Reclaiming Myself

Transmuting Pain through Embodiment, Intention, and Power

There comes a point in my journey where reclaiming myself becomes non-negotiable. I stop searching outside for the energy I need. I no longer wait for someone else to soothe my pain, validate my truth, or offer me clarity. Instead, I return to my own body. I choose to embody the energy I once longed for. I meet myself with the presence I used to crave from others. I don’t perform healing—I live it. Even when everything inside me feels tender or undone, I stay. I breathe. I shift.

This path doesn’t ignore pain. It honors it. I meet it directly, with presence and truth, then respond with something stronger than despair. I bring intention to the moment and let that be the beginning of the shift. Choosing this path isn’t always easy. Some days I resist it. Some days I wish someone else could hold me through it. But every time I decide to embody a new energy, I reconnect with my power. I move myself from reaction into alignment.

When the world feels loud and unpredictable, I feel my nervous system go into high alert. My breath gets shallow. My thoughts move too fast. I used to think peace was something I had to wait for, something that lived somewhere far away. Now I know it’s a choice I make. Peace exists inside me, even when chaos surrounds me. The moment I choose to embody what I need, I stop giving my power away. I step into the frequency that changes everything.

When fear rises, I choose grounded energy. When abandonment echoes through my chest, I give myself presence. When grief tries to consume me, I lean into softness. Each choice rewires my body. Each embodied moment tells my nervous system that I am here, and I am safe. I don’t need to fix the story. I need to respond with clarity and power.

Most of us were taught to suppress, bypass, or push through our emotions. I used to carry shame for how sensitive I am, how easily I feel the world in my body. But over time, I learned to treat my emotions like sacred messengers. I don’t push them away. I meet them where they are. I bring breath, movement, and intention into the space. That is how I transmute discomfort. That is how I bring my energy back into flow.

Embodiment is not a single moment. It’s a daily practice. I’m not trying to be perfect. I’m choosing to show up with awareness. When I move, speak, and breathe with purpose, I create a new energetic blueprint. I don’t wait to feel ready. I begin, and the energy meets me there.

When pain or overwhelm surfaces, I anchor myself with practices like:

• Naming what I feel and what I need
• Choosing a single word or energy to embody such as peace, clarity, strength, or compassion
• Breathing in that frequency and letting my exhale carry away tension
• Changing my posture, movement, or tone to reflect the shift I’m making
• Repeating affirmations until I feel resonance in my body

These inner practices give me a foundation. They help me pause and redirect my energy with intention. They help me remember that I have options in the moment. I don’t have to spiral. I don’t have to freeze. I can choose to meet myself with presence.

I also support this work with sensory and symbolic tools that activate alignment:

• Wearing colors that amplify the energy I want to feel—like blue for calm, gold for courage, or green for healing
• Listening to music or soundscapes that regulate my nervous system and bring me into rhythm
• Moving in ways that express what I need—stillness for grounding, dancing for joy, walking for clarity
• Working with objects or stones that carry my intentions and remind me to stay connected to myself

These outer tools help me move the energy through my body. They allow my environment to match my internal state. I don’t just think through my emotions. I feel them. I engage with them. I create a full-body experience that supports the transformation. This makes the shift real. It makes it sustainable. The energy begins to stay with me longer.

Reframing the Past through the Present Body

Some of the energy I move through doesn’t begin in this moment. It belongs to a younger version of me. A version who didn’t yet have the words, the tools, or the safety to respond. A version who froze when she needed to speak. Who swallowed the scream. Who shrank to survive.

Memories live in the body. Not just as thoughts, but as breath patterns, postures, emotional reflexes, and survival strategies. When those old stories get stirred—through sound, silence, rejection, or praise—the body reacts before the mind can name it. That’s when I know something deeper is rising. I pause and listen for the echo beneath the emotion. I meet the part of me that’s still waiting to be seen.

Embodiment becomes the bridge. I use the practices I’ve cultivated to hold space for what never had space before. I show love to my body through affirmation, slow and intentional movements, creative expression, and letting my hands make something real. I speak to myself gently. I stretch slowly and deliberately. I let music move through me. I create with my hands—through writing, art, food, or ritual—and remind my body that it is safe to feel, safe to expand, safe to exist on its own terms.

