In the Stillness, I Found My Truth: A Journey of Healing and Self-Discovery – An Interview with Deborah Kane

What if the silence you learned to survive became the stillness that set you free?

For Deborah Kane, quiet wasn’t always a sanctuary—it began as a shield. Silence became her strategy as a child navigating unpredictable terrain, and sleep was her salvation. But over time, those quiet moments deepened into reflection, revealing a well of resilience and truth waiting to rise.

In this conversation, Debbie shares how trauma shaped her early life, why breath became her anchor, and how gentle practices like Reiki, writing, and stillness helped her uncover her voice. Continue reading or listening by subscribing for free on Spotify, Apple Podcasts, Amazon Music, or YouTube to discover how Deborah Kane’s insights can inspire your spiritual path.

You quote Mary Oliver: “In the quiet I found my words, in the stillness I uncovered my truth.” Why are those words so significant to you?

Deborah Kane: Quiet, for me, wasn’t necessarily peaceful. Quiet was strategic. It meant planning, moving through the world as an observer, silently gathering information to understand everything. It was protective—it became my armor.

Stillness came later, and I imagine it does for many people. That’s when I stopped bracing and began to feel—not just think—about things in the world. I started to experience life from a place of feeling, not from a wounded place.

In your Awakened Hearts chapter, you wrote about someone coming through the front door of your home when you were 10 years old. That person was your father, and you describe anxiously digging your fingers into the shag carpet. Would you mind sharing a bit about your home life as a kid, to help us understand the context?

Deborah Kane: That moment marked a profound change in my life. I think that’s where the quiet truly began. Our house was eerily silent, and when my father walked through the door, it was unexpected. There had been events prior that led to him not living with us. As a young girl, I started to relax and feel safe in that space.

When he walked through that door, it wasn’t a spiritual moment—it was a separation within me. I could hear everything around me, but I retreated inward. Some might say I dissociated, but to me, it was the beginning of survival. I started learning how to adapt and protect parts of myself.

Survival means something different to everyone. For me, it meant realizing I no longer related to the environment around me. I began building tools to live beyond the hurt. That moment was a profound shift. I was just 10 years old and starting to understand that things in our house weren’t real, and I had to figure out how to maneuver through it.

How was sleep so essential to you then?

Deborah Kane: Sleep was my superpower. I remember people seeing it as unhealthy, but for me, it was profoundly restorative. It gave me energy, peace, and everything I needed to go into the world, observe, and learn. It was my first insight into how to care for myself.

I didn’t know how to manage my energy at the time, so it drained quickly. I felt like I always had to be on guard. Sleep restored me, but it also interfered.

So you were sleeping more than the average person as a child and teen?

Deborah Kane: Definitely. I had to plan extra time to sleep because I didn’t know how to maintain my energy. I silently tried to stay loyal to my family while living a separate life with school, friends, and neighbors. But I always had to save energy for what might be waiting when I walked through that door.

It didn’t always align with school or work schedules, but I managed. It was important to me.

In your chapter, you’re not explicit about the challenges you experienced at home, but there’s an implication of some level of abuse. How did that environment impact your life after high school regarding education, career, or daily coping?

Debrah Kane: During school, the structure and routine made it a safe space. I knew my schedule, and I did okay. I wasn’t overly shy, but I wasn’t completely open either. I couldn’t be 100% myself because I always protected myself from questions. There was this silent agreement not to talk about anything.

The biggest turning point came after high school. That transition was the time I felt most lost and unprepared. Friends were getting married or going to college, and they were suddenly gone. I didn’t know what to do. For a whole year, I went into a very reckless place—lots of numbing, alcohol—but I was still functional. I kept working and trying to figure it out.

Eventually, I had a moment of clarity. I was working as a housekeeper—which I didn’t mind because I love to clean—but it was physically demanding. One day, a man answered the door completely undressed. That was my wake-up call. I thought, “This is your sign, girl.”

I sat down and thought seriously about what I loved: words, typing, clothes, and dressing up. So I went back to community college and pursued an executive secretarial degree, which was a big program back then. It felt manageable.

Can you talk about how therapy became part of your healing later on?

Deborah Kane: Therapy was helpful and insightful, but it was hard to choose it in the first place. There was so much stigma around it…

What period would this have been?

Deborah Kane: It was probably the mid-70s, early 80s.

Yeah. So, it was definitely not culturally acceptable at that time.

Deborah Kane: No, not at all. I was taught not to talk to strangers, not to talk about myself. Your problems were your problems. You were a survivor, and you just moved on.

So, honestly, when I went to therapy, it felt almost rebellious. But it also felt safe. I knew I had challenging emotions that needed attention, and more importantly, I needed to develop the language to express them.

Finding a therapist was daunting. I didn’t feel safe enough to share my story at first. And when I did, I was often met with pitying looks that made me feel like I was managing their emotions rather than being supported. Sexual abuse is tough to talk about—not only for the survivor, but for others to hear.

It didn’t feel freeing, and there was still confusion. But two things stood out. First, the confidentiality gave me a sense of safety. I could say whatever I needed and walk out without fear. Second, there were moments—windows—in therapy that allowed truths to surface. In those moments, I could breathe. So, yes, it had benefits, but it was tricky.

