I booked my first session to prove a friend wrong. I was an analyst, allergic to incense, and certain that “energy” was a synonym for wishful thinking. Ninety minutes later I was crying quietly into a bolster — and rebooking before I left the room. This is the story I tell every sceptic who walks through our door.
The first session
Nothing mystical happened. The room was plain, the practitioner ordinary and kind. But halfway through, my jaw — clenched, I now realise, for roughly four years — let go with an audible click. I slept ten hours that night for the first time since my daughter was born. Data person that I was, I couldn’t argue with the dataset of one very rested mother.
The attunement weekend
Six months later I took Level I, mostly from curiosity. The attunement ceremony lasted minutes: silence, hands on my head and shoulders, a bell. What followed was stranger — my palms ran hot for three days, and practising self-treatment each evening became the only part of the day that felt entirely mine.
“You don’t have to believe in Reiki for it to work. You only have to lie down.” — my teacher, on day one
Becoming the practitioner
Level II gave me symbols, distance healing and — hardest of all — permission to trust my hands. My first real client was my own mother. Then neighbours, then strangers. Five years on I hold the Saturday morning circle at Hollowreed, and I still tell every newcomer what my teacher told me: bring your doubt. It’s welcome here.
Your turn?
Curious but unconvinced is our favourite kind of beginner. Start with Chime Flow, or come and watch a Level I weekend — the kettle is always on.
