I used to think spiritual awakening meant everything was perfectly aligned—like life suddenly made sense. You were happy. At peace. Trouble-free.
I imagined it as this peaceful, blissed-out lifestyle—quiet, centered, maybe even easy. It felt far away, like something meant for people who had it all figured out. The deeply devoted. The naturally calm. The ones who seemed to belong in sacred spaces.
I didn’t think that could be me, yet I craved it. I wanted that kind of peace. I just didn’t know how to get there—or if I even belonged on that path.
My awakening didn’t come gently—it hit like a brick wall. I was moving through life doing what I thought I was supposed to do, not even realizing how off course I’d become. Then everything started to unravel. People vanished. Patterns broke down. My nervous system went haywire.
I felt lost, and I didn’t understand why this was happening. I had always tried to be a good person. I gave. I tried. I cared. Yet nothing made sense anymore. I cried. I made mistakes. And when everything felt like too much, I knew I had to begin again.
However, in the midst of the chaos, something unexpected happened—I felt relief. Not because things were easy, because something inside me knew I couldn’t keep living the way I had been.
That sense of release didn’t mean the unraveling was over—it was only just beginning. And it wasn’t just emotional; it rippled through every part of my life.
Some days, I felt powerful. Other days, I was completely lost. My body changed. My moods swung wildly. I was overwhelmed and awaking all at once.
It was destruction and re-creation unfolding at the same time.
That’s when I hit my tower moment—the breaking point where everything crumbled so I could finally see what was real. Relationships, health, finances—everything I leaned on began to fall apart.
People I once called family showed their true colors. Some vanished. Others, I realized, had been using me—and I had allowed it by not holding boundaries that protected my well-being.
Looking back now, I see that without those boundaries, I lost myself trying to keep everyone else comfortable.
I wore masks to make things appear okay—to keep the peace where there was none. I confused being needed with being loved, giving more to others than I ever gave to myself.
And when I finally began to say no, the backlash came. Some pushed harder. Some walked away. Some turned cruel. But I kept going because my peace mattered more than their comfort.
I was done abandoning myself.
However, that was only the beginning. What followed wasn’t just loss—it was deep inner work. I had to sit with the parts of myself that I didn’t want to see—the ones I had buried, avoided, and numbed out.
And that’s when I realized: I had entered the dark night of the soul.
When everything else is stripped away—no distractions, no noise—what’s left is just you. The raw, unfiltered, vulnerable you.
That’s when the shadow work began.
And shadow work? It’s messy. It’s not cute or filtered.
It’s facing the parts of yourself you’ve hidden, denied, or judged—the patterns, the wounds, the versions of you shaped by pain.
It’s uncomfortable. Humbling. Yet it’s also where the truth begins to rise.
Because the dark night of the soul isn’t just a breaking point—it’s a reckoning.
Everything that once distracted you falls away, and you’re left with yourself.
No masks. No noise. Just the raw, unfiltered you.
You start to see what no longer serves—not just around you—within you.
For me, it felt like drowning in my own depth. Yet eventually, the waves calmed.
I started to surface.
And that’s when healing began.
There’s something sacred about that moment when everything falls away. It doesn't always feel like a choice, and sometimes it's the answer to a silent prayer. I had been whispering, “There has to be more.” And this was the answer.
My healing came in like a storm. The thunder was the breaking. The lightning was the truth. The rain—sweet release.
And then—light.
A single beam of clarity cutting through the chaos. That’s when I knew: the work was working.
As the dust settled, something in me shifted. I stopped believing every emotion, every trigger, every old story. I began witnessing them instead.
That prayer for “more” started answering itself—little by little.
Doors opened. Windows, too.
Things began to align—not with who I used to be—with who I really was.
I’m still healing. Still growing. I’ve realized this is a lifelong path—and I’m worth the lifetime.
Would I go back to the life I had before? Skip the pain? Avoid the breaking? No.
I’d walk through it all again. Because this truth I live in now—this peace, this clarity, this self-love—is worth it.
It was never about becoming something new. It was about remembering who I’ve always been.
To anyone going through it now: you’re not broken. You’re becoming. It’s not always pretty—yet it is powerful.
Awakening isn’t what I thought it would be—it’s more.
And so are you.
If this reflection stirred something in you—trust that. Share it with someone else who might be searching for light in their own shadows.
You are not behind. You are not broken. You are becoming—and you’re not alone in that.
If Ravyn’s journey resonates with you, know that your own path of healing, growth, and transformation is possible. Whether you feel called to explore energy work, hypnotherapy, holistic healing, or integrative healing arts, SWIHA’s programs offer the guidance, tools, and supportive community to help you step into your purpose. Discover the program that aligns with your calling and begin your own journey toward personal and professional empowerment today.