Spiritual Awakening Feels Like Falling Apart

Cracked earth, sacred becoming: the threshold of spiritual awakening

The strange experience of waking up

It often begins quietly. A lingering sense that something is off. A heightened sensitivity. A dream that stays with you for days. A symptom no doctor can explain.

The early stages of a spiritual awakening are rarely graceful. They can feel more like falling apart than rising up. Emotions once neatly managed begin to spill over. Fatigue sets in without warning. Your skin might feel too thin. Your heart too open.
The world, once familiar, feels strange and unreal.

You start to wonder:
Why can’t I handle what others seem to manage with ease?
Why do I feel everything so deeply?
Why am I suddenly overwhelmed by sounds, smells, light, or the presence of other people?

For Medial People—those born to dwell in the in-between, to hold space between worlds—this awakening can be especially disorienting. You’re not just waking up to a new sense of yourself. You’re waking up to everything: the collective grief, the ancestral stories, the unseen realms, the truth beneath the surface.

It can feel isolating, even terrifying.
Friends don’t understand. Practitioners dismiss it.
You may be told you’re too sensitive. Too dramatic.
You may be misdiagnosed, medicated, misunderstood.

But what’s really happening is this: your soul is stretching. Your nervous system is trying to keep up. The veil is thinning, and you are beginning to remember who you are—and who you are not.

This is not pathology. This is passage.

You’re not broken—you’re in the threshold

What if the very things that make you feel broken are the signs that you were never meant to live an ordinary life?

The panic, the fatigue, the sense that the world is “too much”—they’re not proof that you’re weak. They’re signals. Markers. Invitations into a deeper way of living. One that asks for presence, not performance. One that begins not with achievement but with attunement.

You’re not dysfunctional—you’re a Thresholder.

Thresholders are the ones who live in the between. Born to walk the edges of the known and unknown. Called to tend the liminal spaces between the physical and the spiritual, the visible and the invisible, the old world and the one that’s trying to be born.

It’s not a role you chose. It’s a nature you carry.

And because you carry it, the conventional world often feels like a costume too tight for your skin. When you try to live as if you’re “normal”—as if you don’t see, feel, or know what you do—your system suffers. Not because you’re failing, but because your gifts are asking to be honored.

This is the threshold: a place of pressure, paradox, and possibility. A place where the old begins to dissolve and the new has not yet formed. It’s confusing here. Tender. Uncertain.

But it’s not wrong.
It’s sacred.

And you’re not alone.

The body becomes the messenger

When the soul is silenced, the body speaks.

For many Thresholders, the first unmistakable signs of spiritual awakening don't arrive as visions or bliss—they arrive as breakdown. A nervous system that won’t settle. Fatigue that no amount of rest can touch. Illnesses that defy diagnosis, or flare and fade in maddening, mysterious cycles. One moment you're functional, the next you're undone by a wave of vertigo, gut pain, skin eruptions, or searing anxiety. And no one can tell you why.

But your body knows.

Because your body is not betraying you. It’s trying to reroute you. Recalibrate you. Rewild you.

Autoimmune flare-ups, chronic pain, migraines, digestive disorders, hormonal chaos, even sudden allergies and sensitivities—these are the cries of a system trying to survive in a life that no longer fits. Or never did.

For spiritually sensitive people, the line between body and spirit is especially thin. What your soul can't express in words, your body makes undeniable. You feel everything. Not just your own grief, confusion, or fear—but the stored grief of ancestors, the unspoken tension in a room, the psychic weight of a collapsing culture.

This is not dysfunction. It’s initiation.

In shamanic traditions, this kind of illness is not something to suppress or fix. It’s a summons. A turning point. A rupture that makes space for your truer life to emerge. The symptoms aren’t punishments—they’re sacred signals, asking: Will you listen? Will you trust this path? Will you let go of who you were told to be, so you can become who you are?

Why nothing seems to work

You’ve tried everything.
Therapies. Protocols. Supplements. Detoxes. Yoga. Acupuncture. Plant medicine. Breathwork. Energy healing. Somatic release. Each one promised relief. Some even brought glimpses of it—clarity, calm, a moment of hope. But then the symptoms crept back in. The exhaustion returned. The anxiety flared. Your system clamped shut. And you were left wondering if you imagined the progress in the first place.

