My Story

A note: this story touches on losing a parent. If that's tender ground for you right now, it's okay to skip ahead.

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I'll be honest — putting myself out there like this has been incredibly hard. You don't just open up in your fifties and not question everything. For years, fear held me back — fear of people finding out, criticism, and of course what people will think of me. But through the support of my husband, my closest friends, and those no-doubt moments, here I am, excited to be authentically me.

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I want you to know I’m still the same Dana, I’ve always been — just a little freer and a lot less worried. And if someone decides we can’t be friends anymore, which has been my biggest fear, well… we weren’t really friends in the first place.

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For as long as I can remember, I had dreams that were little hints about real life, and that seemed normal enough. It went deeper as a teen, when my mom was battling with cancer about 130 miles away from home. One night she came to me in a dream. She sat with me, real as real, and prepared me to let her go. She wanted me to know she'd always be with me, whenever I needed her. Honestly, I have always felt her since that night.

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When I woke up, I knew she had passed on. I went to school that morning, but I couldn't shake the feeling — I needed to tell someone, anyone. Everyone in class was caught up in their own morning conversations, and I just blurted it out: "My mom died." A friend told me that it wasn't something to joke about, since as far as she knew, my mom was doing good. A few minutes later, I saw my dad's car pull into the school to check me out. My mom had, in fact, passed away that morning.

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Picture being raised near the Louisiana border, missing my mom, wanting proof the connection was real. Kids do what kids do — I had a few scary experiences along the way, so I shut it all down. Looking back, it was all about timing.

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Throughout my life, I'd still dream of things here and there that I'd later watch happen. I'd get a gut check out of nowhere that I needed to check on someone close to me — and more often than not, there was a reason. I thought that was where it stopped.

In my fifties, I opened up full blast — during a long training run, of all places. What I saw stopped me in my tracks and sent me looking for answers.

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I tried to explain it away — shallow breathing, an overactive imagination from a lifetime of horror movies — but I was a little scared and a little worried. I knew I had to tell my husband. Oh boy, our conversation was a moment neither of us will ever forget, and it led me to a deep dive. I found teachers, classes, and the discovery that I have intuitive abilities — the way I believe we all do at some level. The teachers I was drawn to made this all feel very normal, and I’m forever grateful. I’m also deeply grateful to the friends who believed me enough to let me secretly practice with my intuitive readings — I needed honest feedback before I came clean to the world about what I’d been up to.

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While I was still trying to wrap my brain around, “Okay, I do this thing,” I had an unexpected medical event. I felt pulled toward alternative healing, and to my surprise, Reiki was exactly what I needed. Truth is, I’d always avoided it before — it never felt like me. But this time was different. I found myself wrapped up in learning it and really feeling it, including types I never knew existed, telling myself it was just for self-healing — no one needed to know. But again, I was drawn to those who made it accessible, natural, and normal.

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Today, I'm so excited about what this energy does and how it flows. I'm excited I discovered this amazing way to interact — excited enough that I'm willing to change my life and my career for it. This isn't a hobby. It's big stuff, and I'm all in. I leave every client feeling like this is what I was meant to do — and that's part of why I can't put this passion down. It gives back as much as it gives.

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