The Becoming: How Reiki Led Me Back to the Bible

Some people will never understand my spiritual journey.

And honestly… I’ve made peace with that.

There was a season where being misunderstood crushed me. I wanted to explain myself. Defend myself. Correct every assumption people made about me. Some called me a witch simply because I wore head wraps, dressed in white, talked about energy, healing, grounding, or because my spiritual language no longer sounded boxed in by fear.

What made it ironic was this:

I grew up in a Holiness church.

The women wore white.

The missionaries wore white stockings and white hats.

Speaking in tongues was normal.

Casting out demons was normal.

Spiritual warfare was normal.

Spiritual experiences were not foreign to me.

Fear was just attached to them early.

When I was four or five years old, I began experiencing things I didn’t understand. I remember running to my grandfather terrified after seeing what I thought was a spirit across the street in our neighbor’s yard. Instead of feeling guided, I felt ashamed. I was told things like,

“If you weren’t so mean, you wouldn’t see stuff.”

Other times:

“That’s just the devil.”

Then a few days later, we learned the woman across the street had taken her own life.

As a child, I didn’t fully understand what had happened. I only knew that something about that moment stayed with me. Not because I believed I was powerful or because I now romanticize childhood spiritual experiences, but because it marked the beginning of fear becoming attached to my sensitivity.

I became afraid of myself.

And I think many spiritually sensitive children grow up this way. Nobody teaches them discernment. Nobody teaches them emotional safety. Nobody teaches them how to process fear, intuition, anxiety, trauma, or spiritual experiences in a grounded way.

They just learn suppression.

Looking back now as an adult, that moment humbles me differently. Because people can be carrying pain nobody sees. People can smile publicly while suffering privately. People can live right across the street from your life while silently drowning internally.

That realization shaped me deeply.

It’s one of the reasons I now believe compassion, emotional support, mental health care, discernment, and spiritual grounding all matter together — not separately.

For years, I tried to pray over wounds I had never actually healed.

I knew how to cry at the altar.

I knew how to shout.

I knew how to fast.

I knew how to “press through.”

But nobody taught me how to sit with myself.

Nobody taught me how trauma lives in the body.

Nobody taught me that you cannot scream your way into wholeness while ignoring what’s broken underneath.

So when I eventually found myself exploring holistic healing spaces, conscious communities, grounding practices, and Reiki, it wasn’t because I was trying to rebel against God.

It was because I was trying to find myself.

And before anyone misunderstands me, let me say this clearly:

I am not saying every spiritual practice is safe.

I am not saying every path leads to truth.

And I am not saying intentions alone equal discernment.

That would be irresponsible.

But I am saying this:

God has a way of meeting sincere people in unexpected places.

What shocked me most was that Reiki didn’t pull me away from God.

It pushed me back toward Him.

During my Reiki II certification, a statement was made that unsettled me so deeply I stopped doodling in my notebook and went home to read my Bible for the first time in over a year.

And this time, I read it differently.

Not from fear.

Not from obligation.

Not trying to earn God.

I read it hungry.

The deeper I read, the more I realized I had spent years performing spirituality without understanding embodiment.

I had been taught behavior modification.

I had been taught religious performance.

I had been taught how to look holy.

But I had not been taught how to become whole.

Suddenly, scriptures I had heard my entire life opened differently. Jesus talked about the Kingdom within. Paul talked about the war within himself. Healing was not just physical. Transformation was not just external. Faith was not just emotional excitement during Sunday service.

It was becoming.

And maybe that’s why my life began changing from the inside out.

Not because I became more powerful.

Not because I became more mystical.

But because I became more honest.

Honest about my trauma.

Honest about my exhaustion.

Honest about the ways fear had shaped my spirituality.

The healing softened me.

A woman once messaged me and said,

“Your voice sounds lighter now.”

And she was right.

Because when your nervous system finally feels safe, your soul stops screaming for survival.

Even my parenting changed.

Years ago, if one of my daughters had come to me talking about another religion or spiritual path, I probably would have panicked. I would’ve grabbed the oil bottle and gone into spiritual warfare mode.

But healing changed me.

So when my daughter told me she wanted to convert to Islam, I simply listened.

She looked shocked and asked,

“You’re not mad?”

And I remember realizing something in that moment:

Control is not the same thing as conviction.

Love does not require fear.

That doesn’t mean I abandoned my faith. It means my faith matured enough to stop trying to force people into transformation through panic.

My journey will not make sense to everyone.

And I’m no longer trying to make it digestible for people committed to misunderstanding me.

But if there’s one thing I know now, it’s this:

Not every unconventional journey is rebellion.

Sometimes it is a woman slowly finding her way back to herself… and back to God at the same time.

Maybe that’s what The Becoming really is.

Not perfection.

Not performance.

Not superiority.

Just the sacred process of becoming whole enough to stop abandoning yourself.