05/19/2026
I've been an abused child, a sexual assault survivor, a New York City resident navigating rough neighborhoods and late-night subways, a mother, and a police officer. My score on the Hyper-Vigilance scale is off the charts — and that's an understatement.
This is part of my history, and it has left a deep imprint on my energy field. I've been healing for over 30 years.
Hyper-Vigilance is what I recently found at the bottom of a heap of healed wounds — negative energy, blocks, scars, and heartbreak I've been clearing layer by layer.
Some energies, especially the oldest and deepest ones, don't heal with a cinematic "a-ha!" moment. When I first began digging into this one, I discovered a steel-like cage buried deep inside me.
Whenever I was triggered, it would clamp shut — screeching as it pushed me down and out of conscious thought. It took years of inner work to cut through my denial and actually hear that metal clang.
It was a prison, and I was the only one inside it. That cage wasn't stopping anyone from harming me. It was stopping me from responding to my own pain.
Last Sunday, I was teaching yoga when tornado sirens began wailing in the streets around the studio — louder and longer than I'd ever heard. After a brief pause, a second round of alerts came through, even on phones that were turned off:
"Imminent danger. Move to safety immediately."
I'd never heard that one before.
I directed everyone to a windowless back room as thunder boomed around us. Rather than simply wait it out, we continued class with the Kundalini Yoga Divine Protection meditation — a mantra with the power to shift the brain away from fear and into a deep sense of safety. It was remarkable to feel it working in real time, amid wailing sirens and pounding thunder.
I saw the faces of students relax. Bodies soften from stiffness. I felt the fear dissipating.
I've used this mantra for years — while witnessing car accidents, and once in a near-unconscious state in the emergency room. It never stops feeling like magic.
Years ago, driving on a highway, I watched a SUV get sideswiped at high speed. It rolled into a ditch, flipping several times. I've seen rollover accidents before. They are never pretty.
I pulled over and ran back to the scene — I have first responder training, so I thought I might be able to help. The SUV was on its roof. Smoke curled from the windows, likely from the airbags deploying. I was chanting as I got closer. Then, one door scraped open against the ice- and snow-covered ground — it was January in Wisconsin.
Two people crawled out, looking completely unscathed.
Magic? Maybe.
But what I understood fully on Sunday — as tornado winds snapped 100-year-old trees in half just a few miles away — is that this practice is also purely practical.
The focus required to lead others in chanting that mantra rerouted the fear my Hyper-Vigilant nervous system reflexively produces.
My mind stayed clear. I stayed capable of rational thought. I was able to direct others to safety — calmly and without freezing.
That cage of fear didn't clamp shut.
I'm learning that healing isn't just about the past. It's about who I get to be in the moments that matter most.