It’s not that those methods are wrong. It’s that they weren’t made for you.

Most healing approaches are designed for systems that function within what our culture defines as “normal.” For bodies that are wired for a linear pace, a logical framework, and surface-level safety. But spiritually sensitive people—Thresholders—carry a different blueprint. You weren’t built for boxes. You’re not here to bounce back to a version of “health” that still requires you to deny your truth.

Your sensitivity isn’t a weakness—it’s a guidance system. But when that system is flooded or misread, the very tools meant to help can actually destabilize you further. Over-efforting, over-processing, overriding your own instincts to “get better” faster—it all backfires.

Because your healing isn’t about fixing symptoms. It’s about returning to alignment with the deeper truth of who you are and what you’re here to hold.

What you need isn’t another technique.
It’s a way of being that honors your unique design—a pace, a rhythm, a framework rooted in slowness, in spirals, in spiritual ecology.
In right relationship.

This is why nothing has worked the way you hoped: because you’re not here to be patched up and put back into a system that’s sick.
You’re here to birth a new way.
And that begins with learning to trust the one you already carry.

What makes you sick is trying to be what you’re not

It doesn’t happen all at once.
At first, it’s just little things—small betrayals of instinct, slight turns away from what you know deep down to be true. You learn to tone yourself down, to shrink, to smile when you’re not okay. To “manage” your sensitivity, your vision, your deep feelings. To stay quiet about the dreams, the visitations, the way the land speaks to you. You try to live as others do, to blend in, to make it through.

And over time, the body begins to speak.

First in whispers—fatigue, fog, a subtle sense of disconnection. Then louder—illness, inflammation, panic, despair.
Because the deepest illness of all is trying to be what you’re not.

Medial People—those with one foot in the seen and one in the unseen—were never meant to live exclusively in either world. You weren’t made to be purely of matter, producing and performing in a linear culture that denies the sacred. Nor were you meant to float in the ether, disconnected from embodiment, pretending the density of earth doesn’t ache sometimes.

What makes us sick is living lopsided:

🜁 Too much in spirit—ungrounded, porous, unprotected.
🜃 Too much in matter—numb, domesticated, flattened.
🌑 Living light-washed, avoiding the shadow.
🎭 Denying the wild beauty of your gifts, or only expressing them in distorted, performative ways.
🤝 Contorting yourself to fit in—until your own soul no longer recognizes the shape you’ve taken.

This dissonance between who you are and who you’ve been asked to be—by family, by society, by fear—creates the internal fracture.
And the body, wise and loyal, does what it must to wake you up.

Your symptoms are not evidence that something has gone wrong.
They are evidence that something within you is too sacred to be sacrificed.

You don’t get sick because you’re broken.
You get sick because some part of you knows it’s time to come home.

You were born for this threshold

There is nothing wrong with you.

Let that land.

The world may have told you otherwise—that you’re too much, too sensitive, too strange. That you’re not practical enough, not tough enough, not grounded in reality. Maybe you’ve tried to fix yourself. To shut off your knowing, to dull your feelings, to push through the overwhelm. Maybe you’ve spent a lifetime wondering why you can’t do life the way others seem to.

But you weren’t made for that life.

You were made for this threshold.

The place between what was and what is yet to be.
The liminal edge where culture is composting and something ancient and luminous is rooting in the dark.
You, dear one, are a Medial Person. A Thresholder. One of the in-between ones.

Medial People are born with one foot in the unseen, one foot in the tangible. You read the room before you enter it. You feel the grief others won’t name. You’ve always sensed something moving beneath the surface.
You carry the gifts of the wise one, the healer, the oracle, the artist, the mystic.
But until you understand your design, those very gifts can feel like burdens. Like liabilities. Like things to hide.

And yet—those are the very capacities we need now.

Because we are living in evolutionary times.
Systems are unraveling. Truths are being revealed. The old world is cracking, and the new one is not yet born. This in-between requires those who can see in the dark. Those who can feel what’s coming and hold what’s leaving. Those who can stand in the space between death and rebirth—and not look away.

