What I’ve Learned About Inner Healing

Allowing Presence to Lead

While I was writing this article, someone very dear to me called in a state of intense anxiety.

His voice was tight. His breath was short. I could feel sensation in my chest as I listened — not panic, not overwhelm, just movement. We didn’t try to eliminate the emotion. We stayed with it. I asked him to notice what he was feeling and to rate the intensity. Slowly, as he allowed the sensation instead of fighting it, his voice softened. He told me the intensity was going down.

The calm didn’t come because we forced it. It came because the emotion was finally allowed.

That moment reflects what I have learned in my healing sessions.

How People Arrive

People who come to my healing sessions don’t arrive in one single way.

Some come in tears. Others arrive calm but internally overwhelmed. Some come with racing thoughts, resistance, strong questions, or a clear intention to change. Others feel disconnected from themselves but cannot quite explain why.

I don’t try to shape how they should show up. I meet them where they are. We begin with what is present.

If someone needs to speak, they speak. If someone needs to feel, we feel. If someone needs clarity in their thinking, we explore their thoughts. If the body is loud, we follow sensation.

Just come as you are.

Mind and Body: Two Doorways

I work with both the mind and the body, and over time I’ve learned that either one can open the whole system.

There are sessions where clarity in the mind brings immediate relief to the body. A new understanding reorganizes everything. The shoulders soften. The breath deepens. It can feel almost magical.

There are other sessions where allowing sensation in the body clears the mind without forcing insight. The thinking settles naturally.

And often, we move between the two.

I used to believe one was more important than the other. Experience has shown me that both matter deeply. When they integrate, the shift is stronger and more complete.

Healing, as I see it, is not choosing one doorway. It is recognizing that both are connected.

Entering the Unknown

One of the most important things I’ve learned is to be comfortable not knowing.

I don’t enter sessions thinking I already understand the person in front of me. I don’t diagnose them in my mind before they speak. I don’t impose a theory onto their experience.

I used to do that more. I used to interpret quickly. I’ve let that go.

Now, I allow presence to lead.

Which means I stay fully here, not in my mind trying to fix or control. I stay with what is unfolding and let what needs to unfold, unfold.

It feels like walking into a dark house together. They show me the rooms. They show me the corners they don’t understand or feel afraid of. We walk slowly. We observe. We begin to connect what once felt disconnected.

Room by room, light turns on.

At the end, it often feels obvious. Logical. Clear.

How could I not see this before?

But clarity didn’t come from forcing an answer. It came from staying in the unknown long enough for the structure to reveal itself.

That space of not knowing is also where creativity appears. Sometimes a question arises that I hadn’t planned. Sometimes an image. Sometimes a new way of breathing, or using the voice differently. Sometimes a meditation unfolds in a way I could not have scripted. Sometimes a metaphor or visualization appears that feels completely customized for the person in front of me. Sometimes silence. Sometimes laughter.

Every session is different. Even if something worked beautifully with someone else, I don’t rely on repeating it. The moment is new. The person is new.

I stay fully present and let what needs to unfold, unfold.

How the Shift Happens

I don’t usually notice a dramatic turning point. The shift is often subtle.

A person may arrive tense and gradually soften. Their breath becomes deeper. Their voice steadier. Their body feels less inflated.

Then there is often a quiet realization.

“I’ve never seen it this way before.”

“I didn’t think this was possible.”

“I feel relieved.”

Sometimes there is excitement — almost like fireworks. Other times there is deep calm. A grounded peace.

There is no warranty in this work. I cannot guarantee outcomes. Healing is not something I impose or deliver alone. It unfolds through their willingness, their honesty, their courage to stay.

But what I have observed, again and again, is that when clarity integrates through both body and mind, it lasts.

Not because life becomes perfect. But because something reorganizes at the root.

Tears and Connection

When people cry, I sometimes allow myself to let tears come too.

Not from overwhelm. Not because I am destabilized. But because I am fully feeling with them, without resistance. The emotion can move through me without getting stuck.

I am steady inside it.

And that shared allowing often gives them permission to continue releasing. It creates connection. It tells them, without words, that they are not alone in the feeling.

Their experience is theirs. Mine is mine. I don’t project my story onto them. I explore their experience with them.

If I ever feel suffering or resistance inside myself, I take that as my own work. That is empowerment, not blame. If something hurts in me, it belongs to me.

Most of the time now, there is very little resistance.

What Matured in Me

In the beginning of my practice, I often left sessions feeling euphoric — expanded, almost high from the intensity of transformation.

Now I feel neutral. Calm. Steady.

What matured in me is this: I let go of the responsibility of healing them.

I guide. I ask what they think. I share what I see and ask if it resonates. They are free to disagree. They are free to resist. I honor their perception. There is no hierarchy here.

We explore together.

I allow presence to lead.

And from that place, healing unfolds in its own way.

In the End

This is not a rigid method. It is what I have learned.

I am comfortable not knowing.

I stay present.

I work with mind and body.

I honor individuality.

I allow creativity.

And slowly, like walking through a dark house and turning on the lights one by one, things become clear.

Not because I forced it.

But because it was allowed.