On healing, intuition, and the soul’s deeper logic
From Noticing to Understanding
In my last post, I wrote about noticing—learning to recognize the thoughts, beliefs, and emotions that shape our inner terrain. Often, what we notice is what’s not working.
But then what?
Are changing those thoughts, beliefs, and emotions the most helpful thing we can do? Sometimes yes. Sometimes there’s an intervention that helps us shift our pattern or redirect the story. But other times, it’s not about changing anything at all—it’s about seeing it in context. A larger picture. A deeper pattern.
And that’s where it helps to learn how to access something bigger.
Our own higher power.
Our immediate connection with intuition.
Something I call HOme.
A Healing Path That Didn’t Follow the Rules
In July of 2012, I was diagnosed with stage 2 melanoma. The pathology report (Breslow depth: 1.3 mm, mitotic rate: brisk) suggested a higher risk of spread, and every doctor I consulted—my oncologist, surgeon, and two GPs—strongly recommended further treatment.
The second surgery would have removed more tissue around the original site, with reconstruction from another area, and also involved removing and biopsying nearby lymph nodes. They all thought I was making a mistake by declining it.
But I didn’t go through with the surgery. I trusted something else.
And now, more than a decade later, I’m cancer-free.
No signs of recurrence. No complications. I’ve healed.
And I know that doesn’t fit the expected narrative.
But maybe the narrative is the problem.
Beyond Symptom Management
As a therapist, I was trained to think in terms of diagnoses, treatment plans, and symptom reduction. Especially within systems like insurance panels, there’s often pressure to show quick, measurable improvements. But over time, I began to see that symptoms—whether physical or emotional—often point to something deeper.
Sometimes there’s a root cause, something unbalanced or out of alignment. Other times, symptoms arise because we’ve strayed too far from our own wholeness. The invitation isn’t just to manage the symptom—it’s to understand what it’s asking of us.
And that’s why healing can’t always come from the outside.
What if, instead of always turning to professionals—who may also be missing the point—we learned to connect with the expert inside of us?
Listening Instead of Forcing
I’ve seen it in my own life—and in the lives of others who’ve been generous enough to share their stories. Healing doesn’t always begin with insight or intervention. Sometimes it begins with noticing—and then noticing again. Patterns, pain, the shape of the story. We return to it not to fix, but to stay close. To keep asking. To stay curious.
Not a click, not a surge, not even a “moment of insight” that resolves everything. What I’ve seen is a kind of ongoing recognition through devoted noticing. A soul-truth that grows clearer through repetition, not revelation. It doesn’t come from a therapist’s framework or a mental strategy. It comes from the practice of coming closer, again and again. A listening that’s so patient it eventually becomes knowing.
Like the client who kept the peace no matter what it cost her. For years, she’d explain away the discomfort—tell herself she was being too sensitive or that it was her job to absorb tension. But she kept noticing. Kept questioning why the pain lingered. And eventually, without any dramatic shift, she began to see it differently. Not because someone told her. But because the truth wouldn’t stay hidden forever.
Or the woman in the job that left her numb. She didn’t leap into a new life. She just kept paying attention—to the fatigue, the dread, the way her body felt every Sunday night. Slowly, she came to understand: the job wasn’t the only thing holding her back. Something in her had learned not to want too much. Not to imagine too freely. And realizing that wasn’t a moment—it was a slow return to something she’d once known and then forgotten.
Or the client who cycled through relationships without rest. She came to therapy thinking she was too much, too emotional, too needy. But over time, through the noticing, something else began to emerge. Not neediness—an ache. A deep, unspoken longing for the kind of love she never received early on. No one diagnosed it. It was her own quiet attention, over months and years, that allowed her to finally feel it without flinching.
Books like Radical Remission and Cured are filled with stories like these—not of sudden epiphanies, but of people who kept noticing. Who stayed with the pain, the fear, the patterns, until something truer began to rise. Healing didn’t come from forcing a breakthrough. It came from honoring what was already trying to be known and showing up in the body. Many of these people released suppressed emotion, grieved losses they’d never fully faced, or stopped living in ways that betrayed who they really were. Not because someone prescribed it. But because, little by little, they stopped turning away.
What If We Trusted the Process?
And that brings me back to my own story. I didn’t fight cancer. I didn’t even “beat” it. I just listened. I stayed close to what felt true. And I let my life reconfigure itself around that truth.
Anita Moorjani comes to mind. Diagnosed with terminal cancer, she slipped into a coma—and had a near-death experience. When she returned, the cancer disappeared. But just as striking was what she said afterward: that she finally stopped living in fear. She started trusting life. Trusting herself. And everything changed.
I’m not claiming that every illness has a mystical cause, or that intuition should override every medical recommendation. But I do think we’ve underestimated something: the intelligence of the soul. The timing of emotional lessons. The possibility that life wants to unfold in a way that brings us home to ourselves.
The First Step Might Be HOme
So I’ll leave you with this:
What if healing doesn’t have to be engineered?
What if it’s waiting for us to stop interfering?
What if your life is already trying to bloom?
And what if your next step is simply to go HOme?
HOme is one of the core Tools in this work. It starts with checking in with a Higher Order—whatever you call that source of wisdom. Then the small me listens and takes a grounded step… or not. Sometimes the step is action. Sometimes it’s rest. But the point is: it’s not random. It’s not reactive. It’s a co-creation.
And maybe that’s the whole point.