Crossing Thresholds

A threshold is the physical boundary of a doorway, but spiritually, it’s a transition—the point where a stimulus becomes intense enough to produce an effect. We talk about pain thresholds, stress thresholds, and emotional thresholds. Put simply: a threshold is the place where you feel it, pushing you into a new way of living.

These past two weeks have been … weird. I always get deeply reflective around my birthday, and it almost always results in a “spiritual renewal” of sorts. It’s weird because I know it’s going to happen, yet I am always surprised when it does. This year, I pushed myself a little too far. 

Between birthday reflections, launching Hearth and Threshold, navigating my own ADHD, and stepping into a heavy season of caregiving, my cup wasn’t just full—it was overflowing – and NOT in the good way.

As a former chaplain, I used to let go of patients’ burdens easily because our relationships had clear ends. But as a pastor, mother, friend, and empath, I don’t have neat exit ramps. I hold onto people’s stuff.

In a single week, I sent intense Reiki to a friend’s son during surgery (feeling the intubation tube in my own throat), worked a 12-hour day in addition to supporting a colleague, navigated high-anxiety medical news with my mom, and tried to be present for my family.

I ignored every warning light until Sunday morning.

I woke up with a debilitating migraine that crossed my pain threshold, triggered a panic attack, and left me on the bathroom floor unable to remember how legs work. And I was supposed to preach in a few hours.

I snapped a half-dead selfie to my friends which included the church’s music director: “How am I going to do this today?”

His instant reply: “Go to bed. I got this—we’ll do a hymn sing.” Surprised that he was up at 6am, I didn’t argue!

My church leaders immediately stepped up. My husband brought ice packs, fixed the bulletin, and guarded the quiet. Like most women, I often inflate my ability to control everything and assume that if I don’t do it, it won’t get done. For the first time in a long time, I was forced to simply receive care.

The next day, still hurting, I finally sat down for self-Reiki. Within minutes, the headache cleared, my muscles unknotted, and my energy returned.

That’s when the real epiphany hit.

I hadn’t just neglected my grounding practices—I had been secretly shaming myself for them. I’d let the “shame gremlins” convince me my spiritual tools were impractical or absurd. I had gaslit myself into skepticism about prayer and energy work because the traditional church world isn’t always ready for a pastor who lights incense, follows moon cycles, reads oracle cards, and practices Japanese energy healing.

My body didn’t break down because of a medical issue. It broke down to force my eyes open.

I’m done shaming my own practice. I pray to a God who is as much Mother as Father, I practice Reiki, I love crystals, and I believe in an expansive faith.

Crossing that threshold was painful, but it taught me three things I won’t forget:

• My community is ready and willing to hold me up if I let them.
• Other people’s energy is mine to hold temporarily, not keep permanently.
• I am done hiding the tools that heal me.