What If Your Mind Is Not Broken, Just Out of Balance?

How Ayurveda reframes mental health through the lens of the gunas—three qualities that shape the mind

Namaste and welcome to my newsletter, where I try to demystify Ayurveda, making it approachable, useful, and never overwhelming.

This post is a day late (I am the one who sets my schedule - so you may not know it’s late but I intended to post this yesterday. I am challenging myself to attempt two posts a week. One on Wednesday and the other on Saturday. Attempt is the keyword here :) Okay now you know about the inner workings of my monkey brain - here’s what we’ll be talking about today.

Photo by David Pisnoy on Unsplash

Last week, I introduced Ayurveda’s take on the mind—and if your brain responded with a slight head tilt and a quiet “hmm… okay, but what does that actually mean?” you’re not alone.

Sometimes Ayurveda offers these big, beautiful ideas that sound poetic… until you try to apply them.

Like the gunas—spelled गुण in Sanskrit (pronounced goon-uh)—the three qualities said to shape the mind:

• Sattva: clarity and balance

• Rajas: restlessness and drive

• Tamas: heaviness and inertia

Lovely in theory. Trickier in real life.

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What exactly is a guna?

A guna is a quality. A property. A way something simply is. It’s not good or bad—it just describes a characteristic. A guna doesn’t judge. It just tells you what’s present. Sattva is the quality of light, harmony, balance. Rajas is the energy of movement, ambition, action. Tamas is the heaviness of inertia, dullness, stillness. The gunas aren’t something outside of us; they’re woven into every moment, every mood, every reaction.

We experience them all, every day. Waking up in a peaceful, clear state? Sattva. Spinning into a frantic flurry of tasks and overthinking? Rajas. Curling up on the couch, unable to move, weighed down by the world? Tamas.

The gunas aren’t asking us to rank these states as better or worse. They’re simply showing us what’s here. They remind us that the mind isn’t static, isn’t fixed in one state, isn’t defined by one moment. The mind moves. It shifts. It cycles through these qualities, sometimes within the same hour.

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Why does any of this matter?

Why learn about sattva, rajas, tamas—these ancient Sanskrit words that, at first, sound like they belong in a philosophy class rather than in the middle of your messy, modern life?

Here’s why: the gunas offer a gentler, less judgmental way to understand ourselves.

Instead of labeling myself “lazy” when I can’t get off the couch, or “anxious” when my mind won’t stop racing, I can pause and say: “Ah. This is tamas.” Or, “Oh, this is rajas showing up.” It doesn’t make the feeling magically disappear. But it does something small—and important: it reminds me I’m not broken. I’m not failing. I’m just experiencing a shift in qualities. And once I name it, I can work with it.

That’s the part I wish I’d learned sooner. Growing up—and even well into adulthood—I thought I had to “fix” myself anytime I wasn’t in a state of calm and focus. I thought certain feelings meant something was wrong with me. Or that this is how I will always be. But the gunas gave me a new lens. They showed me that fluctuation is natural. That balance is something we tend toward, not something we permanently “achieve.” That movement between these qualities is part of being human.

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The more I understand the gunas, the more I see them at play in my everyday life. I see them in the way my mood shifts depending on what I eat, how I sleep, who I’m around. I see them in how my mind responds to stimulation—whether it’s too much caffeine, too many tabs open on my laptop, or too many hours spent scrolling Instagram. I see them in how I start my mornings, how I end my nights.

Knowing the gunas doesn’t mean I live in perfect balance. Far from it. But it gives me a way to notice. To pause. To make small shifts. If I’m spinning in rajas, maybe I step away from the screens. If I’m sinking into tamas, maybe I go outside and move my body. And when sattva shows up—when there’s clarity, calm, lightness—I let myself stay there a little longer.

Understanding the gunas hasn’t changed my life overnight. But it’s changed the way I relate to my life. It’s given me a language, a softness, a way of seeing that’s less harsh, less punishing, more forgiving. And maybe that’s the first step toward healing: not rushing to fix every feeling or reaction, but noticing what’s here—and trusting it will shift.

The gunas aren’t a checklist or a cure. They’re a map. And they remind me that every moment is a new moment, a chance to notice, a chance to tend, a chance to begin again.

Photo by David Zieglgänsberger on Unsplash

Maybe we’re all a little like this paintbrush—carrying many colors at once. Calm and restless, clear and foggy, energized and tired, hopeful and heavy. It’s all part of being human. Nothing stays still forever. Nothing’s “wrong” for showing up. The colors shift. The moods move. And maybe that’s the real balance—not staying one way, but learning to flow with the changes.

Until next time.

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Namaste,