There is no single path to awakening. By sharing where we began, what changed us, what challenged us and what we have learned, we remind one another that even the most personal journey can hold wisdom for the Collective.
Founder story
She Remembered Who She Was and the Game Changed
By Kristin Renee
I grew up in Michigan and was raised Christian in the Presbyterian church. Like most kids, it was background noise to my young mind. I hated having to get up early on Sundays to attend a “boring church service,” where the only thing I looked forward to was taking the “body and blood of Christ”—in other words, eating a little square of Wonder Bread and sipping from a tiny plastic cup of grape juice.
When I was 16, a friend from school was killed in a head-on car crash during our junior year. That was when I realized we weren’t invincible just because we were young, and I started questioning what life was all about. I turned to the only thing I knew for answers at the time: Jesus. I started attending church services with my late friend’s parents and grandmother and reading the entire Bible from page one. I was a good Christian for a couple of years; I even convinced a couple of friends to get on board.
But I began to have a lot of questions, and the answers I received did not always settle the doubt in the back of my mind. I didn’t want “blind faith” or to simply accept that “God works in mysterious ways.” I wanted concrete answers—something that felt real and made sense of why innocent 16-year-olds could be here one moment and gone the next.
I felt the urge to seek answers outside Christianity, but there was a very real and tangible fear in doing that. While I wasn’t raised in a “fire and brimstone” church, Christianity, at least as I understood it then, was the only way to Heaven. It was the only path, and all other paths were “of the devil.” I certainly didn’t want to dabble with the devil, much less burn in a lake of fire for eternity.
I struggled with my fear and doubt for several months before having my first spiritual awakening at age 18. I still remember it clearly, as though it happened yesterday. One doesn’t easily forget an experience that combines the raw emotion of despair with the undeniable peaceful presence of God.
I was alone in my apartment, crying—ugly crying, just sobbing—because I was questioning my faith. I wanted so badly to know God and seek answers, but I was also afraid of the consequences. So there I was, literally on my knees in my living room, sobbing and praying to God, or whomever was listening.
I remember saying aloud, “God, whatever you are, whoever you are—I don’t even know anymore—but please help me. Please lead me onto the right path. If I’m supposed to seek other answers, please take away my fear.”
In an instant, I felt what I can only describe as a sense of peace unlike anything I had ever experienced wash over me like a wave. I stopped crying. I felt incredibly peaceful—as if a light had switched on; it was that fast. I knew it was God, in whatever form I would eventually come to understand God, answering me. My fear disappeared in an instant and was replaced with peace.
Since my most recent and deepest spiritual awakening, I have experienced many more moments like that—more than I can count. But at the time, I had never experienced anything like it, and it was incredible. I remember calling my brother immediately afterward because I had to tell someone what had happened.
I went on to study the major world religions in college and read as many books as I could about different belief systems. I was drawn to Paganism and what some would call “New Age” spirituality, although I think that term received an undeserved reputation back in the day. My mother once found a Ouija board in my apartment and literally set it on fire. It’s okay—we laugh about it now.
By the time I was 19 and living in Chicago, I was regularly visiting psychics and tarot readers. Eventually, I joined a Wiccan coven. I completed a year-and-a-day initiation, with a workbook and lessons to finish before I was dedicated. I learned to read tarot cards myself—I still have my original deck—worked magick around the moon’s cycles and raised healing energy to send to people who needed it. I was also learning to meditate, although I struggled with it then. Now it is something I look forward to every day.
Fast-forward to around 2002. I was back in Michigan and had become a public safety officer for a city police department. We were certified firefighters as well. Life was busy. I was newly married, and children would soon make it busier. Before long, my Wiccan practice took a back seat.
Being exposed to the things that career showed me—seeing some of the worst things happen to good people—pushed it even further into the background. I started questioning again. How did any of what I was seeing make sense in a world with God, especially the God, Goddess, Spirit or Universe I had come to know and love? Where was the karma, even? Trying to make sense of abused or deceased children on a regular basis can make you question everything you have ever believed. By the time I was promoted to detective, I was calling myself agnostic and, before long, a full-on atheist.
