Being a Healer: The Many Ways We Hold Space and Offer Healing
- Steven Mascheri
- Jun 27
- 3 min read
Updated: Jun 30
Today, I found myself reflecting on what it truly means to be a healer.
When we think of healing, we often picture a guru-like figure offering hands-on energy work, bathed in white light and surrounded by the sounds of calming new age music. Some healers market themselves through modalities they’ve studied, such as Reiki. I myself am certified in Reiki III. It’s a beautiful system of hands-on energy healing that was received by Usui as spiritual downloads.
Reiki is a powerful and sacred act of service—but energy healing has existed for centuries, even outside of structured systems. I once visited a friend in the hospital and offered her Reiki. It felt emotionally intimate. The core concept behind Reiki is becoming a clear channel for universal healing energy to flow through you and into another person. It’s not about "doing"—it’s about allowing.
But as I sat with these thoughts, I realized that many healers don’t even recognize that they are healing others.
There’s a woman I know—she’s a client, attends my classes, and receives readings. She’s experienced deep trauma throughout her life, both in childhood and adulthood. She’s been through it all. Yet, the way she speaks to people is incredibly moving. She connects through raw honesty and deep compassion, speaking from experience. She empowers those who feel ashamed. She can call out someone's excuses in a way they actually hear—because it comes from her heart.
The space she holds in silence during difficult moments is equally healing. Just being in her presence helps others feel empowered, seen, and heard. Seeds of truth are planted in every conversation. I’ve come to deeply value people like her—people who speak the truth without sugarcoating it. That kind of honesty can be piercing but absolutely necessary. Sometimes it’s what we need to fully wake up and reflect on how our actions affect others. She reminds us that even in the hardest times, we are never truly alone.
Then there’s another woman I know—gentle, grounding, and deeply soothing. She’s a staple at the metaphysical store where I teach and hold events. I say “staple” because she shows up for everything. Her consistent presence offers calm and stability. She’s warm, pleasant, and clearly loves being part of the community. In the early days, when I was nervous to teach, she would already be sitting at the table when I arrived—welcoming me with a smile. Her presence alone provided a sense of safety and support. That’s healing.
I also know someone whose life shifted dramatically in midlife. He lives very differently now, and he’s a natural healer—though he might not realize it. His voice, his kindness, his attention—these things make people feel genuinely cared for. He listens because he truly wants to hear your story. He offers wisdom and philosophy, perfectly attuned to each person’s situation. His words are healing.
Speaking of voice and sound—musicians are natural healers, too. Whether they sing or scream, they give expression to feelings many of us struggle to voice. That emotional resonance is powerful. It reminds me how often we underestimate our impact on others—both the positive and the negative.
And let me be clear: none of these people, myself included, are perfect. There’s a misconception that we have to be completely healed or 100% okay to help others. That’s not true. We’re human. Of course, it’s important to stay grounded and care for ourselves—for our sake and for others. But healing is a practice, not a destination. It’s about coming back to center, again and again.
We fall off the wagon, whatever that means for each of us. And that’s okay. The missteps are part of our growth. They show us what we need—more discipline, more kindness, fewer expectations. Whether you’re having a good day or a hard one, remember the importance of your intention. The energy you hold, the space you create, your words, your presence—they matter.
Healing isn’t always hands-on. Sometimes, it’s simply being.
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