Why Spiritual Worker?

It's not a self-proclaimed title. It's not something I was looking for.

I had a cushy job. Several, in fact.

Worked my way up on a few corporate ladders, was a good girl, making daddy proud.

Life, as one knows it, with the sleep - work - entertainment cycle was pretty good to me.

From the outside, nothing was wrong.

But the inner world has a way of insisting on being noticed, whether we invite it or not.

Long before I had language for it, or any intention of doing something with it, my attention kept turning inward — toward things that couldn’t be measured, explained, or easily shared.

As a child, this showed up in ways I didn’t yet know how to name. I noticed things others didn’t seem to notice. I spoke about them, until it became clear that doing so made me different — and not in a way that was welcome. “You’re imagining it” became familiar enough that I learned to stop sharing. Fitting in, after all, has its own kind of gravity.

Looking back at my path, I was never abandoned, no matter how hard I made my journey. And, by God, I made it hard. Suffice to say, you don't go chasing answers if you have an easy life.

A few years ago, in the middle of that searching, I attended a shamanic retreat. I wasn’t looking for a title, a role, or a revelation — just some clarity. At one point, the shaman asked whether we wanted to know what our mission on Earth was. The room stirred with excitement.

I had no idea what to expect. What followed surprised me as much as it might surprise you reading this.

In that inner space, an image appeared — unexpected, unmistakable. Jesus Christ, holding a sign. He told me to stop staring, to read it already — he had other places to be.
On the sign, in large, simple letters, were the words: Spiritual Worker.

I came back from the experience shaken, confused, and silent. I didn’t know what it meant, or what — if anything — I was supposed to do with it. I wasn’t looking for a label, and I certainly hadn’t asked for one.

The shaman said something that stayed with me: You don’t get to un-know this now. What has been unfolding for a while is simply becoming visible.

I shared the experience with the group, half-expecting laughter or skepticism. There was none. In that context, encounters like this were not treated as extraordinary — just personal.

After that, I began to pay closer attention. Not dramatically, not all at once — just enough to notice that something had shifted. I started exploring unfamiliar territory, carefully, without rushing to conclusions.

At first, I tried to reconcile it with the life I already had. One can be spiritually inclined and still hold a corporate job, I told myself. For many people, that’s true.

It wasn’t, as it turned out, true for me.

Not long after, circumstances aligned in a way I couldn’t ignore. What looked from the outside like a series of disruptions became, in hindsight, a coherent push. I resigned from a job that had once made sense, but no longer did. Continuing would have required a kind of inner dishonesty I could no longer justify.

I didn’t leave with certainty. I left with integrity.

I’m still learning what this path asks of me. I didn’t choose it as an identity, and I don’t hold it as a destination. I asked only that it reveal itself honestly — and I continue to ask for the clarity to walk it without straying.