Six weeks to get to the root of why the guilt keeps coming back, so a hard moment stops feeling like the truth about you, and the evenings go back to being yours.
For mums who are trying so hard, and still end the day feeling like it wasn't enough.
497 from the next round.
I run every part of it myself, so the group is small.
This is the heart of it, live with me. The change begins on the call, and the small practices between them are what anchor it in. Recorded and shared after, so a bad bedtime never puts you behind.
Three or so gentle things, sized for the gaps in your day. A check-in on the loo, a kind line stuck by the kettle, one moment you notice instead of trying to fix. There's no homework here, and nothing to get wrong.
Mums working the same week you are, so the nights you'd normally spend analysing it, you've got people who get it.
Direct access when your moment happens on a Tuesday afternoon, not just on call day. This is the part a course can't give you.
One moment, a few pages. Deliberately light, because overwhelm is the thing we're undoing, not adding to.





Calm voice, patience and the deep breaths you've read about a hundred times, all ready. Then the shoes wouldn't go on, you'd asked three times, and you can hear your voice changing. Again.
Teatime, and you've had enough. Too much noise, and no one is listening. The fourth reminder became the snap, the exact thing you promised yourself at breakfast wouldn't happen today.
They're asleep. You're on the landing, still thinking about every moment you lost it. And underneath the guilt is the thought that does the real damage. Other mums manage this. What is wrong with me?
If that could have been your house today, you're in the right place. Nothing is wrong with you, and you're not alone. Something is driving this, and it isn't what you think it is.
The thought that you're failing them is an old feeling wearing a very convincing costume.
You've read the books. You've done the breathing. You've got the gentle words on a card stuck to the fridge. And in the moment, not one of them is there for you.
Every tool you've been given works on the moment itself, the yelling, the guilt, the bedtime battle. Underneath the moment sits a belief that's been running for years, from long before you were a mother. It says you're only doing well when everyone around you is happy.
So every time they're upset, somewhere deep down it gets filed as proof you've failed. That's why the guilt keeps coming back no matter how hard you try. No breathing exercise can reach it, because it was never a parenting gap. It's a worth gap.
The mums I work with are not short of effort. They're short of the one piece nobody ever showed them, where the guilt comes from.
The shoes still won't go on. You feel the heat rise, and it doesn't tip you over, because you know exactly what it is now and where it comes from.
The fourth reminder stays a reminder. You hold your ground with warmth, let them be disappointed, and it isn't proof of anything about you.
There's nothing to analyse, fix or replay. The evening belongs to you: a book, a film, a chat, or an early night taken without guilt.
Your children didn't change. The story running underneath the moment did. And the woman you miss turns out to be closer than she feels.
One moment, followed all the way down.
A six-week space where we take one moment you keep losing, the one you go over at night, and follow it down to what has been driving it for years. It's the work underneath every parenting strategy you've tried.
That thought at the end of a hard day loosens its grip once you see what it really is.
We follow the moment you keep losing down to what's been driving it, so you understand yourself instead of just managing the day.
You get your own steadiness back, so you can hold your ground with warmth.
Map the moment that keeps repeating and see when it fires. You leave with the one situation you'll work on for all six weeks, and the relief of seeing a pattern instead of a fault.
The frustration and powerlessness under the moment gets named, felt and no longer fed, so the fourth reminder stops turning into the snap.
The part of you that keeps explaining is trying to keep you safe from being a bad mum. You meet her, hear what she's afraid of, and the shame starts to ease.
Down past "if they're upset, I've failed" to the belief underneath it. This is the week it comes into the light.
The old belief starts to change into "I am enough as I am, and love can hold a boundary." This is where you give yourself the permission you've been trying to earn.
One boundary that is for you, held with warmth while the feelings are allowed to come. You've felt, once, what it is to be enough without proving it.
"Just learning how to pause, and reading the situation instead of letting it control me. I react a lot more calmly now."
Rachel · in her own words
It's for the mum who is trying so hard it hurts. She has read the books and done the courses, knows what she's supposed to do in the moment, and still watches herself not do it. Most days end somewhere between guilt, tears and exhaustion. It's inner work, so it will ask something of you: a willingness to look underneath your own moment, gently, with someone alongside you.
If you're looking for a technique to make children behave, this will frustrate you. Your child isn't the project here. You are, in the kindest possible sense. If you want one hard moment to stop feeling like the truth about who you are, this was built for you, tired and all.
I'm also a mum who spent years lying awake replaying the moments I wished had gone differently, certain I was failing my kids.
I was diagnosed with lupus a week after I got married. I raised my first through a fog of fatigue and fear, and I was an insomniac by the time my second came. I went back to work on the first morning of the pandemic, in chronic pain, snapping at the babies I loved so fiercely. Most nights my journal arrived at the same three words. Helpless. Powerless. I want out.
What I found in the end was why the guilt kept coming back, however hard I tried. It came from an old belief that I was only enough when everyone was happy and I never caused upset. Once I could see it, everything began to shift.
Now I help other mums get there faster. I've kept The Root Reset small and reachable, in time and in cost, because I never wanted either to be the reason another mum stayed stuck for one more year.
Still a busy household with real chaos. The difference is what it all means now.
I run The Root Reset myself, live, with direct access between the calls. That only stays real in a small group, so I'll know your name, the moment you're working on, and when you've gone quiet.
The founding group starts on Monday 19 October and runs for six weeks. Doors close on Friday 16 October at midnight.
The founding price is £297, in exchange for some honest feedback along the way, or two monthly payments of £148.50. From the next round it will be £497.
I never wanted cost to be the reason a mum stayed stuck another year.
You'll get an email straight away with everything you need, the time of the first call, and one small first thing to do that has nothing to do with your children.
The overwhelm is the reason this exists. Six weeks, one moment, one outcome.
It's one live call a week, recorded if bedtime wins, and a few small practices sized for the gaps in your day. It was built from the start for a mum with no spare hours.
Everything you've tried sat on top of the pattern. The books, the courses and the breathing all work on the moment itself.
This is aimed at the worth belief underneath the moment, which is why the good work you've already done kept sliding off. I've done therapy, and it helped me understand where things came from. Coaching is where the change finally happened for me, because the work is as much about what you do next as what you uncover. Once this shifts, the tools you've collected start to work.
You've been trying to, alone, for years. This root is hard to see from the inside, because the belief doing the driving is also the one doing the looking. It's harder still when the people closest to you hold that belief in place without ever meaning to.
That's why it helps to have someone alongside you whose happiness isn't your job. I couldn't see mine on my own either.
Every call is recorded and shared afterwards, and you can reach me between the calls, so a missed call never means a lost week.
The boundary in this work is for you, held with warmth while your child is allowed their feelings about it. This is the gentle parenting you always wanted, with the missing piece put back in.
It's also how your children learn to hold their own boundaries one day, by watching you do it.
No. It's coaching, built from lived experience rather than a clinical background. It works well alongside therapy or medical care, and it's never a replacement for them if that's what you need.
You can close this tab, and things stay as they are. The mornings, the third reminder, going over every mistake at nine o'clock. You'd cope, because you always do, and the guilt would keep adding to its list against you.
Or you join us, and from 19 October you finally get underneath it, in a small group of mums who get it, with me alongside you the whole way.
You spend your days taking care of everyone else. Let this be the six weeks where someone takes care of you. I'd love to have you in the founding group.
Christine xx
Doors close Friday 16 October at midnight.
You're not failing, and you're not alone, even on the days it feels that way.