The Day Light Dimmed

When my world shattered, she was just 32. Brilliant, magnetic, a force in the corporate world - she never entered a room unnoticed. Behind that radiant smile, an internal storm raged. Despite working with mental health professionals and fighting with everything she had, the darkness won. She died by suicide, and my world went black.

As a Reiki practitioner who had spent years on suicide watch teams in the military (details I must keep private), I thought I understood trauma. I had helped countless servicemembers step back from the edge. But this was different. This was family. The question "why couldn't I save her?" echoed endlessly through my sleepless nights.

In the aftermath, as I watched loved ones drown in questions and guilt, something profound emerged from my pain. I noticed a disturbing pattern in the wellness community - practitioners who dismissed deep trauma with positive affirmations, who suggested that "good vibes only" could heal devastating wounds. This spiritual gaslighting was harmful to people already struggling with overwhelming pain.

During my own healing journey, Reiki became my anchor. Not as a replacement for mental health care, but as a gentle complement. In those quiet sessions, as energy moved through my hands, I found moments of peace. It wasn't about "fixing" the grief or "releasing" the pain - it was about creating a safe space to simply be with these overwhelming feelings.

This experience transformed my practice. I committed to becoming a trauma-informed Reiki healer because I understood firsthand how crucial it is to feel truly safe in your healing journey. No toxic positivity. No spiritual bypassing. Just genuine acknowledgment of pain and gentle, respectful support.

When clients come to my table carrying deep trauma, they find a practitioner who understands that healing isn't linear. Someone who knows that sometimes the bravest thing you can do is simply breathe through another day. Someone who will never diminish their experience with empty platitudes or false promises of instant healing.

The wellness industry often pushes the narrative that we can manifest away our pain or that suffering is simply a mindset choice. But trauma lives in our bodies, in our nervous systems, in the very fabric of our being. It requires gentle, informed care - not dismissal or minimization. Healing happens when we acknowledge the depth of someone's pain without trying to fix it or make it go away.

Her loss taught me that true healing happens in spaces where we can bring our whole selves - our grief, our anger, our confusion, our pain. Where we don't have to pretend we're "choosing joy" when we're barely holding on. Where we can trust that our healer understands the complexity of trauma and won't try to rush us toward false positivity.

My grief illuminated a path I needed to see - one where alternative healing practices and trauma-informed care meet, where people in pain can find genuine support without fear of being misunderstood or dismissed. One where practitioners understand that holding space for someone's pain is often more powerful than trying to heal it away.

This is why I do this work. This is why every client who walks through my door finds a space where their whole story is honored, where their pain is acknowledged, and where healing can unfold at its own pace. Because sometimes the most powerful thing we can offer another human being is simply the space to be exactly where they are, without judgment or pressure to be anywhere else.

In her memory, I continue to create the kind of healing space I wish she had found - one where it's okay to not be okay, where pain doesn't need to wear a smile, and where healing happens gently, truthfully, and at its own perfect pace.

I am Victoria, the co-founder of Healing Arts Center. My office is located in Virginia Beach. I offer somatic, mindfulness, trauma-informed Reiki, breathwork, and anxiety-reducing, pain managment hypnotherapy.

https://www.vagaro.com/healingartscenter