I also check in with myself regularly. I ask if I still feel aligned with the energy I’m embodying. I make space to name the emotions that don’t always speak loudly—like doubt, like fear, like the part of me that wonders if I’m getting it wrong. I don’t push those feelings away. I meet them. I sit with them. I breathe through them. I transmute them. If doubt shows up, I respond with truth, not shame. If grief resurfaces, I don’t tell myself to move on. I move with it.

Reframing doesn’t mean bypassing. I don’t gaslight myself into pretending the past didn’t happen, or that it didn’t hurt. I honor the weight of what was. I hold it with presence and compassion. And when I feel ready, I offer the memory a new shape—one that reflects the power, clarity, and choice I hold now. Reframing is not about spiritual performance. It’s about emotional integrity.

Sometimes I speak to the memory directly. I whisper, You were always worthy. Or You didn’t deserve to be treated that way. Or simply I see you, and I’m here now. I wrap my present self around that younger self—not to pretend the pain didn’t happen, but to say: We don’t live there anymore. We don’t have to perform strength. We don’t have to prove anything. We get to live differently now, with softness and sovereignty.

The body remembers what hurt. But it also remembers what heals. The warmth of touch. The steadiness of breath. The joy of self-expression. The quiet power of creating something beautiful with my own hands. These are the ways I remind myself that I’m not stuck. That I’m not broken. That I can build something new, even from the pieces that once shattered me.

When I meet my memories through the lens of embodiment, I stop repeating the same emotional loop. I stop identifying with the moment I was silenced, and start aligning with the voice I’ve reclaimed. The reframe becomes real when I let the past inform me, but not imprison me. I become the one who holds the memory without being held hostage by it.

This is the work of becoming. I don’t just reflect on the past—I move with it, feel it fully, and let it go. I turn the wound into wisdom. I turn the freeze into flow. I turn survival into sacred presence. One breath, one choice, one gesture of love at a time.

Detachment and Integration in the Embodiment Process

As I deepen into the practice of embodiment, I also learn how to let go. This part of the work isn’t always talked about, but it’s just as vital. It’s not enough to feel the energy move. I also need to know when to release it. To integrate the lesson without gripping the emotion. To carry the wisdom, not the weight.

Detachment doesn’t mean I stop caring. It means I no longer fuse my identity with every passing wave of emotion. I don’t build my home in the discomfort just because I’ve visited it before. I can witness what’s rising without turning it into who I am. That’s not numbing. That’s clarity.

I allow the emotion to come forward. I listen to it. I move with it. And then I let it pass. That’s where the alchemy settles in. I don’t chase a better version of myself. I return to the truth of who I’ve always been, beneath the reaction. Detachment helps me stay in that truth. It reminds me that I am not the wound. I am the presence that holds the wound. I am the space that allows healing to unfold, breath by breath.

Integration comes when I no longer need to relive the same lesson in order to believe I’ve grown. I trust that the shift has happened. I let my body lead me forward, even when the mind wants to revisit the pain. Embodiment becomes more than practice—it becomes presence. It becomes a soft, steady knowing that I’ve already stepped into a new way of being. I don’t have to hold on tight. I can let the old go and remain whole.

This is the deeper work. It’s not just about what I bring in, but what I release. Not just what I feel, but what I choose to hold. Every time I make that choice, I strengthen the foundation. I become more available to life, more in tune with myself, and more open to the guidance that follows clarity.

This work doesn’t require perfection. It requires devotion. It’s a commitment to returning to myself again and again. Each time I choose embodiment, I build new pathways. I strengthen my sense of trust. I learn how to hold myself through intensity without collapsing.

Over time, these choices ripple into every part of my life. I notice how I show up in relationships, how I speak to myself, how I set boundaries, how I rest. I no longer wait for someone to rescue me from discomfort. I know how to meet it now. I know how to move through it.

This is the work I guide at Healing through Visions. I support people who are learning to reclaim their energy. I walk with those who want to move out of fragmentation and into alignment. In session, we explore your energy, clear what no longer serves, and root into what does. We build practices that nourish your nervous system, expand your awareness, and bring your inner wisdom online.

If you’re ready for support on this path, you can book a session with me here. We will create space for your transformation to unfold with clarity, care, and power.

You don’t need to wait until you feel healed. You don’t need to wait until the storm passes. Begin now. Embody what you need. The shift happens the moment you choose to become it.