Spiritual Wokeness: Trend or Transformation?

Exploring the line between healing hype and humanity’s deeper awakening.

Once upon a time—March 2020, to be exact—the world paused. When the WHO declared COVID-19 a global pandemic, most of us were locked down with nothing but our thoughts, anxieties, and an uncomfortable awareness of our mortality.

Any time life kicks our ass—grief, divorce, identity crisis—we instinctively search for something to ease the pain. If we’re lucky, we’re guided toward spirituality or religion, not something self-destructive.

So, it was no surprise to me when spiritual seeking skyrocketed during COVID. People were desperate for meaning, for connection. For a lifeline. But for me, that journey began years before the world shut down.

Back in 2011, I went through a divorce. I was lost, hollowed out. My entire identity had been wrapped in someone else’s story. When that ended, I had no choice but to find out who I was. I knew I needed help—real help—so I committed to 30 straight days of yoga. That one intention cracked everything open.

Vinyasa, Ashtanga, Kundalini, Yin, Restorative, Hot— I tried every kind of yoga you can imagine—and from there, breathwork, mantra, meditation, and finally… ceremony. On day 28, I found myself inside a traditional Cherokee and Choctaw sweat lodge in the mountains of Ojai, California.

That day, we built a new dome —a living womb of softened willow branches bound with bark (quite a celebratory event-lucky me!). Around forty of us gathered on the land that day—barefoot, sweaty, tired even before the ceremony began—yet we were ready for something special. That day changed my life. Everything—yoga, journaling, breathwork—suddenly clicked. I had found my way through the darkness. I was high on life. I couldn’t get enough of that spiritual juice.

Everything I had practiced began to integrate. My body, breath, and soul finally aligned. I was high on life, lit up from the inside, buzzing with clarity and purpose.

Fast-forward to 2016. I had facilitated dozens of ceremonies at Green Maya, my then eco-tourism company in Tulum, Mexico. We worked with respected shamans, medicine guides, and elders with decades of experience. We held space for Ayahuasca (and other forms of DMT), Peyote, San Pedro, Cacao, Rapé, Mushrooms, Sun Dance, Moon Dance, Tobacco prayer—tools meant to support healing, not hijack it.

At that time, Tulum was still a powerful spiritual vortex, drawing “healers” from every corner of the globe. I use the word “healers” lightly because the real healer is within each of us. But sometimes, we need guides—elders who’ve walked the path—to help us reconnect to that inner source and remember how to listen.

Then came the boom. The global spiritual movement took off—festivals, weekend warrior retreats, sacred sound baths, copal, and palo santo in every breath. Burning Man was peaking. Spirituality was in the air. “We Are One!”

But alongside that movement came the party culture—the all-nighters, the substance-fueled “breakthroughs”, the quest for constant highs without integration. We mistook altered states for healing.

When the pandemic hit, the demand for spiritual healing exploded—and suddenly, everyone knew someone who knew a “healer.” DMT Ceremonies popped up in New York City apartments. Tulum devolved into a chaotic caricature of itself. With demand came supply, and authenticity got lost in a sea of Insta-shamans charging thousands for quick-fix breakthroughs, promising “20 years of therapy in one night.”

Here’s what I know after all these years: the highs can be magical, sure. But the real work is in the aftermath. The practice. The integration. The quiet. I’ve experienced all the modalities I mentioned, and some of them took me a full year to unpack.

If you’ve done 10 Ayahuasca ceremonies in two years, but haven’t changed your daily habits or taken the time to integrate, you’ve likely missed the point. This isn’t about escape. It’s about remembering.

There’s no magic bullet. No single ceremony will heal your life. The healer is within. And once you recognize that, your real journey begins—prayer, movement, meditation, ceremony, rest, nutrition, nature, community, service. These are the tools that keep you steady.

I’m not against people becoming healers, guides, or shamans. The world needs more of you. But if you claim that role, it must be earned. Through apprenticeship. Through humility. Through time with elders and real learning. These sacred practices weren’t meant to be commodified or fast-tracked into a business model.

Yes, healers deserve compensation, but support should reflect integrity, not hype. Service can be financial, but also through time, energy, volunteering, or gratitude. The exchange should be sacred. No spiritual washers allowed.

Wherever you are on your journey—just starting, reawakening, or spiraling back into your becoming—I honor your path. There are places still rooted in tradition. There are spaces held with integrity. And there are experiences that won’t offer you immediate answers but will give you the tools to find them.

A’hoo for all my relations 🙏🏼