For most of my life, there was a constant hum beneath everything—

like the low buzz of a refrigerator at night.  It wasn’t panic, not exactly. It was quieter, more elusive: a background pressure, a sense of being “on alert” even when nothing was wrong.

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I discovered the work of Eileen McKusick and the theory of Biofield Tuning while doing my doctoral research.  Forever the spiritual seeker wanting the experience of what I had read, I sought out a Biofield Tuning practitioner in Atlanta, where I was living at the time.  Despite years of talk therapy, trauma work, dream work, and even deliverance prayer, I was unable to completely heal my baseline level of anxiety. 

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My First Biofield Tuning Session

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During my session, I lay on the table, eyes closed, while the practitioner swept a tuning fork slowly through the air around me. She explained that the biofield—the electromagnetic field surrounding the body—stores the vibrational record of our entire lives. Memories don’t just live in the brain. They live in the field and can be read like a timeline of events.

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The practitioner paused, her fork making a loud sound upon just entering my field on the left side of my body, near my abdomen. “This feels like something very early,” she said softly. “Maybe in-utero.”

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I felt a wave of emotion rise—unexpected and ancient. No images. Just pressure in my chest, like the walls were closing in.  I felt frozen in fear.  My breath caught in my chest.

She continued working the area, gently activating the fork and holding it at that spot. The sound continued to change from loud to soft to buzzing.  The fork mirrored the dissonance stored in my field. She explained that during gestation, babies attune to the mother’s emotional state. If the mother was anxious, overwhelmed, or afraid, that vibrational pattern can imprint on the developing nervous system.

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And there it was. That I fear that had lingered despite years of therapy had been hers—not mine. My mother’s fear.  She was already a mother of three children, all under the age of 8, when I was born.  And I—just forming in the womb—had no ego yet to defend myself and absorbed the anxiety. That hum I had carried? It was hers.

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The Release

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As the session continued, the sound of the fork began to stabilize. My body responded without me asking it to: my shoulders softened, my breath deepened, and the tightness in my gut melted like wax. The hum quieted.

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The practitioner moved the fork slowly toward my body, integrating the cleared vibration. She called it resonant entrainment—the tuning fork’s coherent frequency helped my field reorganize itself. Like a an out of tune instrument slowly being brought back in tune.  Something deep inside of me let go. I didn’t realize how long I had been holding my breath.

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Afterward

Over the next few days, the world felt different.  Safer.  Quieter.  More beautiful than before.  Not because anything had changed on the outside—but because something had shifted within. The hum that had been with me for decades was gone.  Maybe not gone forever, but no longer driving the show.

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I realized then: some of our anxieties aren’t ours. They are inherited, absorbed, or passed through us epigenetically or energetically. But we don’t have to keep on carrying them. With sound, with presence, with intention—we can release what doesn’t belong to us. We can come back into harmony, back into tune with the expression of our truest and highest Self.