Understanding Yin and Yang: How Imbalance Affects Health and Wellness in Modern Life

In the I Ching (or Book of Changes), the number “six” is assigned the attribute of Yin, while the number “nine” is associated with Yang. As such, the term “Chongyang” (重阳), meaning “Double Nine,” is derived from the idea that “two nines come together, the sun and the moon align in Yang.” This term refers to a situation where two qualities, both of which are Yang, coexist at the same time. A good example of this is the concept of midday—the moment when the sun reaches its peak in the sky. Since daytime is considered Yang, and midday is the most Yang part of the day, it can be called “the Yang of Yang,” or “Chongyang.”

This duality of Yin and Yang also manifests in traditional Chinese medicine (TCM), where it helps link human illnesses to the attributes of natural weather patterns. For example, summer is associated with Yang, and hot days in summer are considered the “Yang of summer.” If someone catches a cold or suffers from a seasonal illness during the peak heat of summer, this can also be seen as an expression of “Chongyang.” Yin and Yang are interdependent and constantly influence each other, in a dynamic process of balance and transformation. In TCM, there’s a saying: “When Yang reaches its extreme, it gives birth to Yin.” This concept—”extreme Yang leads to Yin”—reflects the natural ebb and flow between the two forces.

In terms of seasonal changes, when the warmth of spring reaches its peak in summer, it gradually begins to shift towards the coldness of autumn and winter. Similarly, the body’s internal Yin and Yang dynamics follow this principle. For instance, extreme heat can give way to cold, and in TCM, diagnoses and treatments often follow this pattern. Heat-related conditions can transform into conditions of deficiency and coldness, and TCM would use warming herbs and treatments to restore balance.

The Summer That Almost Broke Me

It was the kind of summer in Texas that could make anyone lose their mind. The air was thick, like breathing in a wet blanket, and the sun had no mercy. Every day, the heat hit like an uninvited guest that overstayed its welcome, a guest that, no matter how much you tried to ignore it, somehow kept making itself more and more known.

Anna, a schoolteacher in her mid-thirties, was no stranger to the heat. She had lived in Austin her whole life, so summer wasn’t anything new. But this year felt different. There was a sense of restlessness in the air, a feeling she couldn’t shake, like something inside her was out of balance. She couldn’t focus. She couldn’t sleep. And worst of all, she couldn’t breathe.

Her symptoms started small, subtle—a headache in the morning, a little tightness in her chest, a persistent fatigue that lingered no matter how much water she drank or how much air conditioning she cranked up. But as the days went on, they grew stronger, more intense. By mid-July, she was walking through life in a haze, struggling to remember simple things, feeling like a version of herself that had been hollowed out.

It wasn’t just the heat. It was everything—the stress at work, the expectations of her family, the pressures to be more, do more, without ever seeming to need a break. Like the sun that never set, it all just kept bearing down on her.

One night, as she sat on her porch, sweating in the oppressive air, she remembered something her grandmother had once told her about balance, about Yin and Yang. Her grandmother had always said, “When the heat is at its peak, something has to give. Too much sun will turn into rain.” Anna had never understood that phrase until now.

The next morning, her symptoms worsened—chills that made her teeth chatter and a sense of dizziness that made it hard to stand. She felt as if her body was on fire one moment, and frozen the next. Anna tried to brush it off, telling herself it was just the heat messing with her. But deep down, she knew something was wrong.

It was a Saturday when she finally decided to see Dr. Liu, an older Chinese-American doctor who had been practicing in the area for years. He was known for his unconventional methods, blending Eastern and Western medicine in ways that confused most of his patients but always seemed to work. Anna figured she had nothing to lose.

Dr. Liu greeted her with a kind, almost knowing smile. After a brief conversation, he asked her to lie down for a pulse reading. His fingers were light but steady on her wrist, as if reading the story of her body.

“You’re out of balance,” he said softly. “Your body’s Yin and Yang are off.”

Anna didn’t quite understand what he meant, but she nodded, desperate for answers.

Dr. Liu explained in a way that felt more like a conversation than a diagnosis. “In Chinese medicine, we believe that when the weather becomes too hot, the body heats up as well. This creates an imbalance, especially in the summer. The body can’t cool down, and it starts to overheat. Just like how, when it’s too sunny, you might long for a storm, your body might long for its opposite—cold, rest, calm. Too much Yang, not enough Yin.”

Anna tried to process what he was saying, but the words didn’t quite make sense until he continued. “Your fatigue, your confusion, even your cold spells… this is your body trying to balance the heat. You’re suffering from what we call ‘excess Yang’—the heat has overwhelmed you.”

He prescribed a treatment of cooling herbs and acupuncture, designed to bring her internal temperature down and restore balance. But what struck Anna the most wasn’t the herbs or the needles—it was the idea of balance. The realization that what she had been feeling wasn’t just physical. It was a deeper imbalance, one that mirrored everything in her life. Her work, her relationships, her own sense of self—all had been in overdrive, just like the Texas sun, never giving her the rest or relief she needed.

Over the next few weeks, as she followed Dr. Liu’s treatment, something began to shift in her. Slowly, the exhaustion that had weighed on her so heavily began to lift. The fog in her mind cleared, and she found herself breathing easier. She even started sleeping better, a luxury she hadn’t enjoyed in months. More than that, she found herself questioning the pace of her life. The endless to-do lists, the social obligations, the work that never ended—it was all too much.

It was as if the physical treatment had sparked a shift in her mind and soul as well. She realized that in trying to keep up with everything and everyone, she had neglected the most important thing: balance.

In time, Anna took a step back. She started setting boundaries at work, saying no to extra responsibilities. She took Sundays off—no emails, no grading papers—just a day to rest and restore her own sense of peace. The heat of summer still beat down outside, but she had learned that when the sun was at its highest, the body and spirit could find their way back to calm.

By the end of the season, something inside her had changed. She no longer felt like she was drowning in the heat; instead, she felt more grounded, more attuned to her own needs. The air, once stifling, now seemed more breathable. She had learned the hard way that in life, as in nature, balance is everything—too much of one thing can bring everything crashing down, but with a little space for both Yin and Yang, the world seems to make a lot more sense.

This isn’t just Anna’s story—it’s something we all can relate to. How often do we push ourselves too hard, believing we can handle the heat, believing we can keep up with the world around us? Sometimes, it takes a crisis—a physical or emotional breakdown—to make us realize that we need to slow down, to rebalance, to rest. This is the message: balance isn’t just a concept from an ancient book—it’s the key to surviving the modern world. When you feel like you’re on the edge, remember that heat can turn into rain, and sometimes you need to let go of the pressure before it breaks you.

Through Anna’s journey, we see the power of understanding our own rhythms and the world around us. And just like the seasons shift, we too have the power to change.