In hindsight, I think I was a pretty annoying atheist as well—full disclosure. I was fairly militant about it. Although I remained respectful of other people’s religions and beliefs, I never turned down a healthy debate with the faithful. I liked to ask where their God was when a child was being tortured. I would have to stop myself from rolling my eyes when they told me God was in the room when it happened. Sometimes I cringe when I remember that period of my life, because now I understand what they meant.
Fast-forward again to around 2020, to the best of my recollection, when I slowly began to regain my spirituality. I was two years from retirement after an incredibly rewarding 23-year career. I was also two years into being happily divorced and single after 17 years of marriage, with two beautiful children. But my children, who were 15 and 12 at the time, were not so “happily divorced.” They struggled beneath the weight of it, and I battled the guilt of not having been able to remain longer in an unhappy marriage for their sake.
A couple of years earlier, my eldest daughter had found a box of Wiccan items I had kept from years before. I told her she could have them because I no longer practiced. But watching my children struggle brought me to my knees again.
During those years, I also encountered the aftermath of a young teenager’s suicide through my work. Sitting with a devastated family at the hospital after their child was declared brain-dead, I could barely contain my own grief. Watching my children struggle, I feared what might happen if their pain ever became more than they could bear. Not even the Zoloft my doctor had prescribed could numb that fear.
And the maladaptive coping habits I had picked up along the way only allowed me to check out temporarily. In the morning everything was still there waiting for me: the fear, the pain, the chaos that had become my life with both of my children at that point. I had been the eternal optimist my whole life. The problem solver. The Fixer. But now it felt like my children's very lives were at stake and I felt utterly powerless to fix this. I'm not sure there's a more helpless feeling in the world when it's your children. I had to sit with it all; face it head on or let it bury me.
Just as I had in my apartment so many years earlier, I found myself sobbing, broken, and asking the Universe, God or Spirit, “Why?”
That became my turning point. I slowly began rereading some of my old Wiccan books. I cannot recall how I was introduced to Thich Nhat Hanh, but I remember reading one of his books and then another, and his teachings deeply resonated with me. I spent a weekend at a Thich Nhat Hanh Buddhist monastery in Mississippi and experienced the Dharma rain there. It was powerful. I also connected with some of the other laypeople who attended that weekend—my sangha—and we stayed in touch afterward.
My most recent spiritual awakening has been by far the most powerful. I could write an entire book describing the extraordinary things that have happened since I reconnected with God, Goddess, Spirit or the Universe—whatever you choose to call it. In my opinion, it is all the same. Across each of the paths I have practiced—as a Christian, a Pagan, a Buddhist and whatever blend of them all I might call myself today—I have personally experienced what I understand as the same unconditional love of God.
In 2022, I met my Twin Flame, before I fully understood what that meant. But boy, oh boy, could I teach an entire course on it now. Our final separation came at the end of 2025 and became the catalyst for a profound period of spiritual ascension for me. The details of that experience—and of the nine months of solitude and prayer/meditation and journaling that followed—remain personal and private as I choose to honor the sacred purpose of that relationship rather than the turbulence of it. As overwhelming and difficult as the inner work was, I am immensely grateful for the lesson. It taught me that healing is not always a linear process, and to give myself compassion and grace. But most of all, it led me fully home to myself and helped me remember, at the level of the soul and across lifetimes, who I am and who I have always been. A Divine Feminine who has fully remembered her worth and chosen not to let the pain harden her heart, diminish her compassion, or dim her spirit—remaining open to love and trusting in what the Universe has yet to unfold for her.
I’ll sum up my journey with a saying commonly attributed to Pierre Teilhard de Chardin: “We are not human beings having a spiritual experience. We are spiritual beings having a human experience.” And with my absolute favorite words from Lalah Delia: “She remembered who she was and the game changed.”