From Skeptic to Believer: How Reiki Transformed My Grief—and My Perspective on Healing
As a scientist, I have always trusted evidence, data, and the scientific method. My career in biomedical research was built on logic, measurable outcomes, and peer-reviewed results. So, when I lost my mother to cancer and then her twin sister just six months later, I turned to the tools I knew best: logic and compartmentalization. I tried to bury myself in work, clinging to the certainty of science, hoping the grief would fade with time.
It didn’t.
Instead, the weight of my loss became unbearable. Grief seeped into every corner of my life, and no matter how much I rationalized it or tried to push through, I felt stuck. Months before all of this I signed up for a course to become a certified Reiki practitioner. I had been to a reiki healer twice in the previous two years and I had been intrigued by the idea of energy work. Basically, Reiki is an ancient form of energy healing that claims to channel universal life force to promote emotional and physical healing. I was going to cancel my training, but I thought it would do me well to be around people and to focus on something other than my loss and the grief that was enveloping me. It was a quiet, private experiment, driven by the faint hope that it might offer some relief.
Stepping Into the Unknown
The course began with teachings on chakras, energy flow, and the Reiki symbols. It was fascinating but foreign—so different from the rigid frameworks I was used to. I couldn’t help but question everything: Where’s the evidence? How does this work? But I kept going, compelled by a strange curiosity I couldn’t explain.
The real turning point came during the attunement process. In Reiki, attunement is the moment when a master aligns a student’s energy with the universal life force, enabling them to channel healing energy. I approached the session with skepticism but also a flicker of anticipation. If nothing else, I thought, it would be an interesting experience.
The Science of the Unexplainable
The room was quiet as I sat with my palms open, facing my Reiki Master. We were told to ask the Universe for something like “help me find inner peace” or “help me become a healer”. I sat there with my eyes closed and whispered, “please help me with my grief, I am drowning.” When it was my turn she moved methodically, placing her hands above my crown and heart before finally tracing a sacred Reiki symbol into my palms. I remember the exact moment she drew the symbol on my hand. It felt like a switch flipped inside me.
A sudden wave of warmth radiated through my body. It wasn’t just physical warmth—it was as if an electric current of light and peace had exploded within me and then burst from my palms. I was overwhelmed by a sense of release, of lightness, as though the crushing weight of grief I had carried for months had simply dissolved.
I remember staring at my palms, which felt like they were on fire. As we left the classroom I continued to stare at my hands, amazed at this feeling of heat and energy that now radiated from them. It wasn’t until I stepped outside and inhaled that I felt something else. For the first time since losing my mom and my aunt, I felt something shift. The pain of their absence hadn’t vanished, but it had transformed. I felt connected to them in a way that transcended logic—an awareness that they were still with me, not gone but changed, like energy that never truly disappears.
Reconciling the Irreconcilable
That moment forced me to confront everything I thought I knew about healing and the boundaries of science. I couldn’t explain what had happened. There was no metric, no data point, no clinical trial to validate the experience. Yet it was real—undeniably, viscerally real.
There were other things too. As we practiced Reiki on each other the next day during class I would pass my hand over a part of the body and would feel something different. Instinctively I would blurt out, do you have problems with your right knee, your left hand, are you an over thinker? And every time the answer was yes. Scientifically, it seemed impossible, but it was actually happening to me and I couldn’t just shrug it off.
As I continued my training, practicing Reiki on myself and others, I began to notice changes—not just in my grief, but in my overall perspective. I started seeing the interconnectedness of things in a way I had previously dismissed. My training taught me that healing isn’t just about fixing broken parts; it’s about restoring balance. And perhaps, I realized, that balance exists on levels science hasn’t yet learned to measure.
A Scientist’s Awakening
I didn’t leave my career in research, nor did I abandon my scientific principles. But Reiki expanded my understanding of what healing can be. I began to see that Western medicine, for all its incredible advancements, doesn’t hold all the answers. There are aspects of human experience—grief, love, connection—that defy quantification but are no less real.
When I use Reiki now, whether on myself or others, I still feel that same radiant energy flow through my hands. It’s not about abandoning science—it’s about integrating something more, something that bridges the gap between what we can measure and what we can feel.
Bridging Worlds
If you had told me a year ago that I would not only practice but also believe in energy healing, I would have rolled my eyes. But grief has a way of breaking us open, and in that brokenness, I found a new kind of healing—not one that replaced science, but one that complemented it.
Today, I carry my mom and her sister with me, their love and energy flowing through every session, every breath, every moment. Reiki didn’t just heal my grief; it transformed the way I see the world. And for a scientist like me, that’s the most profound discovery of all.
