The Problem with Energy Work – According to One Energy Worker

The most well-known form of energy work is probably Reiki. But there are many other modalities that could fit under that umbrella — chakra and aura work, muscle testing, sound healing, breathwork, therapeutic qi gong, acupuncture, massage, homeopathy and some types of botanical treatment.

All of these share one central idea: one person seeks to shift or harmonize the energy of another.

And overall, I think these practices can be deeply helpful — in the right context. When someone finds a modality that truly resonates, it can open the door to real healing. In my view, what we often call “spiritual” work overlaps strongly with physiological safety: parasympathetic activation, emotional regulation, and the gentle processing of subconscious trauma.

Good energy work, at its best, helps us step back from who we think we are and see ourselves from a new lens.

But — as promised in the title — the problem is this: energy work is subtle work.
And subtle things are hard to measure.

I’ve met many so-called energy workers who are, frankly, not very good at what they do but believe themselves to be gifted healers. Because the results of energy work are often subjective and difficult to quantify, even the practitioners themselves may not know when they’re truly helping.

That doesn’t make it impossible to measure — just complicated.
And that complexity often gets bypassed by mutual good intentions.

A client wants to be healed.
A practitioner wants to help.
Both want to believe something meaningful happened.

But two people agreeing that something felt good is not a reliable measure of change.

In my opinion, the real challenge lies not in how to measure, but in who can bear to look. To evaluate your impact honestly, you have to face the possibility that you failed — or worse, that you might have unintentionally caused harm. That’s a serious ego check for anyone attached to being “the intuitive healer” or “the gifted empath.”

The attachment to being a great healer or savior is the biggest blocker to realistic self-evaluation.

Stepping back from that attachment helps you grow — both through more accurate self-assessment and through better client feedback. When clients sense that your self-esteem doesn’t depend on being told the treatment was a success, they’re far more likely to be honest about their experience. That honesty is what allows your work to improve.

For a well-trained dancer, graceful, effortless movements are the result of countless mistakes and long, grueling hours of practice. Similarly, effective energy workers must wrestle with uncertainty.

Since the results aren’t easily measured, a dedicated practitioner should be constantly asking: Did I do it right? That doesn’t mean second-guessing yourself mid-session — confidence is part of the art — but reflection afterward is essential. And the clearest sign you’re doing that well is that it feels uncomfortable.

To care deeply about others while consistently acknowledging uncertainty about your own impact is not an easy path. Real healing work demands that you cultivate a big enough inner container to hold both a passion for healing and uncompromising honesty with yourself.

When I reflect on my time at the National University of Natural Medicine, I saw both options firsthand.

The most popular naturopathic doctors and acupuncturists were often charismatic — near cult figures — utterly confident in their brilliance. Yet there were few, if any, consistent measures showing their “subtle” herbal or homeopathic treatments made a real difference.

The doctors who did make measurable improvements in patient outcomes were different. They were humble. Sometimes anxious. They cared enough to doubt themselves. That anxiety wasn’t weakness — it was evidence of integrity. It pushed them to research more, verify their results, and keep growing.

To sum up, energy work is subtle, and subtle work is inherently hard to measure. With outcomes that lack objective assessment metrics, we must rely on our own intuition, honest reflection, and the sometimes inconsistent feedback of clients. I believe the key—beyond years of study, practice, and hopefully quality mentorship—is cultivating a deeper curiosity for truth than attachment to our own sense of self.

It’s an absurdly large chasm between the sense of oneself as either a gifted healer or delusional quack.

“Energy work is subtle, and subtle work is inherently hard to measure. With outcomes that lack objective assessment metrics, we must rely on our own intuition, honest reflection, and the sometimes inconsistent feedback of clients. I believe the key […] is cultivating a deeper curiosity for truth than attachment to our own sense of self.”

That’s the too-long didn’t read version of today’s blog, “the problem with energy work – according to one energy worker”.

As someone who makes their living doing at least in part some form of energy work, obviously I don’t want the baby thrown out with the bath water, but there’s some junk energy work out there. Let’s talk about it.

Go to: DunbarAcu.com/blog to read more.

How I Choose to Live: The Best Advice I Have

When I was 16 years old my mom asked me if I wanted to go with her to see Wayne Dyer speak. I agreed and went to a talk that I found very moving. In this talk Wayne mentioned a book called Power Vs Force by David Hawkins. The book had this sort of ranking system for spiritual truth, and it ranked Buddhist teachings very highly, so I started reading Buddhist books.

Along with taking up meditation, reading Buddhist books and taking their principles to heart changed me deeply. I’ve always had a curious mind, and wondered about many things, but meditation and Buddhist teachings helped me to go from thinking my way through life to getting in touch with a sort of intuition and, I believe, a deeper intelligence inside.

