The day I came out of the closet... as an energy worker

For years, I thought I knew exactly what I was meant to do with my life.

I had gone to business school, discovered I was gifted at organizing, planning, and helping people clarify their vision. I built a career out of it—first in corporate settings, later as a consultant, and eventually as a strategic planner and coach. That was the life I shared publicly: focused, efficient, professional.

But what most people didn’t know was that I was living a second life.

Quietly, behind the scenes, I was deeply immersed in something completely different. In the early mornings, late nights, and weekends, I was learning and practicing energy work. It had started in the late 90s, in Bogotá, Colombia, when I met my first energy teacher. I was in my 20s, and she was almost 30 years older than me—a grounded, radiant, fiercely loving woman who had left her career as an architect to dedicate her life to energy healing.

Being around her was magnetic. She didn’t try to impress anyone. She was simply herself. Centered. Present. Compassionate. Powerful. And real.

Week after week, I learned from her. I never planned to "become" an energy worker. I was simply trying to understand myself—to make sense of the out-of-body experiences I’d had as a teenager, the intense sensitivity that often overwhelmed me, the feeling of knowing things without knowing how. Her tools helped me navigate my inner world with more clarity, especially during hard moments in motherhood, work, and life transitions.

But still, I kept it quiet.

In the world I came from, talking about energy tools was... risky. It sounded unprofessional, even woo-woo. I kept those two parts of me separate: the corporate strategist and the curious energy student. It was only in my private spaces that I allowed my full self to show up.

That split lasted for more than two decades.

Then came 2023. I had recently turned 50. My daughter was getting ready to leave for college. I had spent the past two years in Boulder, Colorado, trying to build a coaching practice focused on wellness and strategic vision. But something wasn’t clicking. I felt bored. Disconnected. Like I was playing a role that no longer fit.

And yet, my "hobby"? It kept calling me.

So I planned a trip—a personal pilgrimage—for my 50th birthday. My husband and I drove out to Monument Valley and Arches National Park. The whole journey had one purpose: to ask my soul what it truly wanted.

Standing in that vast, sacred desert, something shifted. I had one of those quiet, irreversible realizations:

If not now, when?

If I kept trying to fit into a box that no longer felt like home, I would never experience the fullness of what I came here to do. If I got to the end of my life, I knew the one thing I’d regret would be not sharing what had saved me over and over again: energy work.

It wasn’t just a passion. It had become the foundation of my life. My way of making sense of the world. My way of finding peace.

I didn’t want to hide it anymore.

So I came home from that trip, and I made the leap. I said goodbye to my coaching business and shifted fully into energy work. I began formal clairvoyant training here in Boulder and finally allowed myself to be seen as who I really was: a spiritual guide and energy mentor.

It was terrifying.

I had spent years cultivating a professional identity in corporate and academic circles. To "come out" as an energy worker felt like jumping off a cliff. I was scared of being judged. Of losing credibility. Of people thinking I’d lost my mind.

But I was also done pretending.

And the truth is: the more I owned my path, the more the universe supported me. Clients started showing up—not because I convinced them, but because they felt it. They sensed the alignment. The groundedness. The peace I had fought so hard to find.

Today, I wake up each morning knowing I’m doing the work I was born to do. The work I tried to run from. The work I used to hide. And I’m grateful for every step of that journey—even the ones I took in fear.

If you’ve ever felt like there are two versions of you—one the world sees, and one you keep hidden—just know this: you’re not alone. And it’s never too late to come home to yourself.

With love,

Maria