I didn’t know the anxiety wasn’t mine.

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For most of my life, there was a constant hum beneath everything.  A quiet, constant buzz—like the low sound of a refrigerator at night.  Subtle enough to ignore in my day-to-day life, but present enough to feel when I got still.  I carried it in my body like a secret I didn’t want to remember.  A baseline hum of tension in my nervous system that even after years of doing healing work couldn’t fully dissolve.  I had done the work—participated in years of traditional talk therapy, trauma work, dream work, body work, and spiritual practices such as yoga, meditation, and prayer.  And while these helped to soften the edges around my psyche and lower the volume of anxiety to bring me into deeper awareness, complete stillness remained just out of reach.  No matter how much I healed, something underneath remained unsettled.

 

Then, during my doctoral research, I discovered the work of Eileen McKusick, who founded Biofield Tuning.  I read about how memory isn't just held in the brain, but in the electromagnetic field that surrounds the body.  That trauma, emotion, and memory leave vibrational signatures—echoes—in the biofield.  Something inside me stirred.  As someone who’s always longed not just to understand, but to experience the theories I read, I booked a session with Bonnie Key, a Biofield Tuning practitioner in Atlanta, where I was living at the time. 

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My First Biofield Tuning Session

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I lay on the table.  Eyes closed.  The room was quiet.

 

Bonnie moved slowly around me, sweeping a tuning fork through the space surrounding my body.  She explained the biofield, how it stores our biography as a timeline of events in our energy field.  How the tuning forks can detect dissonance, the unresolved places we’ve been carrying.

 

Then something shifted.  As the fork entered the left side of my field, near my abdomen, it made a sharp, loud, discordant sound.  Bonnie paused.  “This feels like something very early,” she said gently. “Maybe in-utero.”

 

In that moment, something deep within me responded.  There were no images, no memories, just feeling.  A rush of sensation moved through my belly.  Pressure rose in my chest. My arms and legs went cold, heavy, and felt disconnected from the rest of my body.  It was as if my body were speaking a truth it had never been allowed to voice.  I felt frozen and exposed.  Frightened and awake.  I stayed with the sensations.  I breathed.  I remembered the breath my yoga teachers had taught me.  I found the edges of the discomfort and softened into them.

 

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

 

And there it was.  The hum I had carried for a lifetime was not mine. 

 

When I was in-utero, my mother already had three children.  She was exhausted.  Stretched thin. Trying to hold everything together.  And I, just forming, in the womb had no barrier.  No ego.  No filter to protect myself.  I absorbed her overwhelm into my nervous system like oxygen.  And I had lived with it as if it were my own.

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The Release

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The fork began to shift in tone.  What once sounded sharp now softened into coherence.  Bonnie explained the term entrainment.  The coherent tone of the fork helped the field re-organize—like tuning an instrument back into harmony.  Tears filled my closed eyes as I sensed the release.  And without me willing it, my shoulders dropped.  My breath deepened.  The knot in my belly loosened.  It felt like my field was exhaling.  Something ancient releasing.  I didn’t realize how long I’d been holding my breath until I finally let it go.

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Afterward

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In the days that followed, the world looked the same but felt entirely different.  Quieter.  Safer. More beautiful.  Not because the outer world had change, but because I had.  The hum that had always been with me was gone.

 

I realized then some of the emotions we carry are not ours.  They are inherited, imprinted, or passed through us epigenetically or energetically through wombs, words, or silence.  We carry them not out of weakness, but out of connection, love, and survival.  But we do not have to keep carrying what does not belong to us.  With sound, with breath, and with intention, we can release what does not belong to us and return to ourselves.  We can tune the field.  We can come back into resonance with the part of us that has always been whole.  We can come back into harmony.

 

Sound healing is not just a modality—it is a way home.

A way of remembering who we are beneath the static.
A way of bringing the soul back into the body—gently, fully, without force.
A way of tuning the field until the memory of the Self comes through—clear, strong, and true.

Whether in a one-on-one session or within the shared resonance of a group, my deepest intention is always the same:
To hold a space where the noise can quiet.
Where the distortions may dissolve.
Where the body can soften enough to let the soul land back into the body.

This is the work.
Not to fix what was never broken—
But to clear what never truly belonged.

To restore coherence.
To return to the harmony that was always there, waiting beneath the hum.

And from that place—
To remember peace.
To feel oneness.
To live in harmony with the Mystery and become clearer instruments of the Divine.