Hello, I'm Jennifer 🤍

My path to healing work began long before I had words like Reiki, nervous system regulation, energy, or somatic healing.

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I was adopted at 8 years old, and my earliest years were shaped by separation, uncertainty, custody battles, social workers, child psychologists, and the confusing experience of moving between families before I was old enough to understand what any of it meant. As a very young child, there were periods when speaking felt so difficult that I communicated in whispers through my adoptive mother.

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I grew up deeply sensitive, often aware of the moods, emotions, and energy around me. I experienced vivid dreams, sensed presences I couldn’t explain, and frequently felt different from the people around me. Looking back, I realize I shut down my own intuitive gifts out of the fear and confusion that accompanied them.

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At the same time, I was creative and expressive. I sang in choir, loved music, painted, danced, and became deeply involved in theater. Yet when creativity required me to step forward and be seen, something often shut down. I found safety behind the scenes, eventually becoming a stage manager rather than taking the stage myself.

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One of the safest places in my childhood was my grandmother’s home just up the street. After school, I would sit beside her watching television, color for hours, do crossword puzzles, eat as many cookies as I wanted, and disappear into the yard to play. I often collected leaves and flowers, mixed mud and water into imaginary creations, and smashed rocks open to see what treasures might be hidden inside.

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Loss came early. My grandfather died when I was seven, after living with Alzheimer’s while somehow continuing to remember me even as other names and relationships slipped away. Then my grandmother, my safest space, died when I was fourteen.

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By adolescence, grief had already taught me how quickly the people I loved could disappear. Anxiety and depression deepened. I became hyperaware of the safety of the people around me and increasingly afraid of losing them.

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I was also beginning to question the world I had been taught to accept. I was raised in the Christian church, and I found myself wrestling with teachings that didn’t match what I felt in my heart. When I saw judgment directed toward people because of who they loved, something in me pushed back. When my questions were met with frustration or instructions to simply have faith, I became even more certain that there were pieces of the story I needed to discover for myself. That questioning spirit followed me into adulthood.

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In high school, I fell in love with Spanish language and the histories, cultures, art, architecture, Indigenous civilizations, and political struggles of Latin America. I went on to study Spanish language, culture, and civilization in college, alongside Latin American studies, political science, and world history.

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Studying abroad in Cholula, Puebla, Mexico shifted my worldview again. I witnessed poverty and hardship alongside a sense of joy, community, gratitude, and aliveness that deeply affected me. It challenged what I had absorbed about success, wealth, connection, and what makes a life meaningful.

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Underneath all of it was something I had always known about myself: I wanted to change the world.

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As a child, that calling took many forms. I imagined becoming a doctor, a nurse, a teacher, a mother, even the president. The job title kept changing, but the impulse underneath it didn’t. I wanted to care for people. I wanted to challenge systems that caused harm. I wanted people to feel seen and supported.

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Adult life brought its own initiations. 

 

I became a mother while still trying to find my footing professionally. I moved through difficult relationships, infidelity, emotional and physical abuse, financial instability, single motherhood, and years of trying to create safety for myself and my children.

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My adoptive father’s death in 2014 became a major turning point. In the middle of profound grief, I found the clarity to leave an abusive marriage and begin rebuilding my life as a single mother.

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Professionally, I found my way into higher education, where I developed skills in leadership, admissions, operations, management, and supporting students and institutions. I discovered that I was highly capable in that world and eventually built a stable career there.

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I also encountered workplace environments that reinforced something I already understood deeply: systems can look successful from the outside while still leaving the people inside them depleted, disconnected, or unsafe.

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I became good at surviving, adapting, and holding things together. Still, I always knew there was something more I was meant to do.

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The losses continued. My biological mother passed away from cancer in 2022. Two years later, I also lost my adoptive mother, and something inside me cracked wide open. In the immediate aftermath of my mother’s death, I felt what I can only describe as an overwhelming physical sense of her presence, intense waves of tingling and chills through my body that felt as though she were holding me while I fell apart.

