never experienced healthy love? How do you give a child something you were never given yourself? How do I become a single mom?

I was determined—completely determined—that my daughter would never know the pain I had endured. I was also determined to figure out what I needed to do next.

This time, I didn’t run.

Instead, I leaned into the one thing I did have: community. The people around me in California became my support system. They reminded me I wasn’t alone. And once I accepted my pregnancy, something inside me shifted.

I got to work.

I went back to school. I found ways to earn money. I built a foundation—not just for my child, but for myself. That was the beginning of a new path.

Discovering Shadow Work

Looking back, my journey into healing—what many now call shadow work—started long before I had a name for it. As a child, I knew one thing clearly: I didn’t want to live the life I had been shown. I just didn’t know how to change it yet.

Over the years, through therapy, self-reflection, and a deep desire for something better, I began to unravel the patterns I had inherited. My children became my greatest motivation. They didn’t just depend on me—they inspired me to grow.

I started taking an honest look at myself—my reactions, my pain, my habits. I noticed the ways trauma had shaped me: the need to control, the instinct to people-please, the anger that would surface in unexpected ways. I didn’t like what I saw—but for the first time, I realized I had the power to change it.

So I did.

I began walking away from people and situations that no longer served me. I read, I learned, and I reflected. I became more mindful of how I responded to the world. Instead of reacting from old wounds, I started choosing new actions—ones rooted in awareness and growth.

It wasn’t easy. It took years. But slowly, I began to see myself differently.

I started to understand my “shadow”—the parts of me that had been buried, ignored, or shaped by pain. And instead of running from them, I began to bring them into the light.

Even recently, I’ve faced new challenges—like the fear of being seen. For someone who grew up believing visibility meant danger, stepping forward has been one of the hardest things I’ve done—but also one of the most freeing.

Because healing isn’t about becoming perfect.

It’s about becoming whole.

Where I Am Today

Today, I can say something I never thought possible: I love myself. Not perfectly, not every moment—but deeply and honestly. My life isn’t flawless, but it is peaceful in ways I once couldn’t imagine.

My children are grown now, with families of their own. I’m surrounded by love, by support, by people who walk beside me—not against me. And when life gets hard, I no longer face it alone.

This is the life I fought for.

And if there’s one thing my story has taught me, it’s this:

No matter where you begin, you have the power to change your path.

What Shadow Work Means to Me

Shadow work is about meeting yourself fully, including the parts you might feel ashamed of or afraid to show. It means:

• Acknowledging hidden emotions instead of burying them

• Understanding the roots of your fears and patterns

• Accepting yourself without judgment

• Transforming pain into growth and self-awareness

  
  

I coach shadow work because I want others to experience this kind of healing. Many people live with shadows that limit their happiness and potential. By guiding them through this process, I help them find freedom and peace within themselves.

How I Support Clients in Shadow Work

Coaching shadow work requires a safe and supportive space. I create an environment where clients feel comfortable exploring their inner world without fear of judgment.

My approach includes:

• Listening deeply to understand each person’s unique story

• Asking thoughtful questions that encourage self-reflection

• Providing tools and exercises such as journaling prompts and guided meditations

• Offering gentle guidance to face difficult emotions with courage

  
  

For example, one client struggled with anger that affected her relationships. Through shadow work, she traced this anger back to childhood experiences where she felt unheard. By acknowledging and expressing this pain, she was able to release the anger and build healthier connections.

The Benefits I’ve Witnessed

Shadow work is not just about uncovering pain—it’s about reclaiming your power. I have seen clients experience:

• Greater self-acceptance and confidence

• Improved relationships with others

• Reduced anxiety and emotional reactivity

• A clearer sense of purpose and direction

These changes come from embracing the whole self—not just the parts that feel safe or acceptable.

Why More People Should Explore Shadow Work

Many people avoid shadow work because it feels uncomfortable or overwhelming. But avoiding these parts only keeps us stuck.

When we face our shadows, we gain insight and healing that no quick fix can provide.

If you are drawn to healing and self-discovery, shadow work offers a path to deeper understanding. It invites you to become your own healer—and to live with more honesty and freedom.

Final Thoughts

Coaching shadow work is a calling for me because I know the transformation it brings. It is a journey that requires bravery but rewards you with a richer, more authentic life.

If you feel ready to explore your shadow, I encourage you to take that first step.

Healing begins when you meet yourself with kindness and courage.