Bernice sat in my office, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, the silver bracelet she wore glinting nervously in the dim light. She was a woman marked by the struggle for self-worth, her past woven with threads of neglect and longing. Growing up in a house where love was a conditional offer, Bernice learned early that affection was something to be earned through perfection. Her mother, an unforgiving taskmaster, had set the bar impossibly high, leaving Bernice with an insatiable hunger for validation that never seemed to be fulfilled.

“Every mistake felt like a betrayal,” she began, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve spent my life trying to prove I’m worthy.” As she spoke, the weight of her words hung in the air, thick and palpable, like the musty smell of old books and dust that filled the room. The shadows in the corners seemed to stretch, reaching for her as if they could sense the turmoil brewing within.

It was only a month ago that the whispers started. At first, they were indistinct murmurs, barely audible against the backdrop of her life. But then they grew louder, more insistent, echoing in her mind like a relentless chant. “You’ll never escape. You’ll never be enough.” Each phrase was a dagger, piercing through her defenses, pulling her deeper into despair.

Bernice’s relationships reflected this internal chaos. Once close friends became distant echoes, their laughter fading into uncomfortable silence. Mia, her childhood friend, had been the first to slip away, leaving Bernice feeling abandoned and unworthy. “I thought we were close,” Bernice lamented, her voice cracking under the strain. “But it was like she found joy in my failures. I could feel it.”

The tension in the room swelled as she recounted her nightmares—dark figures looming over her in the dead of night, fingers tightening around her throat, squeezing the breath from her lungs. The air grew colder, and I could almost hear the whispers she described, their chilling cadence mingling with the drumming of her heartbeat.

“What if she’s doing this to me?” Bernice’s eyes glistened with fear. “What if Mia’s sending something to hurt me?”

In that moment, I recognized the truth lurking beneath her words: this was not just psychological torment. It was a psychic attack, an insidious curse fueled by envy and unresolved resentment.

As the session wore on, I could feel the atmosphere shifting, the shadows thickening around her as if they had drawn strength from her vulnerability. “You are not alone in this,” I reassured her, but doubt clawed at her expression.

Then came the climax of her anguish: Bernice recalled a confrontation with Mia, a moment steeped in hurtful words and bitter accusations. “I saw the pleasure in her eyes when I fell apart,” she whispered. “I think she revels in my suffering.”

Suddenly, the air seemed to snap, and a chill coursed through the room. The shadows twisted and turned, becoming a storm of dark energy that threatened to consume her. But in that moment, Bernice found a flicker of defiance. “I refuse to let her win,” she declared, her voice growing stronger.

As I guided her through the release of that toxic energy, the room brightened, and the shadows recoiled, shriveling under her determination. It was a moment of catharsis, where Bernice began to recognize her power. She was not merely a victim; she could reclaim her narrative.

With every breath, she banished the whispers that had haunted her for so long. As the energy shifted, I felt the oppressive weight lifting, the air warming as if a long-forgotten sun had broken through the clouds.

In that transformative moment, Bernice emerged not just as a client seeking healing, but as a woman redefined—no longer shackled by the chains of envy or the shadows of her past. She left with a newfound sense of agency, a profound understanding that she could navigate her legacy, break the cycle, and choose her own path.

The room settled into a tranquil silence, the shadows retreating to their corners, leaving behind a soft glow of hope. Bernice’s journey had just begun, but the weight of her past no longer defined her. In confronting her fears, she had discovered not just healing, but the power to reshape her future.

After our healing sessions, Bernice returned to my office radiating a newfound energy. The shadows that had once clung to her seemed to have been shed like an old skin. Her silver bracelet still gleamed, but now it sparkled with a vibrancy that mirrored her transformation.

“I’ve made some big changes,” she began, her eyes alight with excitement. “I started volunteering at a local art center. It’s been amazing to be surrounded by creativity and positive energy.” She described how working with children rekindled her love for art, a passion she had long sidelined in pursuit of approval. “For the first time, I feel free to express myself without fear of judgment,” she said, her smile contagious.

Bernice also took the courageous step of reaching out to Mia. “I told her how I felt—about our friendship, the hurt, everything,” she shared, her voice steady and confident. “To my surprise, she listened. I realized I was holding on to so much anger that it was poisoning me.” This confrontation didn’t lead to a complete reconciliation, but it allowed Bernice to reclaim her narrative and move forward without the burden of unresolved resentment.

“I also started practicing mindfulness every morning,” she added. “It helps clear my mind of the old whispers.” The simple act of grounding herself each day cultivated a deeper sense of self-worth. She spoke of how she now begins each day with affirmations, reminding herself that she is enough—just as she is.

The most remarkable change, however, was how she began to mend other relationships that had suffered under the weight of her insecurities. “I reached out to old friends I’d distanced myself from,” she said, her eyes sparkling with hope. “It felt amazing to reconnect. We laughed and reminisced, and it felt like coming home.” Each interaction was a step toward building a support system rooted in mutual respect and love.

Bernice wanted to continue our sessions, focussing on her creative abilities. During one session, Bernice shared her creative endeavors. “I’ve started painting again,” she said, her voice filled with joy. “I made a piece that represents my journey. It’s bright and chaotic, but it feels like me.” She described how the act of creating had become a form of therapy, a way to channel her emotions into something beautiful and tangible. The fear that had once silenced her now fueled her artistry.

Her personal growth was accompanied by a shift in her career. “I’ve been applying for jobs that resonate with my passions instead of what I think I ‘should’ do,” she explained. “I landed an interview for a position at a community organization that supports artists. It feels like a perfect fit!” There was an unmistakable excitement in her voice, a testament to her determination to forge a path aligned with her true self.

By the time our sessions drew to a close, Bernice was not just surviving; she was thriving. The shadows that once haunted her had transformed into stepping stones, guiding her toward a brighter future. She had learned to embrace her imperfections, recognizing them as integral to her journey rather than obstacles to her worth.

As she prepared to leave my office for the last time, I felt a profound sense of pride in her transformation. Bernice was no longer defined by her past or the whispers that had once tormented her. Instead, she stood tall, a woman fully alive, ready to embrace the beauty of her own story. With every step she took, the air around her shimmered with the promise of possibility, and the world felt a little brighter for it.