My Yamaha 950 VStar
One of the animals I worked with
at a sanctuary
Bella
Kingsley
Norman
For much of my life, I experienced things I didn't understand and didn't have the words to explain.
Growing up, I often felt different. I experienced prejudice and exclusion in the community around me and struggled with a sense that I didn't quite belong—sometimes even within my own family.
I was also affected by tension and fear I didn't yet understand. Over time, I came to believe that perhaps something was wrong with me—that I wasn't good enough, didn't belong, and was somehow responsible for things happening around me.
At the same time, I sensed and experienced things I couldn't explain. Sometimes I simply knew things without understanding how. Much of that felt natural because it had always been part of my life. I just didn't have a way to explain it.
As I grew older, I built a life and thrived in many ways, while still carrying beliefs and experiences I hadn't fully understood or resolved. And the part of me that sensed and knew things never went away.
Years ago, I was in a club when a man approached me and tried to start a conversation. I'm generally someone who will talk with almost anyone, but something about him made me want to walk away. I didn't know why. I just knew I wanted nothing to do with him.
He followed me and became increasingly persistent. Eventually, frustrated, I told him I wasn't interested. When he asked why, I heard myself say, “Well, let's see. We can start with the fact that you're married and have two kids...” I stopped mid-sentence.
The look on his face was sheer horror and disbelief. I suspect mine looked much the same. He quickly moved away, and I hurried into the ladies' room, sat down, put my face in my hands, and tried to understand what had just happened. I remember thinking, I'm not doing that again.
Knowing things without understanding how wasn't unfamiliar to me. What frightened me was how specific that knowing had suddenly become.
That experience didn't give me certainty. It gave me questions. And those questions became part of a search that had already been going on for years.
I was always looking.
Looking for answers. Looking for understanding. Looking for ways to feel better.
When the paths I knew didn't give me the answers I was searching for, I kept exploring. I learned about complementary approaches, talked with people, attended classes, and became willing to consider possibilities I might once have dismissed.
Along the way, I also met people who helped me find language for intuitive experiences that had simply been part of my life. Reiki became another part of that exploration.
Over time, my search for healing and my search for understanding began to come together.
I began to recognize how our experiences, relationships, environments, and the energy around us may affect us in ways we don't always realize. That understanding changed the way I looked at my own story—and the way I listened to the stories of others.
Today, I continue to learn, explore, and do my own healing work. My journey has taught me to remain curious, to listen when someone says something doesn't feel right even when they can't explain why, and to consider that what we can immediately see may not be the whole story.
I've also learned that someone can be moving forward - even thriving - while still carrying something underneath that deserves to be recognized and explored. What we carry can affect us in ways we may not even realize.
That's the perspective I bring to the people and animals I have the privilege of supporting.