While nothing can replace practice via meditation or presence in and with ourselves—deep, probing honesty about our own emotions and thoughts—I believe there are principles that help me to get a feel for my best way forward when I’m not so sure.

There are two key concepts that I’ve used and considered so many times that they’ve sort of melded together in my mind. Those concepts are the Middle Path from Buddhism, and Yinyang from Daoism and ancient Chinese philosophy in general.

Both frameworks to me are particularly poignant because they are deeply self-relative—that is, they don’t give any rigid anchor point for all people, but instead engage one’s own intuition to self-define the edges of being overly rigid or abandoning ourselves through excessive indulgence.

At their best interpretation, these concepts are also self-referential. We don’t have to become obsessed with the Middle Path, or seek to avoid all discipline or enjoyment. It’s about learning the flow of our own soul—getting a feel for where we could feel more self- and life-aligned if we were to face the present moment’s gifts directly, rather than obsessively planning, catastrophizing, or running to distractions.

I’m reminded yet again of Rumi’s iconic poem:

The Guest House — Rumi

This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they’re a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.

Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.

The point is that the concept of ☯ Yinyang and the teaching of the ☸ Middle Path aren’t about meticulously curating what we allow ourselves to feel, but instead about being present with what is, and learning to conduct ourselves in a way that brings us into harmony with our lives in each moment—rather than constantly trying to push away discomfort.

The surprising reality of life is that suffering openly faced can carry a beauty and a profound peace, while running from our emotions or experience—even if sometimes necessary—can become a habit that feels much worse than the experiences or realizations we’re trying to avoid.

The Key

Both of these principles are largely part of helping us detect and adjust when we’re no longer truly present with ourselves, feeling our feelings, accepting what is. I believe that while it is at times quite difficult, the key to a good life through the suffering is finding this balance where we may at times let ourselves go a little more soft or a little more hard, but we do so with intention, honesty, and awareness.

The result is a life that flows. A life that’s dynamic and beautiful. One that isn’t stagnant, stuck in static narrative that limits our potential and our joy.

The practice requires us to get out of our own way again and again. Second guessing our habits of mind, our presuppositions. This can be quite challenging, but the result is freedom, peace, wellness, harmony. Even when we’re sad we can be gentle and attentive in tending to our sadness and move through it into brighter days.

Finally, the Concepts Themselves

To be honest, what follows is very basic ChatGPT responses to “What is the Middle Path” and “What is Yinyang.” I encourage anyone interested to read the Tao Te Ching and, if you’d like to retrace my own beginnings, check out the first Buddhist book I read: Awakening The Buddha Within by Lama Surya Das.

☸ Middle Path

Origin
The Buddha taught the Middle Path after realizing that neither a life of indulgence (pleasure-seeking) nor a life of extreme asceticism (self-denial) led to true freedom.

Balance
It’s about finding the wise middle ground where you aren’t pulled off course by extremes.

Application

In behavior: avoiding both overindulgence and harsh self-punishment.
In thinking: not clinging too rigidly to views, nor rejecting discernment altogether.
In practice: following the Noble Eightfold Path (right view, right action, etc.) is considered walking the Middle Path.

Analogy
It’s like tuning a string instrument: too tight (asceticism) and it snaps, too loose (indulgence) and it makes no sound. The middle way gives harmony.

☯ Yinyang

Overview
Yinyang (often written yin-yang) is a foundational concept in Chinese philosophy, especially in Daoism and traditional Chinese thought. At its core, it describes how seemingly opposite or contrary forces are actually complementary, interconnected, and interdependent in the natural world.

The Two Sides

Yin (阴): moon, darkness, coolness, stillness, receptivity, softness, the feminine, the inward.
Yang (阳): sun, light, warmth, activity, force, hardness, the masculine, the outward.

Rather than absolute opposites, yin and yang exist in dynamic balance. Each contains the seed of the other (that’s why the familiar ☯ symbol has a black dot in the white half and a white dot in the black half).

Key Principles

Relativity: Something is yin only in relation to something more yang. Night is yin compared to day, but night can be yang compared to the deeper stillness of winter.
Interdependence: Yin cannot exist without yang, and vice versa. You only know “dark” because you know “light.”
Cyclical transformation: Yin and yang are always shifting into one another. Day becomes night, night returns to day. Activity gives way to rest, and rest restores energy for activity again.
Balance: Health, harmony, and wisdom are found in keeping yin and yang in dynamic equilibrium. Too much of one throws things out of order.

Qi Gong and the Egg Timer: How to Keep Healing Between Treatments

“As long as you are awake, you can be mindful.
All it takes is wanting to and remembering
to bring your attention into the present moment.”
— Jon Kabat-Zinn

So you’re getting regular bodywork… but the aches keep coming back?