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Grief flooded everything.

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I had spent time in therapy and had developed a deep understanding of my history, patterns, trauma, depression, anxiety, and coping mechanisms. I was repeatedly told how self-aware I was, but awareness alone wasn’t changing what I felt inside or how it manifested on the outside. 

 

I didn’t need another explanation for why I hurt. I needed a way to experience myself differently. That realization led me into nervous system work and a community centered on regulation and co-regulation. I began joining video calls where people simply sat together quietly for ten minutes at a time. 

 

The practice was deceptively simple. For me, it became a way of teaching my body that it could be safe to be seen, safe to exist in the presence of other people, and safe to stay.

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As my nervous system began to soften, my spiritual world expanded. I followed one thread after another through meditation, energy work, quantum healing practices, spiritual communities, Indigenous teachings, connection with nature, and exploration of consciousness. I began experiencing my loved ones and ancestors as present in ways that felt increasingly tangible to me.

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Eventually, I found Reiki. From the beginning, I felt something unmistakable in my own experience: tingling, pulsing, warmth, joy, connection, and what I understand as the movement of universal life force energy.

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My spiritual inquiry deepened alongside it. I began exploring ideas of Oneness, Source, consciousness, the mystery of existence, and the possibility that human life is only a small piece of something far greater than we can fully comprehend.

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Reiki also brought me back into relationship with my body, while sound brought me back into relationship with expression.

 

Music had always moved me emotionally. I had never really stopped singing, even after I became afraid to share my voice with other people. I still sang alone, in the car, and around the house. ​Later, discovering ecstatic dance at a retreat opened another doorway. Movement became a way to listen inwardly and let my body lead. ​When crystal singing bowls caught my attention, I followed that thread too. I bought my own and began playing them for myself.

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Slowly, many seemingly unrelated pieces of my life began converging.

 

The sensitive child. The girl who sensed things she couldn’t explain. The teenager who questioned inherited beliefs. The young woman searching for justice and meaning. The mother trying to create safety. The survivor who learned how deeply disconnection can live in the body. The woman who had spent years understanding her pain before finally learning how to meet it somewhere deeper than the mind.

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The first time I offered Reiki to my son when he wasn’t feeling well at a basketball tournament, he looked at me in amazement and asked what he was feeling. 

 

Something clicked.

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Today, I am a certified Master Teacher of both Usui Reiki and Kundalini Reiki. I offer Reiki, sound journeys, and healing spaces designed to help people slow down, soften, reconnect with their bodies, and experience a deeper state of rest.

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I don’t see myself as the person doing the healing. I believe I am a vessel for something larger, a universal life force and mystery that doesn’t need to be fully understood in order to be experienced. My role is to help create the conditions in which the body can settle into a more restorative state and access its own capacity for healing.

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Again and again, people tell me they experience levels of relaxation they rarely reach elsewhere. Some fall asleep in session and sleep more deeply afterward. Others describe warmth, tingling, movement, emotional release, or sensations they struggle to put into words.

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The same people keep returning. For me, those experiences continually affirm the path I felt myself moving toward long before I understood what it would look like.

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At the center of my work is safety. I want people to feel held, grounded, and completely free to be exactly who they are. There’s nothing they need to perform, prove, force, release, understand, or experience in a particular way. Perhaps that’s because I know how much it can change a person to finally find a space where they don’t have to disappear in order to belong.

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A child whose voice once became a whisper has grown into a woman creating spaces where other people can feel safe enough to inhabit themselves again.

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I see my work as a lighthouse for those who have known grief, loss, fear, disconnection, self-abandonment, suppression, and the exhausting experience of trying to hold everything together.

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I’m not standing on the shore claiming to have escaped the human experience.

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I’m simply holding a light from a place I know intimately, reminding others that there may be a way back to themselves.