One of the things that you mentioned is that in 2020, you set out on a new journey of self-discovery. And I think there’s something unique about that year—I often hear about 2020. Something happened.

Deborah Kane: It is interesting that it landed in 2020, but I had already started feeling that nudge in 2018. I had been working as an intensive case manager for 25 years. I loved my job, but I began to feel this familiar pull inside that said, “Debbie, it’s time.” It was persistent, but I had no clear insight.

To clarify—you spent 25 years in mental health. What roles did you play? What was that experience like? You had a very challenging childhood experience, at least from an outsider’s view. What was your motivation to go into mental health?

Deborah Kane: This is actually fun to talk about because when I look back, I can see how everything in my life lined up. After getting my secretarial degree, my first job was as a legal secretary at the Department of Social Services. I typed up child abuse and neglect petitions.

It was deeply personal for me. Having lived through abuse, I was angry at the systems that failed to protect children. However, this job showed me how hard the system works and how many barriers exist. It was an eye-opener. That experience drove me back to school to study social systems and women’s studies. I learned about psychology, child development, and mental health—and I got to write, which I loved.

Next, I worked briefly in the state system, specifically in developmental disabilities. That period helped build my confidence and skills. Then, I moved into mental health. Initially, I was again a secretary, but I went back for my master’s degree and worked as a counselor in a school system.

In that role, I had to teach, explain, protect, and counsel children—many of whom had experienced similar things to what I had gone through. But the school system had its barriers. I even had to fight legally to make state reports when they tried to block them. That was a huge learning moment for me: protecting children is not as simple as it should be.

Eventually, I worked in a children’s home with 10 young girls who had been in situations like mine. That was emotionally intense. They were safe, but the emotional healing would take years. There were benefits to being there, but it was difficult.

Honestly, I also tried being a therapist. But I wasn’t good at it—I couldn’t go deep with people because I hadn’t yet gone that deep with myself. I wasn’t ready. That’s why I found my niche as an intensive case manager. I absolutely loved it and was good at it.

As an intensive case manager, I would go directly to people—often after hospitalization—and help them set up their lives again: housing, appointments, education. I’d meet them where they were, build relationships, and help them recognize the small wins they didn’t even notice. Slowly, they’d start to heal.

I left the field in 2019. I knew I had done what I was meant to do. It was time to reflect. I also began to notice physical challenges—likely tied to childhood trauma—that I had never been ready to address.

In the years that followed, I learned to meditate. It wasn’t easy. Meditation isn’t easy for anyone, but it helped me move through so much. I had carried years of emotional pain in my stomach. That’s where it all lived.

Louise Hay became like a Bible to me. Every time I had a physical issue, I would reference her work. The healing wasn’t instant—it could take months—but it always traced back to where I stored pain or had built emotional walls.

Now, I’m more relaxed and real. And because of that, I have so much more to offer.

What led you to your first Reiki session, and what was the experience like?

Deborah Kane: Actually, one of my sisters referred me to Reiki.

How did Reiki impact your life?

Deborah Kane: Profoundly. There were two things I was seeking—relief and safety—and I hadn’t yet developed the language to express my feelings. I went into that first session open but skeptical. What I experienced was unlike anything I’d ever known: a full hour of peace I had never been able to hold onto before.

That session marked a turning point. I didn’t want to return to talk therapy because every Reiki session brought new revelations. I began to identify where my emotions were stored in my body. With each session, pain lifted, truth revealed itself, and language started to emerge. It was deeply expansive.

Eventually, I became a Reiki Level II practitioner. More importantly, I learned how to work with myself—I can now breathe into those spaces and calm my nervous system. That ability to self-regulate has been life-changing.

You’ve mentioned several times that you didn’t have the language. Why is it so essential to develop that language?

Deborah Kane: In healing work, people often jump straight into asking questions or exploring trauma, but I didn’t even know who I was. I learned how to perform socially, but not how to identify my likes, needs, or sense of self.

For so long, I was confused and silent. I didn’t have hobbies. I wanted to shrink away. I used to apologize for everything—even when I played volleyball and went for the ball. I got an award for apologizing so much.

Writing helped me find my voice. It took me 17 years to write my book Finding the Words and the Illusion of Normalcy because it came from a wounded place. But over time, I developed the words to express my truth.

Would you say that gaining language brought you empowerment?

Deborah Kane: Yes, empowerment is part of it. But there’s more. So many of us live our lives on autopilot—planning, working, performing—but we’re disconnected from feeling. I was over-independent and determined never to rely on anyone. As my confidence grew, I started to examine my place in history, social systems, and womanhood. I began to understand my mom and what I believed about being a woman and a mother.

That kind of reflection broadens your perspective. I had been so trapped in one story that I couldn’t imagine being someone else—someone more expansive, more whole.

You write that “healing and self-discovery are often framed as actions, something to do to achieve. But the truth doesn’t shout—it rises in the quiet.” How do you cultivate that stillness in your life today?

