The Day Silence Led Us to Healing
Some journeys begin with loud sobs. Others, like hers, began with silence.
Let’s call her Meera. A graceful, reserved woman in her early 30s. She arrived for her first regression session with one phrase: “I just want to stop overthinking.”
But healing rarely listens to our intellect.
In the first hour, there were no visions, no tears—just silence. She said she felt “nothing.” And yet, her body spoke volumes—tightness in her chest, jerks in her knees, and a gentle shiver when I asked about childhood.
I’ve come to learn that numbness is not absence; it’s a pause before the flood.
She had lived in a foreign land—raising her child alone, building a life without a single helping hand. Later, she returned to India… and found herself alone again. Emotionally isolated. Her husband distant. Her in-laws controlling. She was left to carry everything, quietly.
She remembered a boyfriend who emotionally abandoned her at 16. A school friend who stopped talking to her without explanation. And further back—a father who would scream and slam doors when she didn’t obey, frightening her into silence.
At every point in her life, the pattern repeated:
Alone. Unheard. Unprotected.
But here’s the beauty of healing: It’s not always visible from the surface.
Between our sessions, something shifted.
A person from her past someone she had longed to reconnect with, but believed it was impossible, suddenly reached out. She didn’t think it was a coincidence. “Our souls are connected,” she said. “I think she felt I was healing.”
Soon after, she received a job offer. Her first in a long time. Confidence replaced her anxiety. Calm began to soften her inner noise.
In our final session, we chose to explore the root of fear one emotion that still lingered.
She revisited her childhood:
A small girl hiding in her room, trembling after hearing footsteps at night no one believed were real.
A time when her words were dismissed, her emotions brushed off.
She remembered telling her father, “Please don’t drink. Please stop.” And no one listened.
Between sessions, something shifted. She messaged, “My sister called me out of nowhere.” They hadn’t spoken in years. She walked into our last session with a quiet smile. “I got the job,” she said. “I’m going to start soon.”
That’s the thing about healing it doesn’t shout. It lands like a soft petal after a storm.
In our final session, I asked her what love meant.
She said, “Love means someone caring for me. Pampering me. Like how I do for others.”
When I asked what she needed most, her answer wasn’t dramatic.
She said, “Sleep. I want to sleep… peacefully.”
And that’s exactly what we did—ended with rest, not because she gave up fighting, but because she finally felt safe enough to let go. Because sometimes, healing isn’t about the noise. It’s about the quiet, gentle arrival of peace after years of silence, after storms. And maybe, just maybe, that’s the most profound kind of healing there is.
With love and light,
Vinya
