Healing Body, Mind, and Spirit After a Spiritual Emergency – An Interview with ReLYT

What if the very moments that break you are the same ones that awaken you to your deepest truth?

For ReLYT, the journey from devout Lutheran roots to living as a spiritual guide has been anything but linear. Raised in a faith tradition that judged his identity, he carried the weight of suppression through childhood, college, and into his career as a civil engineer—until workplace discrimination and personal crisis sparked a profound awakening.

What began as trauma and collapse unfolded into healing, as crystals, meditation, and intuitive practices became his allies in reconstructing both body and spirit. Today, ReLYT embodies his chosen name—Remember to Live Your Truth—by guiding others to release pain, reclaim their power, and reconnect with their bodies in compassionate, practical ways.

In this conversation, he shares how coming out reshaped his family and faith, why a toxic workplace became the catalyst for a spiritual emergency, and how modalities from crystals to conscious nutrition now fuel his life’s purpose. Continue reading or listen in by subscribing for free on Spotify, Apple Podcasts, Amazon Music, or YouTube to discover how ReLYT’s story can inspire you to Live Your Truth, too.

Can you share about your journey of awakening to consciousness, mindfulness, and spirituality? I’d love to start back in your childhood. As you were growing up, did you have some sort of faith or spirituality as part of your upbringing, or did that come to you later in life?

ReLYT: Faith was definitely something I was born into. I grew up in a family of very devout Lutherans on the Protestant side. My mother had been Catholic but converted to Lutheranism when she married my father, so there was always a strong belief system in place. I attended both grade school and high school within the Lutheran system.

From early on, though, I struggled. I experienced a lot of bullying, shaming, and judgment—especially related to my sexuality, which others projected onto me. That pain carried into my college years and beyond. Once I entered adulthood and began living independently, I finally had the space to step away from organized religion. Meeting my now-husband was pivotal—we began evolving together and stepping into the spiritual realm. That process opened my eyes to just how deeply religious programming, particularly around the LGBTQ community, had affected me.

What were some of the ways you began to unpack and connect with a different type of spirituality? Did that come through a book, a speaker, or a video? How did it start to open up for you?

ReLYT: For me, it really began during COVID. Suddenly, we were home with time to reflect and ask, “What are we doing with our lives?” My husband was already practicing yoga and meditation, and with him home for a while, I began to explore it too. At first, I struggled with the physical side—stretching brought up a lot of old traumas I had carried in my body since childhood.

As we deepened into meditation, I started having profound insights—what some might call downloads—about myself. It felt like a shedding, a realization that there was something beyond the self I thought I knew. From there, my awakening unfolded into years of gathering wisdom through teachers, podcasts like The Happiness Lab, and platforms like Gaia. That helped me put language and context around the spiritual awakening my husband and I were experiencing together, which made it even more powerful as a shared journey.

I’m curious about your journey of coming out. How did that unfold for you in the context of faith, spirituality, and family?

ReLYT: I was aware from childhood, but it took me a long time to acknowledge and embrace that truth. Growing up, it was projected onto us that being gay was a sin that would send you to hell. Kids at school body-shamed me, called me gay, and it became something I suppressed very deeply.

In college, I became more aware that there were others like me—that I wasn’t alone in this reality—but it was still a struggle. I attended Seattle University, a Jesuit school, so after being raised Lutheran, I went from the Protestant world into Catholicism. It gave me a wide spectrum of religious influence, but it didn’t make coming out any easier.

After college, I moved back in with my parents for a while to get grounded and financially stable before moving out. During that time, it still didn’t feel safe to be myself. I wasn’t yet in the relationship I’m in now, so I didn’t have a reason to “blow up my life.” Eventually, a comment on Facebook revealed the truth, and my sister became aware of it. That essentially outed me.

Shortly after, my now-husband and I were preparing to go to Europe for two weeks, and right before the trip, I told my mom, “I’m gay, and this is my relationship.” Her response was, “I didn’t know.” Looking back, there were signs, but within our small, tightly knit family, it may have been something they simply didn’t want to see. My parents struggled with feeling like they were the last to know.

As the “gay kid” in school, I had long picked up on whispers behind my back. For my parents, though, it was a breaking of their perspective of what my future would look like—an awakening of sorts for them too. Their main concern became how the church would handle it. They asked me to withdraw my membership so it wouldn’t go to a vote for excommunication.

By then, I had already made my peace with religion and stepped away. I had seen too many toxic experiences—like in high school, when the one openly gay student was told by the principal he was going to hell. That hit me deeply. How could that happen in what was supposed to be a safe environment? Moments like that made the toxicity clear and kept me from coming out sooner.