You were born with that capacity. Not by mistake. Not as punishment. But as purpose.

Your sensitivity is not a flaw.
It is a sacred trust.
And this threshold is not exile—it’s initiation.

The shadow side of the gifts

There’s a reason you’ve doubted yourself.

There’s a reason you’ve feared the intensity of your gifts, or hidden them altogether.
It’s not just that you were told you were too much—it’s that somewhere in your bones, you’ve known the power they carry.

And power, ungrounded, can distort.

Without training, containment, or support, the same sensitivity that makes you a channel for healing can become a portal for overwhelm. For burnout. For chaos.

Medial People are wired to perceive what others don’t: energies, emotions, patterns, truths. But that very wiring can lead to psychic overload if you don’t know how to care for it. When you’re wide open without boundaries, you absorb what isn’t yours. You confuse intuition with projection. You may even misuse your insight—not out of malice, but because you’re untethered.

And the consequences are real.

Exhaustion that no amount of sleep can fix.
Confusion that clouds even the clearest guidance.
A subtle grandiosity that masks fear.
Or worse—unintended harm to others when your insight outpaces your self-awareness.

This isn’t meant to shame you. It’s meant to name what’s true.

The path of the Medial is sacred. But it requires discipline. Not the rigid, punitive kind. The devotional kind. The rooted kind. The kind that honors your gifts enough to give them a strong container.

That’s why you need practices that bring you back to your body.
You need elders who’ve walked the terrain before you.
You need a rhythm, a ground, a daily structure that helps you hold what moves through you.

Boundaries are not barriers—they are blessing bowls.
They shape the sacred.
They keep your sensitivity in service to life, not at the mercy of it.

This is how you grow your capacity—not just to perceive, but to carry what you’re here to carry.

And in times like these, that matters more than ever.

Healing happens in the in-between

The place you’ve been taught to avoid—this foggy, formless, in-between—is the very place where healing begins.

We are conditioned to chase clarity, fix problems, find direction. But shamanic illness, spiritual awakening, and the call of the Medial path all do the opposite: they unravel what once made sense. They pull you into the space between what was and what will be.

This is the threshold.
It’s uncomfortable.
It’s nonlinear.
It doesn’t give answers—it asks better questions.

To inhabit the threshold means learning to live without rushing to resolve.
To inhabit the threshold means recognizing that your healing isn’t in the destination, it’s in how you be with the not-knowing.

This is a spiritual practice. And a somatic one.

It’s breath that widens your field instead of tightening your focus.
It’s sitting with the ache without needing it to leave.
It’s orienting to the space around you—softening your gaze, feeling the ground under your feet, letting your spine be held.

The threshold is not a problem to solve.
It is a sacred space to tend.

You are not here to sprint through the discomfort to get back to normal.
You are here to become someone new.

Let the breakdowns break open.
Let the fog be your teacher.
Let your nervous system learn, gently, that it is safe to slow down, safe to not-know, safe to be remade by Mystery.

Healing happens in the liminal.
Healing happens in the in-between.

And when you stay present there—something ancient and future begins to reweave you.

This isn’t a problem—it’s a calling

What you’re experiencing is not a crisis to cure.
It’s a summons. A sacred initiation.

You were never meant to return to “normal.”
You’re here to help shape what comes after.

The world is changing. The old structures are collapsing. And those who live at the edges—Thresholders, Medial People, spiritual sensitives—are being called to midwife what’s next.

Your gifts were never a flaw.
Your pain is not proof you’re broken.
Your symptoms are the language of a soul that remembers a different way.

This path asks much of you.
But it also gives you a belonging that can’t be taken away—because it’s woven from the truth of who you are.

You are not meant to do this alone.

That’s why I created Rewild Yourself—a sacred container for spiritually sensitive people to root into seasonal rhythms, reclaim nervous system stability, and remember how to live in alignment with their soul’s true nature.

You don’t need another fix.
You need a fertile field to become who you were born to be.

→ Explore Rewild Yourself and begin the sacred return to your own Ground.
Because healing doesn’t happen in isolation.
It happens in right relationship—with your body, your spirit, and the living world around you.