When Spirituality Feels Complicated

When Spirituality Feels Complicated

For as long as I can remember, I have been searching for something real. Something that felt like truth, peace, and connection. I chased it through teachers, movements, and retreats, hoping I would finally feel that sense of belonging and spiritual home.

When I was in my early twenties, I was drawn to spaces that promised transformation. I joined a Pentecostal Christian church that welcomed me with open arms. The energy was powerful, and for a time, I felt carried by faith. I was “baptized in the Holy Spirit,” surrounded by music and prayer, and it felt like I had found something bigger than myself.

Over time, though, I started to notice things that did not sit right. There were expectations about how women should dress and act, limits on leadership, and political messages disguised as divine guidance. When I was told not to visit my sister in Los Angeles because I was “too spiritually vulnerable,” I went anyway. That trip changed everything.

At a farmers market in Los Angeles, I found myself surrounded by spiritual people who told me that cooked vegetables were “toxic for the soul.” I remember laughing, realizing how quickly any belief system, religious or not, can turn into another form of dogma. Whether in church pews or wellness circles, I saw how spirituality could be used to judge or control, even when the intentions seemed good.

Later, I became involved in two spiritual groups that were eventually declared cults. Looking back, I can see that I was young, open, and longing to belong to something greater. I do not regret that time, but I learned how easy it is for longing to make us vulnerable to people who confuse authority with enlightenment.

As I continued searching, I tried different paths. I practiced Bikram and Kundalini yoga. I attended a ten-day silent meditation retreat because I wanted to pray like the Buddhists. I did not reach enlightenment, but I learned something more meaningful. I learned that I could sleep on a slab without a mattress, live without electricity, and still feel safe in my own mind. I learned how to sit with myself, witness my thoughts, and accept my feelings instead of running from them.

That was fifteen years ago. Since then, my understanding of spirituality has changed. It has softened. It has become quieter and more personal.

A few weeks ago, I joined a 28-day challenge called Messenger 2025. The focus was on authenticity, showing up, and speaking your truth. The program had a strong spiritual tone: talk of shadow work, alignment, activation, and raising your vibration, all paired with electronic meditations meant to deepen connection. Part of me loved it. The energy and creativity felt alive. Another part of me felt uneasy. I caught myself judging, questioning whether it was my truth or just another language that didn’t quite fit me.

In the past, I would have thrown myself into it completely. I would have tried to “get it right” and then judged myself for not doing it well enough. But now, at the very wise age of 22 (give or take a couple of decades), I felt more comfortable trusting my own judgment and knowing what was for me.

So yes, I became a Messenger 2025 dropout. I didn’t finish the challenge, but I also didn’t shame myself for it. Instead, I chose to see it as growth, a sign that I can listen inward and respect when something doesn’t align. My decision to step back felt both in alignment and authentic to me. Maybe that was the whole lesson.

That judgment and hesitation no longer scare me. I understand where they come from. After seeing organized spirituality hurt people, I have learned to be cautious. I have seen how the pursuit of “light” can ignore pain, and how genuine seekers can get lost performing what they think awakening should look like. Still, I am drawn to it. The mystery. The longing. The desire to connect with something greater than myself.

Finding What Feels Real

These days, my spirituality is not about belonging to a group or following a formula. It is about connection. I feel it when I sit with clients and witness their truth, when I help someone make sense of pain they have carried for years, and when healing finally starts to take shape. That, to me, is sacred work.

Outside of my practice, spirituality shows up in simple ways. On my yoga mat. Listening to the birds. Watching the San Diego sunset. Those moments remind me that we are all connected, not because of shared beliefs, but because we share the same sky.

Over the years, I have learned that spirituality is not something you master. It is something you live into. Sometimes it feels like clarity, sometimes confusion, and sometimes it is just being present with what is.

What I Have Learned and What I Offer

If you have ever felt out of place in spiritual spaces, you are not alone. True connection does not come from belonging to a system. It comes from belonging to yourself.

In my work, I do not teach spirituality. I help people rediscover their own. Whether through therapy, mindfulness, or compassionate reflection, I believe that healing itself is spiritual. It is how we return to the parts of ourselves that have always been whole.

Your spirituality does not have to look like anyone else’s. It just has to feel real to you.

Maybe spirituality is not about reaching upward. Maybe it is about coming home to yourself.