This has become one of the biggest differences in how I move through difficult moments now.
I have practices to return to.
Some of them are quiet. Some involve prayer or guided reflection. Some involve the angels. And some are rituals that allow me to work with my hands as well as my spirit.
These practices didn't begin with Angelic Reiki.
For nearly two decades, I have used intention and ritual as part of my spiritual life and my manifestation practice.
I learned that when something existed only in my thoughts, it was easy for my mind to wander. I could worry about it, reconsider it, overthink it, or lose sight of what I actually wanted.
Creating a ritual gave my intention somewhere to go.
I could write down what I was calling into my life or what I was ready to release. I could choose a color that represented what I wanted to focus on. I could light a candle, work with a plant or herb, use salt or water, or prepare a particular space for what I was about to do.
The physical act of preparing these things helped bring me into the present moment.
It centered me.
It grounded me.
And it gave me a way to take something that existed inside my mind and place it in front of me with intention.
That is one of the reasons written intentions have remained especially meaningful to me. Writing requires me to become clear. It slows my thoughts down long enough for me to decide what I am actually asking for, what I am ready to change, or what I am choosing to release.
For many years, this has also been part of how I practice manifestation. I set an intention, give it my focused attention, and then allow my actions and spiritual practice to support what I am working toward.
The tools themselves aren't the source of the intention.
They help me focus it.
And the ritual gives me a container in which to do that.
My spiritual practice has grown considerably since those early years. Angelic Reiki and my relationship with the angels have become deeply important parts of it, but I haven't felt called to abandon the practices that helped me long before I understood my spirituality the way I do today.
Instead, they have grown with me.
So when I say that I have practices to return to, I mean many things.
Sometimes I use Angelic Reiki.
Sometimes I pray or work with the angels.
Sometimes I write an intention.
Sometimes I light a candle, prepare a space, work with color or something from the natural world, or create a ritual around what I am experiencing.
Sometimes I am focusing on something I hope to welcome into my life.
Sometimes I need release.
Sometimes I need protection, courage, clarity, comfort, or simply a way to acknowledge that something is changing and I am ready to move forward.
And sometimes I need nothing except stillness.
The practice changes because what I need changes.
But after nearly twenty years of returning to these practices, I know why they have stayed with me.
They bring me back into the present.
They give my intention somewhere to rest.
And when my mind is moving in too many directions, they help me find my center again.
Before You Leave the Healing Room
If you found your way here because you don't quite feel like yourself today, I don't want to leave you with only my story.
Let's give you somewhere to begin.
You don't need to understand exactly what is bothering you. You don't need to name the feeling correctly. And you don't need to gather everything I might use in one of my own rituals.
For this, you only need a few quiet minutes, something to write with, and a small piece of paper.
Sit somewhere you feel comfortable.
Place both feet on the floor and give yourself a moment to notice where you are.
Then write:
Today, I am carrying...
Don't make the answer beautiful. Don't worry about whether it sounds spiritual. Write what is true.
Maybe you are carrying worry about something that hasn't happened yet.
Maybe it is a conversation you keep replaying.
Maybe you are tired.
Maybe you are angry.
Maybe you miss someone.
Maybe you have been taking care of everyone else and haven't noticed how depleted you have become.
Or maybe the only honest thing you can write is:
I don't know. I just don't feel like myself.
That is enough.
Now, underneath it, write:
Right now, I need...
And give yourself permission to make that answer small.
Rest.
Quiet.
Reassurance.
A good meal.
Prayer.
A walk outside.
To call someone.
To cry.
To turn my phone off for an hour.
To stop thinking about this tonight.
To ask for help.
You are not trying to solve your life on this piece of paper.
You are noticing yourself.
That is the practice.
When you are finished, you can fold the paper and keep it somewhere private. If what you wrote is something you feel ready to release, you may choose to tear it up instead.
Then do one thing that honors what you wrote.
Not ten things.
One.
Make the tea. Take the shower. Say the prayer. Step outside. Turn off the phone. Go to bed early. Ask for the help.
Let the ritual end with an action of care.
And Then You Can Come Back
This is the kind of practice I want the Healing Room to hold.
Some practices here will be this simple.
Others will be more intentional rituals using candles, written intentions, color, plants, herbs, salt, water, or other meaningful elements. Some will include the angels. Some will be guided experiences you can simply close your eyes and follow.
But they will all begin from the same place:
What do I need in this moment, and what practice can help me meet myself there?
You don't have to wait until you are falling apart to ask that question.
Over time, you may begin building your own collection of practices to return to.
I hope you do.
Because there will still be difficult days.
There will still be moments when you feel overwhelmed, frightened, uncertain, disappointed, or simply unlike yourself.
The goal isn't to create a life in which you never feel those things.
It is to know that when you do, you have somewhere to return.
And perhaps, eventually, you'll recognize what I have come to recognize in my own life:
I know how to find my way back to myself.