Listening First: Healing Does Not Begin with Force

Julie Jewels Smoot

Oct 15

6 min read

A zen garden scene featuring a large stone centerpiece surrounded by meticulously raked sand patterns, evoking tranquility and balance.

There is something I have come to understand through my own life experiences, my healing journey, and my work with sound.

Healing does not begin with force.

It does not begin with someone telling us what we should feel, how we should breathe, how quickly we should recover, or what we need to release.

It does not begin with another person deciding what is best for our bodies.

Sometimes, healing begins with something much quieter.

Listening.

Listening to the breath.

Listening to the body.

Listening to the emotions that are present without demanding that they change.

Listening to the silence between sounds.

Listening without trying to fix anything.

This is the foundation of my work as a Sound Alchemist.

Listening First. Nothing Is Required.

When Healing Becomes Another Expectation

We live in a world that often encourages us to push harder, accomplish more, and measure our progress.

We are taught to keep moving.

To be productive.

To improve ourselves.

To overcome our struggles.

And sometimes, without realizing it, we bring those same expectations into our healing journeys.

We begin to believe that we should be further along than we are.

That we should have released certain emotions by now.

That we should be able to relax when someone tells us to relax.

That if a particular practice works for someone else, it should work for us.

But our bodies do not operate according to someone else's timeline.

Neither do our emotions.

Neither does healing.

There have been times in my own life when I needed movement. Other times, I needed stillness.

Sometimes, I needed to talk.

Sometimes, I needed silence.

Sometimes, I needed to be alone with my music, my thoughts, and my breath.

And sometimes, I needed absolutely nothing to be expected of me.

I have learned that listening to those differences matters.

The Body Is Not a Problem to Solve

One of the most important things I have learned is that my body is not something I need to fight.

My body has carried me through every experience of my life.

It has responded to stress, exhaustion, grief, fear, joy, movement, and rest.

There have been times when I have felt connected to my body and times when that connection has been difficult.

But I do not believe that reconnecting with ourselves requires us to override what our bodies are communicating.

If my body needs rest, I can rest.

If movement feels supportive, I can move.

If I feel uncomfortable lying down, I can sit.

If a sound feels overwhelming, I can lower the volume or stop listening.

If I do not want to participate in something, I can say no.

These are not failures.

They are choices.

And choice matters.

My body belongs to me.

My pace belongs to me.

My healing journey belongs to me.

Sound as an Invitation, Not a Demand

When I create music with my gongs, Tibetan singing bowls, hand pan, and other instruments, I am not trying to tell listeners what they must experience.

I am creating a space for listening.

The vibrations of a gong can be powerful.

The resonance of a Tibetan singing bowl can linger long after it has been struck.

A hand pan can offer a gentle rhythm that invites attention.

But I do not believe that every listener needs to experience these sounds in the same way.

One person may find a particular recording calming.

Another may feel energized.

Someone else may notice memories, emotions, or physical sensations.

And another person may simply enjoy the music.

All of those experiences are valid.

You do not need to cry.

You do not need to release trauma.

You do not need to enter a particular state of consciousness.

You do not even need to feel relaxed.

You are allowed to listen without having an experience that someone else would call healing.

That is important to me.

Sound is not a command.

It is an invitation.

And every invitation can be accepted, declined, or changed.

Listening to What Is Present

Sometimes, when we begin a meditation or listening practice, we arrive carrying the weight of our day.

Perhaps we are tired.

Perhaps our minds are busy.

Perhaps our bodies feel restless.

Perhaps we are grieving.

Perhaps we are having a wonderful day and simply want to enjoy some music.

There is no requirement to arrive in a particular emotional state.

You do not need to clear your mind before listening.

You do not need to force your breathing into a specific pattern.

You do not need to make yourself comfortable in a position that does not feel good.

You can begin exactly where you are.

If your thoughts wander, that is okay.

If you need to move, move.

If you want to open your eyes, open them.

If you want to stop, stop.

Listening First means paying attention to what is happening without immediately demanding that something else happen.

It means allowing the present moment to be what it is.

Rest Without Earning It

For many years, I lived in a world where doing more seemed to be the expectation.

There was always something that needed attention.

Something that needed to be accomplished.

Something that needed to be handled.

But I have learned that rest is not a reward for exhaustion.

I do not have to push myself to the point of depletion before I am allowed to stop.

I can sit with a cup of tea.

I can listen to music.

I can spend time in nature.

I can practice gentle movement.

I can lie under a warm blanket.

I can enjoy silence.

I can do absolutely nothing productive.

And none of those choices requires an explanation.

Rest is part of living.

It is not something I have to justify.

The Importance of Consent

Listening First also means respecting boundaries.

That includes the boundaries we establish with other people and the boundaries we establish within our own practices.

Nobody should have to disclose their trauma history to enjoy music.

Nobody should be pressured to participate in bodywork, meditation, breathwork, or movement that feels uncomfortable.

Nobody should be told that resistance means they are not ready to heal.

A person's no deserves respect.

So does their yes.

So does their decision to change their mind.

I believe that consent is not something we establish once and then forget.

It is something we continue to honor.

This understanding shapes the way I approach my work and my own life.

I do not want people to feel that they must become vulnerable to prove they are participating.

I do not want anyone to believe that their private experiences are owed to a facilitator, practitioner, or audience.

There is room for privacy.

There is room for boundaries.

There is room for choice.

Sometimes Listening Means Walking Away

Listening First is not always quiet or gentle in the way people imagine.

Sometimes listening to ourselves means recognizing that something is no longer supportive.

Sometimes it means ending a conversation.

Declining an invitation.

Leaving a community.

Taking a break from social media.

Choosing not to explain ourselves.

Recognizing that we no longer want to carry a relationship alone.

Listening to ourselves may lead us toward rest, but it may also lead us toward change.

It may lead us toward stronger boundaries.

It may lead us toward a different way of living.

And sometimes it means deciding that we are no longer available for experiences that require us to abandon ourselves.

There is strength in that kind of listening.

My Practice Continues to Evolve

I am still learning.

I am still discovering what supports me.

Some days I turn toward my gongs.

Other days I enjoy the gentle sounds of Tibetan singing bowls.

Sometimes I ride my bike, walk, practice yoga, or spend time outside.

Sometimes I write poetry.

Sometimes I create music from experiences that I am not interested in explaining to anyone.

My creative work allows me to express parts of my life while keeping other parts private.

I do not need to tell the entire story to create something meaningful.

And I do not need someone else to understand every experience behind a piece of music.

The work can stand on its own.

The listener can bring their own experience.

Nothing needs to be forced.

An Invitation to Listen

If you are discovering my music for the first time, I want you to know something.

You are welcome to listen exactly as you are.

You do not have to prepare yourself.

You do not have to become calmer.

You do not have to believe in anything particular about sound healing.

You do not have to share your story.

You do not have to finish a recording.

You do not have to feel anything specific.

You can simply listen.

Perhaps you will notice the resonance of a gong.

Perhaps you will hear the gentle vibration of a Tibetan singing bowl.

Perhaps you will become aware of your breathing.

Perhaps you will enjoy a few moments of quiet.

Or perhaps you will decide that today is not the day for listening.

That is okay, too.

My work is here when you choose to return.

There is no deadline.

There is no required outcome.

There is no perfect way to participate.