I recently went to a Reiki session. For those unfamiliar, Reiki is a Japanese healing technique that uses gentle touch to promote relaxation and well-being. It’s based on the idea that a person’s energy level affects their health. The practitioner places their hands lightly on or just above the body, holding each position for a few minutes before moving to another area until they feel the energy has stopped flowing. I have been to several sessions with different practitioners, and each time, I leave feeling rejuvenated. Afterward, I’m usually quite thirsty and sleep deeply, which I’ve come to expect as part of the experience.
This time, however, my session was different. The practitioner I visited was not just a Reiki healer—she was also a medium. I hesitate as I write this because I know there will be skeptics. Some will say that I heard only what I wanted to hear. But I don’t think that’s the case. This was my first session since my daughter passed, and what unfolded left me with more than just a sense of relaxation.
I had never met this woman before. She wasn’t from my town, nor had we crossed paths in any way. She didn’t know my last name, and I had only given her my first name when I booked the session. Yet, as we talked, she described my daughter with striking accuracy. Then, she repeated something—word for word—that I had once said to my daughter. My exact words. Hearing them echoed back to me was both eerie and comforting.
What I found most profound wasn’t just what she said but how it made me feel. I miss my daughter deeply, and I long to believe she is still with me, even on the days when she feels so far away. There is something incredibly soothing about feeling close to her again, even if only for a moment.
Some of what the medium shared reinforced things I already knew, while other pieces gave me pause—new thoughts to consider. How did she know what to say? Was I just desperate to hear what I wanted? These questions cross my mind, but in the end, I listen. I absorb. And I wonder.
I believe, on some level, that we already have the answers we seek. The difficulty lies in saying them out loud, because once spoken, they become real. Acknowledging them can justify our feelings or even give us the permission we struggle to grant ourselves. It’s strange how we teach our children to be honest, to use their words, to express their feelings, yet as adults, we often hold back. We avoid discomfort, teetering between honesty and politeness, telling ourselves it’s for the greater good.
This experience reminded me of the power of words—spoken, heard, and unspoken and how what we say really does matter. Stick and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me. No, that’s not true. Not true at all. I say this with most respect as I can tell you when I left that place, I hung on to the practitioner’s words. I repeated them in my head. Heck, I forgot a bunch of them too and as time goes on, things are coming back. I guess I just needed time to process and digest the information that was shared. I know it sounds hokey but really what is it harming? What does it matter? It made me feel sane and calm…I would even say settled. And maybe, just maybe, it reminded me that my daughter is still close, just in a different way.