For me, suppression was the only survival strategy at the time. And when I reflect back, I realize how much is still suppressed in others because of the heavy religious overlays. That environment shut me down for a long time.

So you headed off to Europe, and your family was processing everything. Where do you feel like things stand now? How many years has it been since then?

ReLYT: I’d say my family pattern has been to sweep things under the rug rather than address them. It was managed more like a “problem to solve” than an opportunity to ask, How do we show up as a family? How do we work through this together? Instead of integrating and embracing, it became something to handle.

I’ve given my family a lot of grace because I understand the programs they came from. Still, challenges remain. After my grandfather passed, there was already a lot of separation in our family. Then, a very devoutly religious member made it clear that she would remove herself and her children from any gathering if my husband and I were present. That set a heavy tone for us—recognizing the family dynamic for what it was.

At the time, I couldn’t fully see it, but I’ve come to terms with it now. It’s not mine to process. I’ve always been open and willing to communicate, but the reality is, much of it sits unspoken. That’s where things are today.

Thank you for sharing so vulnerably. I really value hearing perspectives I haven’t lived myself. When I left ministry, one of the first issues I revisited was LGBTQ inclusion, and it changed my understanding completely. I’m grateful for your perspective. Now, I’d love to pivot to career—you’ve been a civil engineer, which is fascinating. How did that path unfold for you? You don’t exactly look like a civil engineer!

ReLYT: Thank you! Yes, my path into engineering really began with the question you face at the end of high school: What are you good at? For me, it was math. I had always loved architecture—I remember in fifth grade writing that I wanted to be an architect in ten years. But this was during the recession, and my mom, who was very practical, said, “Maybe think twice—there are a lot of layoffs in architecture right now. Your grandfather was an engineer. Maybe you should consider that path.”

So, we started looking at colleges with good engineering programs. I wanted to stay close to home, so Seattle University became my choice. At orientation, one professor, Dr. Thompson, told me: If you want to be an architect, get your engineering degree first. You can always do a master’s in architecture later. That advice stuck. I thought, “Do the hard work now, and have the fun later.”

It wasn’t easy—I struggled constantly, almost quit every quarter. Coming from a small program and suddenly navigating a bigger world was overwhelming. But I discovered I resonated with transportation engineering. For some reason, I always pictured myself designing airports.

By my junior year, I landed a summer internship in traffic engineering. Driving around, collecting data, and seeing how the county I’d grown up in actually functioned was eye-opening. When I graduated, two opportunities came up: one with the state transportation department and one with the City of Tacoma in transportation. Since I already loved traffic engineering, the city job felt like a natural fit.

That’s how I started my career in transportation engineering. It eventually took a negative turn later, but that was the foundation of how it began.

I’ve read that you experienced discrimination in the workplace. Can you share about that—and more importantly, how it became a turning point for you?

ReLYT: When I first started, I loved it. It was exciting and creative—I got to do design review, planning, and work on private developments across the city, from apartment complexes to commercial projects. It felt like building a real-life version of The Sims theme park, and I thrived in that environment.

Then came a regional transportation project: Sound Transit’s light rail extension through our city. They needed someone to review a 1,200-page plan set. I jumped at the chance—I loved plan review—and I made about a thousand comments. That level of thoroughness immediately raised red flags for the organization. My feedback was seen as slowing down timelines and budgets, and the negativity lingered for years.

When the project entered the construction phase, I was assigned to manage traffic impacts. That role put me in constant conflict with third-party contractors, who saw me as a roadblock to profit. Things got even more complicated when, just a couple of months later, I appeared on Wheel of Fortune. I won my episode and advanced to the bonus round, with my now-husband in the audience. The show aired on a Thursday, and by Monday, one of the contractors used it as an opening to prompt me to come out at work.

I was caught off guard, just trying to keep the peace while navigating what quickly became the most toxic work environment of my life. The city called the setup a “three-legged stool,” meaning we had to work in partnership with the contractors and transit authority. But what I experienced was animosity, hostility, and repeated attempts to get me removed from the project.

During COVID, the tension escalated. Contractors struggled with the shift to remote work, but I adapted quickly and kept things moving. Instead of appreciation, the hostility deepened. I later learned they were openly discussing my sexual orientation in the field. At first, I brushed it off, but then I was catcalled on the job. Around the same time, I was on track for management and had just completed equity training, which emphasized the importance of reporting incidents like this.

