Shattered into Medicine: The Alchemy of Holding Space

“Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls; the most massive characters are seared with scars.” ~ Khalil Gibran

The Universe’s Tough Love: Breaking Us to Hold Space as Medicine

“You are going to be a healer. But first, I’m going to destroy you so you can learn how to heal,” said the Universe. Spirit whispered something like this to me once—or maybe it shouted it through the chaos—and it landed like a stone in still water, sending ripples of unease, curiosity, and quiet recognition through my bones. It’s a paradox we’ve all felt at some point: the breaking we endure might just be what shapes us into carriers of medicine. Not the kind of healer who swoops in with fixes, but one who holds space—a steady, unshaken presence in the storm. Let’s walk through this together, honoring the tender places we’ve been cracked open and the strength stitched into the mending…

Redefining the Healer: Presence Over Perfection

We’ve got this image of a healer as the one with all the answers, stitching up the broken bits. But what if that’s not it? What if the real medicine lies in holding space—sitting with ourselves or others in the raw, unfiltered mess without rushing to smooth it over, without breaking the door down in our rush to get away? That’s the heart of this work. Whether we’re guides, friends, or just humans showing up, the power isn’t in solutions—it’s in presence.

Holding space is no small thing. It’s the quiet courage to witness pain—ours or theirs—without flinching or forcing it to resolve. It’s a container, a sacred boundary where transformation unfolds on its own terms. We don’t heal by erasing wounds; we heal by being with them, and in that being, we offer others the same gift. This is our medicine—not a cure, but a companionship through the dark.

The Wounded Healer: A Shamanic Echo

In shamanic traditions, the “wounded healer” isn’t some cute metaphor or spiritual jargon—it’s a truth carved in fire. Those who hold medicine have walked through their own flames. The Universe doesn’t break us to punish us; it dismantles us so we can learn to heal ourselves first. Because here’s the deal: we can’t hold space for anyone if we’re still bleeding out.

And oh, how different it looks from the outside. When you’re not “in it”—when your nervous system isn’t screaming, your mind isn’t a scatter of shards, your soul isn’t drifting—it’s easy to see how things should be. But step into the storm, and it’s a different beast. How do you hold logic, an open heart, and a grounded center when overwhelm floods your veins, emotions roar, and every path is cloaked in fog? It’s like juggling burning stones, praying one doesn’t crash down on you or those you love. You don’t get it until you live it. That’s why the Universe hands us this brutal gift: so when we hold space for someone else, we’re not just offering platitudes—we’re offering a hand that knows the weight of the shitstorm.

Self-healing isn’t a quick fix—it’s a slow tending to our shadows, a sitting-with that forges compassion from struggle, empathy from loneliness, resilience from survival. These aren’t just tools; they’re the threads of a strong container where others can unravel, heal, and rise. The wounded healer doesn’t lead from some polished pedestal but from a presence earned in the depths.

Holding Space: The Medicine We Carry

Let’s pause here, because holding space isn’t passive—it’s active, intentional, fierce. On a recent journey, I asked Spirit, “What does the world need most?” The answer came clear: “For people to remember how to hold space for each other.” It’s saying, “I see you, and I’m not scared of what you carry.” It’s a stillness that doesn’t demand, a silence that listens deeper than it speaks. It’s the medicine of being fully with someone—in their joy, their grief, their messy in-between.

For those of us called to this—teachers, parents, friends, guides—it’s our practice. We steady ourselves so others can lean in. We sit with our own discomfort so we can sit with theirs. And in that, we create something holy: a space where healing doesn’t need to be forced, just welcomed. This is what the Universe preps us for in the breaking—teaching us to hold the container, not to fill it.

Relationships: Mirrors of the Unseen

Where do we learn this most? Relationships. The ones we love, fight with, lose—they’re mirrors, reflecting our wounds and shadows with brutal clarity. A partner’s stubbornness might spark our own rigidity. A friend’s distance might tug at our fear of being left. These stings are gifts, showing us where we’re still tender, where we need to turn inward.

Relationships don’t just reveal us—they refine us. Every trigger is a quiet question: What’s stirring in me? What needs my care? When we lean into these tender spots—hurt, fear, anger, sadness—and let them be seen and felt, we show ourselves we can hold space. That’s where the nervous system comes in. Healing isn’t about being calm 24/7; it’s about cultivating a system that adapts, flows, and responds to the moment as it is. As we tend to these pieces, syncing with our own rhythm, we grow stronger—more capable of holding space not just for ourselves, but for those around us. Our connections become the forge where we’re broken and remade, where we learn that medicine isn’t about dodging pain—it’s about moving through it, together.

Trusting the Break, Embracing the Becoming

Here’s the raw truth: there are days I’d trade it all to unchoose this path. The moment I said yes to being a healer, my world shattered—and the last decade has tested me beyond measure. This is the vulnerable shape it’s taken: my husband and I built a house from the ground up, shortly after which I faced cancer in myself, and later lost my husband to it. More loved ones followed—my grandfather, two dogs I adored, and recently my mom, gone in a heartbeat—leaving me to guide my family through grief and the practical chaos she once held. I’ve carried a business, a sprawling home, and I’ve held my four kids through trauma that still echoes from a home invasion and the passings of their father and grandmother, all while menopause and soul-deep medicine journeys cracked me open further.

Then there were the relationships—men who used their spirituality as a mask, promising to hold space for me as I did for them. But each time shit got real, they vanished, teaching me the hard way how rare — and vital —dependability and steadiness is. Through it all, a few good friends stood firm, their quiet presence a lifeline when I couldn’t hold myself. That’s where I learned what it truly means to hold space: not just to say it, but to stay.

And yet, here’s the other side: I’ve been braver, stronger, more compassionate than I ever thought possible. I did it. I do it. And now I know I can.

The Universe might strip us bare, but it’s not the end—it’s the beginning. And listen – it’s not a competition. Maybe your life has been easier than mine since you chose to walk the medicine path, but maybe it’s been harder, too. In the end, it doesn’t matter; the only thing that matters is what we do with it all, how we use it to become better, stronger, more empathetic and compassionate. We’re not here to out-suffer each other or fix the world—or even one another. We’re here to tend to ourselves, to unearth the lessons carved for us alone. We’re here to hold space, to carry medicine forged in our own mending. Compassion, empathy, strength—these aren’t just tools; they’re the living legacy of our wounds.

So let’s trust this, even when it aches. We’re all wounded healers in the making, shaped by the cracks, softened by the stitching. The Universe breaks us not to shatter us, but to show us how to hold space—for ourselves, for each other, for the medicine we’re meant to share.

And if this stirs you, if you feel that call to hold loving space, I’ve got something coming. In four days, on April 8th, I’m unveiling a special offering—a proven framework to face your wounds, awaken your medicine, and step into being a sacred space holder. Swing by http://rowan-wellness.com/spark and peek at The Integrated Path to Awakening if you’re curious. It’s going to light the way.

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