Doctors. The start of my journey.

Of saving ourselves and spiritual awakenings.

How did I become a “healer”? And what even is that? You might ask. Is it mumbo-jumbo-hocus-pocus and spiritual nonsense and incense sticks?

Not really. You can be one too. So many of us reject a deeper, more spiritual side to our existence. I also lived that way for years.

After all, we’ve been trained to dogmatically accept empirical evidence and discount our intuitive truths. But — but — life is much bigger and more meaningful than we can explain with what we know scientifically.

Much.

And it often takes something extreme for us to see it.

—

In 2018, I found myself sitting in the waiting room of a sonography department in an ex-Communist hospital in Prague. The wall art outside was a metallic relief piece of hardworking peasant women carrying baskets as men with weathered faces plowed bountiful fields. Their expressions were stoic. It looked dated and fake and did nothing to soothe my nerves.

My calf muscle had been shrinking, you see. Inexplicably, it had begun to get smaller and smaller.

Just like me.

It had taken a lot of time and courage to even make this appointment. But, I thought, once they did the ultrasound, perhaps I would be proved wrong. Maybe my calf wasn’t really thinner. Maybe my mind was just playing tricks on me.

Denial is a powerful protective force.

No more than 10 minutes later, I found myself belly down, a nurse wiping jelly onto my right calf, followed by the ultrasound stick traveling up and down my shin bone. Other women my age were having jelly spread on their bellies at happy, and much anticipated, pregnancy appointments. Me, I had something else. In the back, a technician pressed buttons. No one spoke to me at all. Afterward, the nurse rudely ushered me into the changing room and then the hall.

“Here, you’ll want to see a neurologist.”

“A neurologist, why? What is it?”

She thrust the printed report at my chest.

“I’m only a nurse. The neurologist will tell you.”

A group of doctors moved past us in the corridor. There was a flash of white sandals and laughing. I took the report with shaky fingers and rushed to the toilet. I banged the door shut. Sat down on the lid.

My result showed a marked difference between my calf muscles (14 cm and 24 cm respectively) and the way the muscle mass was distributed was apparently both a “black and white sign.” Unhelpfully, the report said the finding was “inconclusive.” I couldn’t breathe. Like a robot, I somehow got on the 14 tram.

Prague’s streets were empty; people were at work or at home and minding their own business. I tried not to think about all the neurological diseases that I could be facing while the tram dinged and stopped, dinged and stopped. Even the cobbles seemed not to care. I have no idea how long I rode it for.

My eyes misted and my palms sweated and I couldn’t seem to see anything. It had finally come. I had always known that I wasn’t okay, and this was proof of what I’d always known: that somehow there was something deeply wrong with me. But gosh, how I didn’t want to die.

Every part of me was alive and screaming with the realization that I hadn’t truly lived.

—

What followed were many doctors’ appointments and a three-year observation and investigation period with the head of a large hospital’s neuromuscular clinic as well as an additional consultation at a private hospital in the UK.

I had EEGs, genetic tests, and neurological assessments. And we found no answers.

However, in my soul, I knew. It had been a lesson. I had been so disconnected from myself and so out of alignment, the Universe had to shake me up to help me awake.

My poor body had said no more.
I had been stopping myself from moving forward for years.

You see, what I have skipped over, is the childhood trauma and disconnection from myself that left me living a life that wasn’t for me.

It was a good life, by all means — from the outside. But on the inside, I was unfulfilled. I was wasting.

As I sat in the near-empty corridor of the hospital, afraid and alone, I had a very clear realization; I would have to heal myself. I would do everything I could, to help my mind and my body.

And so my healing journey began.