So I reported it. And that was the end of my career.

Instead of support, I was gaslit through the entire process. My reports were delayed, passed from one person to another, with constant excuses of “we don’t know what to do.” Over a year later, I found out why: the city’s internal Title VII protections under the Civil Rights Act of 1964 didn’t apply to third-party contractors. My concerns had even been communicated directly to individuals within Sound Transit—the very people I had named.

The situation escalated. Documents were withheld. Contractors told us flat out they wouldn’t follow city requirements. Meetings turned into screaming matches and condescending remarks. The response from leadership was simply: suck it up and get the job done.

That was the breaking point for me. The city eventually told me, We can’t do anything. Take whatever time you need. Let us know if it gets worse. And that’s what led to my spiritual emergency—my trauma-induced awakening.

Did you end up resigning, or were you let go? And how did that connect to your spiritual emergency?

ReLYT: Ultimately, I was terminated. But before that, there were nearly two years of being on state and federal paid leave to manage PTSD. At first, I believed I had ruined my career simply by speaking out—I saw myself as a victim. I filed a written complaint, which shifted everything. Suddenly, I was seen as someone who “knew too much” and might blow the whistle about the project’s flaws.

About a year later, I filed another complaint. The city hired a private firm to investigate. After six months, their conclusion was: No discrimination, no retaliation—it was just business practices. That was devastating. When I returned, nothing had changed in the work environment. But I had changed. I was showing up differently—wearing crystals, presenting myself more authentically—and the hostility only intensified.

I continued to report retaliation and a hostile work environment, but I was silenced, dismissed from meetings, and denied opportunities to advocate for myself. Finally, I told my supervisor directly, “I’m still experiencing hostility and retaliation.” He said he’d figure something out while I went on vacation. Shortly after, I was handed a letter at my front door: immediate termination.

I laughed at first—it felt surreal. Just weeks earlier, I had filed an EEO complaint, and now the city claimed my termination was for “performance-related standards.” The evidence later showed they were drafting my termination letter even as they acknowledged my complaint. It confirmed everything I had feared: the organization would protect itself at all costs.

That collapse of security triggered my spiritual emergency. On January 6, 2022, while the Capitol riots were unfolding in Washington, D.C., I was at home shaking, feeling like my whole life was imploding. I questioned whether going forward was even worth it—my family relationships were strained, religious programming haunted me, and now my career was crumbling.

In that moment, my grandfather—who had also worked for the same organization—came through. He showed me two paths. One was if I accepted discrimination as “just reality.” In that vision, I suppressed myself, stayed in the system, inherited his karmic loop, and even his genetic predisposition to Alzheimer’s. I lived sixty years of that projection in three days.

The other path was to use my voice in a way no one in our family had before—to step into the unknown, into freedom. My husband, thankfully, recognized something was very wrong. He got me admitted to the hospital for my well-being. I wasn’t sleeping, I couldn’t manage basic functions, and mentally I was unraveling.

Coming out of that was disorienting. Western medicine gave me labels—PTSD, possibly bipolar disorder—yet I didn’t have the language then to explain my spiritual experience. Still, I knew one thing: I wasn’t done. I kept showing up, filing every report, taking every step. I had a sense that one day, either I’d return to work or this would lead to a lawsuit that created real change.

That’s where I am today—calling in the right attorney who understands LGBTQ retaliation cases, to set a precedent for what has been called an unprecedented situation. After 33 years of watching that organization operate as a boys’ club, steeped in toxic masculinity, I refuse to let it steamroll me—or my friends and family who’ve endured similar discrimination.

So, what I hear you saying is that a couple of years ago, you went through this massive experience where your grandfather came through, and since then, you’ve been integrating that while also navigating the workplace discrimination and everything that came with it. It sounds like, in the midst of all of that, you dove deeply into modalities of healing—physical, emotional, mental, and spiritual. Where are you at today? What does life look like for you now?

ReLYT: Right now, I’m reconstructing my physical body. That’s truly what I’m doing. I’m at the final stages of releasing the last tendrils of fascia—finally reaching a place where I can live without the chronic tension and pain I’ve carried for over 30 years.

During my awakening, I spiraled through my entire timeline on earth, seeing the lives I had lived. I remember sitting in the “thinking man” pose, suddenly realizing: what just happened? For the first time, I felt no pain, no tension—I could actually feel my body.

That moment began a journey of consciously reviewing my inner child’s guidance. It led me into the shamanic realm, where I uncovered crystal packs I had put away years earlier. In rediscovering them, I began to understand crystal energy, psychic mastery, and my own identity as a medium—someone who can live between worlds, with the past catching up as I stand in the present while leaning into the future.