Deborah Kane: For me, stillness starts with meditation. If I don’t meditate in the morning, my day feels more anxious. It grounds me. But stillness doesn’t have to be meditation. It can be anything—walking, breathwork, prayer, nature. The key is intention.

Nature, in particular, shifts something in me. I feel peaceful the moment I step into it. Stillness is different than quiet. Quiet still has thoughts swirling. Stillness is dropping into the heart space and listening deeply.

Some people hear things clearly when they’re still. For me, it’s more of a feeling that eventually brings words. While writing the chapter and feeling stuck, I heard the phrase “dig deep.” So I went on a nature walk and let it settle in. That helped me realize I wasn’t going deep enough in my writing.

Stillness isn’t an activity. It’s a moment. It’s a presence. It’s a gift.

In your chapter, you suggest four ways to cultivate healing. Would you mind walking us through each one and giving us a bit of encouragement to integrate these practices? The first encouragement is to breathe with intention.

Deborah Kane: You know, it means paying attention to that breath. One thing I’ve noticed when I talk about breathing—because my daughter has the word “breathe” tattooed on her arm in my handwriting—is that people sometimes get frustrated when I mention it. But when I say breathe, I mean really breathe in, and then really breathe out. You can feel the difference. That kind of intentional breathing can help you through transitions.

You can enhance it by pairing it with words. For instance, breathe in and say to yourself, “I’m here.” Breathe out and say, “I’m safe.” Doing that throughout the day—especially during transitions—helps ground you. Many of us rush through our mornings, but before stepping out of the car or walking into work, take a moment to breathe. People who are healing or have a trauma history especially need that pause. Transitions can be triggering; this simple breathwork prepares them for what’s next.

Why are transitions so crucial for people who are healing or have experienced trauma?

Deborah Kane: Because they’re always waiting for the shoe to drop. There’s this constant readiness—always bracing for something to go wrong. That fear and lack of trust make it hard to relax. That’s why the breath becomes so powerful. Saying “I’m safe” is something I do all the time—it’s essential. And honestly, I think many of us feel that anxiety right now.

Even in education, they talk about transitions. Before a school bell rings, instead of abruptly ending class, teachers should start helping students transition five minutes beforehand. Calm them, make the move gently, and they’re ready. It’s a skill-building opportunity.

The second encouragement is to create a quiet space. What does that mean?

Deborah Kane: First, make it important. Do you have time in your day where you prioritize quiet? For example, if you have coffee in the morning, can you do it without your phone or TV? Just sit in silence. Your day will start more relaxed.

Instead of rushing errands or scarfing down a sandwich during lunch, be intentional. Savor the flavor—eat with presence. Go for a walk. One thing I used to do, especially when my kids were young, was stop somewhere before coming home—just to decompress. I wanted to be emotionally available for them, and those moments helped.

It’s not about long breaks, just small, intentional pauses. Make you important.

The third encouragement is to embrace gentle practices.

Deborah Kane: This one is a little trickier. It’s about listening to how you speak to yourself. Pay attention to your inner dialogue. Someone once told me to name my inner critic, so I named mine “Spunky.” I didn’t want to dislike that part of me, but I wanted to acknowledge it.

When I hear thoughts like “I’m not good enough,” “I looked wrong today,” or “I shouldn’t have said that,” I talk to Spunky. I say, “Thank you for pointing that out.” Because if we don’t notice those thoughts, we can’t shift them. Then I soften.

Being gentle with ourselves is essential. If we don’t start there, how can we be kind to others? Be compassionate with your anxiety. Don’t get angry at it—acknowledge it. Say, “It’s okay. I see you. You’re safe.” That’s how we calm ourselves.

And finally, trust the process. What does that mean to you?

Deborah Kane: That’s the most all-encompassing piece. Trust the process if you’re practicing stillness in whatever way works for you. Believe in the practice. You’ll be led to live your life in a peaceful, aligned way that’s uniquely yours.

When you trust the process, you begin to trust yourself. And when you truly trust yourself, you can have conversations with anyone because you know who you are. That’s empowerment. That’s your power.

And don’t be afraid. Or if you are afraid, stay with that fear. Trust even that. It’s part of your unfolding.

How can those who want to connect with you reach out or receive your support?

Deborah Kane: If you’re ready to talk, I’d love to hear from you. You can email me at dkanestc@yahoo.com or find me on Instagram at @dkanestc4rg. You can also connect with me on Facebook at Victorious Life Consulting.

Right now, I’m especially interested in connecting with people looking for a keynote speaker or someone to open up conversations around healing and self-narratives. I want to help people develop the skills to tell their stories, embrace their truth, and prepare to do the transformative work of awakening and healing others.

Debbie, thank you again. To those organizing events or working with caregivers, coaches, or mental health professionals—Debbie would be an incredible voice to support and guide your community.

Deborah Kane: Thank you so much for letting me share my story and my craft—what I truly call my ministry. I don’t have the words to express how grateful I am. I’m so excited to read all these beautiful, impactful stories in Awakened Hearts and witness the ripple effect. I know it’s going to change lives. I appreciate you more than you’ll ever know.