The problem isn’t you. The problem is the economy. More specifically: hours hunched over a desk, eyes locked on a screen, posture slowly folding in on itself.

Even with good treatments, your body is up against a daily tide of stress, static positions and repetitive movement. Both our body and our mind calcify into the same painful patterns unless we consistently make intentional efforts to shift them.

Enter: the hourly reset

I often suggest patients set a simple alarm every hour. When it goes off, it’s your cue to:

Best: Get up, walk around, shake it out.
Good: Take 1–3 deep, conscious breaths before diving back in.
At least: Notice your body. Are your shoulders creeping up toward your ears? How’s your neck doing?

Qi Gong shaking (a favorite)

Qi Gong has a simple, joyful reset:

Rise up on your toes.
Drop down and let your whole body shake.
Add sound if you want—hum, sigh, or let out whatever noise you want!

It’s about moving energy, loosening tension, and resetting your nervous system.

Alternatively, just put on a song and dance it out.

Why it matters

Your body and nervous system both need regular resets, especially if you’re doing stressful or intense work. These micro-pauses are huge for shifting the pattern of stress solidifying into recalcitrant habits of tension. Without body mindfulness and consistent movement, even the best therapeutic treatment is just a temporary fix.

Conclusion

If you’re investing in regular treatments but not feeling lasting progress, don’t give up. Try adding micro-resets: mindful movement, a shake, or even just one intentional breath each hour.

Because mindfulness is magic and movement is medicine.

Meditation 101

Often, meditation is something my patients say they’ve tried but that “didn’t work” for them. I usually respond with this thought exercise:

Let’s say you lived in a world without Spotify, radios, or any easily accessible music. In this imaginary hellscape, you only have a violin, which you’ve never played before. You might pick up the violin specifically when you want to hear music, but unfortunately, your first experiences won’t be sweet, melodic sounds — just a screechy mess.

I think this is why meditation can turn so many people off. Meditation, in essence, runs counter to our very nature. It’s entirely natural to want to problem-solve, to have the “monkey mind,” as the Buddhist texts call it. We constantly seek something to keep us interested — even if that thing is our own discomfort, something upsetting a friend told us recently, or getting cut off in traffic. In a funny way, even these more “negative” thoughts can feel more natural than just noticing the breath.

But with practice, the music improves. Whether you’ve read some of the many research papers on the benefits of meditation, or just heard a friend say it helped her sleep, something keeps you coming back. You push past the initial discomfort and start to build a habit.

Lo and behold, those discordant sounds — the uncomfortable thoughts made louder by the silence — finally give way to moments of real calm. The practice of setting down whatever mental object arises and returning to the breath gradually allows your soul, mind, and nervous system to find ease for longer and longer stretches of time.

Over time, meditation becomes a great tool for self-regulation — a practice that helps you simply be with yourself, without the constant push and pull of craving and aversion.

Five to ten minutes each evening before bed is a great place to start, and has been shown to improve sleep quality.

To start meditating, find a comfortable seat — ideally upright on a small cushion, or in a chair with your spine tall and the crown of your head gently reaching toward the sky. Begin breathing naturally, and notice the sensation of your breath. At first, it might be helpful to count each breath: [Inhale] 1, [Exhale] 2, [Inhale] 3, etc., up to 10, then start over at 1.

Possibly the most important part of the practice is the very moment you notice you’ve been distracted. You realize you’ve been thinking about work for the last five minutes. Don’t fret, don’t chastise yourself, and don’t rush off to write down what you were thinking. Ideally, the moment you realize you’ve drifted, you simply come back to the breath.

If you find yourself getting distracted a lot, congratulations — you’re human. I genuinely don’t think the process needs to be any different for someone with full-on ADHD versus someone without. Like any other practice, it might take more time for one person than another, but the basic process is the same for everyone. Everyone will find stumbling blocks when learning to meditate. The important thing is not to let those challenges grow into their own story.

If needed, remind yourself that meditation time — like violin practice time — isn’t the time for ruminating on why you aren’t a natural savant. If you really want to, you can spend the rest of the day contemplating whether meditation “just isn’t for you,” but during your practice time, simply practice. Save the self-criticism for later.

In the end, unlike the music metaphor, meditation really is something only you can do for yourself. You really are the only person who can always be there for yourself, hear all your own thoughts — and you get to decide how to shape your inner landscape.

There are many other kinds of meditation. Another favorite of mine is a body-scanning practice called Vipassana. There’s also loving-kindness meditation, which focuses on cultivating positive emotions rather than bare awareness of sensation. And there are many others to explore.

If you’re interested in learning more about meditation, there are tons of great resources online, as well as many local meditation centers. And I’m always happy to talk more with any patient who’d like to dive deeper.