At a soul level, I realized: You don’t have to accept trauma and its physical impacts forever. I’ve been stripping away scar tissue, layer by layer, detoxing my entire body over the last three years. It’s been both a multidimensional process and a deeply physical one—clearing environmental toxins that had accumulated over my lifetime.

One of the things you’ve become passionate about is the American food system—or more accurately, the problems within it. What’s your perspective on that, and how has it shaped the way you nourish your body today?

ReLYT: From my perspective, the American food system is toxic. It has gone in such a dangerous direction, perpetuating chemicals and processed foods that our bodies are not designed to consume.

Looking back, I can see how the food I grew up with fed the viruses in my body, how it fueled inflammation. A pivotal moment happened during a college mission trip in Tijuana, where I contracted a severe parasitic infection from the food and water. That infection stayed with me for nearly ten years, creating constant digestive distress. It was incredibly emotional—and exhausting.

The contrast became clear when I visited Italy seven years ago. There, I could eat dairy, pasta, everything—and I was fine. I even lost weight. But the moment I returned home, the same foods made me sick again. That was my wake-up call about the difference in food quality and processing between systems.

I hear that from so many people about Italy—how they can eat gluten and dairy there and feel amazing.

ReLYT: Yes, and for years that was my experience too. But when my husband and I took our honeymoon to Italy and Greece right after my termination, it had changed. Honestly, it was disappointing. I was in the best physical health I’d ever been in March 2024, but once we got there and indulged—especially with sugar and pork—I ended up bloated, overweight, and upset with myself.

That’s when I realized it’s not just about the food—it’s the water, the air, and even the soil. In Tacoma, we live within the ASARCO smelter plume Superfund site, and remediation hasn’t fully taken place yet. Add to that—the reality of being in a food desert—grocery stores here are closing, and crime has made it even harder to access quality food and water. We either have to grow our own food above ground or drive to the next city just to reach a Whole Foods..

Our naturopath has been a huge support through this process, helping us adjust supplements, review bloodwork, and really tune into our own intuition about what to eat. Over the years, I’ve also had to face some deep physical challenges. I was born with HSV (herpes simplex virus), contracted Epstein-Barr in college, and later acquired a secondary strain of HSV that completely overwhelmed my system. The gift and shadow of that experience was discovering that eggs, dairy, and gluten were major triggers for me.

At the time, the stress of my toxic work environment fueled constant outbreaks. I was inflamed, exhausted, and relying on heavy pharmaceuticals. Eventually, I weaned off the medications and removed those foods from my diet completely. It was hard, but it also opened my eyes.

Now, when I look at others—say, celebrating gluten-free options—I often see something deeper. For many, the real issue isn’t gluten at all, but viruses within the body being constantly fed by the foods we eat. What frustrates me is the lack of education around this. We’ve been taught to eat for convenience, culture, or someone else’s standards—rather than for our own unique needs.

That’s why one of my biggest passions now is guiding people who struggle with autoimmune conditions, chronic inflammation, or digestive distress. Those are my three focus areas. I meet people with compassion and empathy, helping them figure out what to remove, what to add, and how to start catalyzing real healing in their bodies.

I’m curious about the role of crystals in your life. You mentioned earlier that you had bought some and later rediscovered them. What is it about crystals that speaks to you, and how do you use them?

ReLYT: Thank you for your language of “utilizing”—because that’s exactly what I do. I work with crystals; I never use them as a crutch. It’s always a tool, an exchange of energy.

Of course, I love beautiful, shiny things. But crystals also carry specific healing properties. Over time, I transitioned from the Holy Bible as the “Good Book” to The Crystal Bible. I dove into learning about their energetic frequencies and how they can support healing.

I started simply—wearing bracelets. Right now, I’m wearing rose quartz, which helps me receive unconditional love. I process with it in dream states, reflecting on where in the past I may not have had pure love for myself, and then allowing those realizations to move through me.

The biggest gift crystals offer me is their ability to cleanse, purify, and transmute energy. During COVID, when I was isolated at home and facing hostility at work, they became my companions. They spoke to me, received the energy I couldn’t process elsewhere, and grounded me when I was overwhelmed by trauma. I’ve come to see them as friends and as part of a vast, energetic network in our environment, always ready to help us process and release.

I’m also curious about your name. You were given the name Tyler Daniels at birth, but now you go by ReLYT, or sometimes just LYT. What inspired that change, and how has it shaped your life?

ReLYT: I was born Tyler M. Daniels, and legally I still am—mainly because my engineering license is tied to that name. But I never fully identified with the masculine version of myself that others wanted me to fit into.

Nicknames had always been part of my life. Friends and family called me TY, or something else. To me, “Tyler” is my youth, a version of me that I honor and thank for carrying me this far. “TY” became a way of saying, “Thank You” to that part of my journey.

But as I moved deeper into my spiritual practice, I wanted to honor my soul more directly. So I reversed my name—Tyler became ReLYT, which stands for Remember to Live Your Truth. That’s how I try to embody my life now.

When I’m in sacred space—whether ceremony or spiritual practice—I am ReLYT. My creative identity is LYT, which shows up in my work as a designer through my studio, sTuDioLYT.com. Even the logo honors both sides: I capitalize the TD in “studio” to nod to Tyler Daniels.

For me, Lyt means Living Your Truth. It’s the space where I am athletic, creative, expressive, and free. It’s also about becoming your own healer and guide—living in alignment with what your soul already knows.

Of course, this shift wasn’t easy. It came during a period when I was already facing harassment, discrimination, and hostility at work. I was catcalled, I was being shut down, and then I had to ask myself: How do I show up authentically as ReLYT in an environment that doesn’t even accept me as Tyler? That conflict, I believe, was part of what ended my career—it was simply too unsafe to express who I truly Am.

With my family, it’s been mixed. My mom understands on some level, but she also calls me Tyler, and that’s fine—I meet people where they are. If you call me Tyler, you’re meeting the engineer. If you call me TY, you’re meeting the family member or uncle-to-be. And if you call me LYT, you’re meeting the creative, expressive soul I’ve become.

What excites me most now is the future. My sister is about to have a child, and I can’t wait to be an uncle. That baby won’t care what my name is—they’ll grow up in a world so different from the one my sister and I knew. And that gives me hope.

What does your husband call you?

ReLYT: Babe. Always babe. [laughs] When we’re out in public, though, I usually go by Tyler—especially in Tacoma, where people know me that way. I was so integrated with the community there, working at the permit counter and seeing twenty different people a day. It’s been a challenge to honor and respect both my present and former selves. I see “Tyler” as a past-life version of this incarnation. Closing that chapter allows me to fully embrace who I am now, while making space to explore what’s next.

As you move into this new season of life, you’re making yourself available to walk alongside others as they discover and live their truth. What does that look like in practice? How can people work with you?

ReLYT: Right now, the best way is through social media. I’m creating YouTube videos with simple, practical tips designed to preserve our sacred energy in the grid we live in today. When people watch, I encourage them to leave comments or questions—that helps me understand what the community is struggling with so I can create content that really serves.

Beyond that, my work flows through sTuDio LYT. I love working one-on-one, and while in-person sessions are ideal, virtual healings make it possible to connect no matter where you are. With your consent, I tune in energetically, listening as your spirit communicates what needs to be seen. From there, I guide you step by step in a way that’s right for you.

My vision is to build journeys of transformation over three, six, or nine years. Healing takes linear time—especially when you’ve carried layers of trauma. But miracles are possible, and sometimes breakthroughs come in months rather than years. That’s the beauty of the process: seeing yourself emerge as a healed, empowered version of you.

Depending on what resonates, sessions can look like coaching, healing work, or mediumship—connecting with ancestors or loved ones. I also create custom crystal adornments. Each piece I design is tuned to a person’s unique energy, carrying the wisdom of our work together and becoming a companion on their path forward.

If someone is in a place of wrestling—struggling with questions like, “Who am I? Do I fit in? What are my next steps?”—What encouragement would you give them today?

ReLYT: The first thing I would say is that suffering is not set in stone. Give yourself grace and compassion. We incarnated into a time that can feel very toxic, and it’s easy to internalize that. But when you pause, tune into yourself, and set the intention, I am ready to heal. Your body will begin to show you the path.

That’s the best advice I can offer: set an intention to heal. Tune into your body. Remember your truth instead of taking on someone else’s projection—whether that projection comes through food, media, or cultural expectations. Be kind to yourself, patient with yourself. Suffering is not forever, and you don’t have to carry it in silence.

Thank you so much, LYT, for sharing your story with such vulnerability, heart, and passion. Thank you for modeling a new way of living your truth, and for the ways you’re helping others to do the same. It’s been such a gift to be with you today.

ReLYT: Thank you, David. I’m so grateful for this opportunity, and I value the work you’re doing in this space. Truly—thank you.