Healing Through Sound: Finding My Voice Through Mantra, Chanting, and Yoga

My relationship with mantra and chanting did not begin in a temple or a yoga studio filled with incense and candlelight. It began in rehab.

Every Thursday, we had Kundalini Yoga. At the time, I was resistant to it, though if I am honest, I was resistant to almost everything. Healing can feel like standing at the door with your arms crossed, refusing to enter the room. But week by week, something softened. I began to look forward to those Thursdays.

When I left rehab, I continued practicing yoga at my local gym in Chicago. The class was vinyasa, and it felt wildly different from Kundalini, faster, stronger, more fluid. Still, I loved how it made me feel. Yoga was becoming less of an obligation and more of a refuge.

Later, when I moved from Chicago to Denver, I began exploring spiritual practices more deeply. I attended meditation classes in an old house once occupied by monks. They would chant Om, and I was captivated by the resonance. The sound seemed to move through walls, skin, and bone.

Eventually, I found my home studio, Karma Yoga Center, a Bhakti-centered space where we chanted at the beginning and end of class. I absolutely loved it. At that time in my life, I felt timid, broken, lost, and desperate to heal. I was sober from hard drugs, but still struggling deeply with alcohol. Karma became a sanctuary where I could unpack years of pain, process my story, and begin to liberate myself.

I was the kind of girl who did not sing in Catholic church, so chanting felt intimidating. But something in me kept returning. I kept showing up.

I completed my first teacher training there, rooted in Bhakti but woven with hatha, vinyasa, and lunar practices. During kirtan gatherings, my voice was soft and uncertain, but I began to participate.

When I moved from Denver to Omaha, I started teaching at a predominantly vinyasa studio. The owner had a harmonium, though it was rarely used. Some teachers chanted Om, most did not. I tried to bring my Bhakti heart into the space, but students were often resistant.

Eight years later, I left that studio to open my own.

By then, I had completed a 200-hour Kundalini training where chanting was central to the practice. My chanting had become stronger, more intentional, more embodied. Students began commenting on the power in my voice. It took years for me to feel confident singing in front of others, and I still have much to overcome, unlearn, and relearn.

What I love most about chanting is that it does not matter whether you have a “good voice.” When you sing from a place of love, it always resonates.

What First Spoke to Me

What first drew me to mantra was the idea that sound could awaken something already living inside us.

Need more courage? Chant to Durga.
Need to slay limiting beliefs? Chant to Kali.
Want to call in love and abundance? Chant to Lakshmi.
Need help overcoming obstacles? Chant to Ganesha.

There seemed to be a chant for everything, and I loved that. A way to make every part of life holy. A way to meet fear, grief, desire, and growth through vibration and devotion.

Chanting felt ancient, primal, and deeply aligned.

I began listening to devotional music while practicing, driving, and cleaning. I noticed how it lifted my mood and helped me process one of the hardest seasons of my life: the illness and death of my beloved grandmother.

Now, my daughters chant with me. They request devotional songs in the car and while we cook. I hear them repeat mantras when they feel challenged or overwhelmed.

That may be one of the greatest gifts chanting has given me: something healing that can be passed down like a family recipe of light.

My Intention

I believe life gives us exactly what we need when we are paying attention.

I have completed many trainings: four 200-hour certifications, two 300-hour trainings, nidra, yin, ayurveda, tantra, vinyasa, kundalini, bhakti, restorative, trauma-informed yoga, and somatics. I love learning. Truly, I am gloriously nerdy about it.

Each training touched on chanting, but I longed for something deeper.

I have listened to Janet Stone’s music for years. Her voice has long been a staple in my playlists. In Omaha, yoga culture is still young in many ways, and opportunities for kirtan or Bhakti-centered gatherings are limited.

When I opened my own studio, I knew I wanted to eventually host devotional experiences there.

So when I saw StONE Yoga School offering a chanting course, I signed up immediately. I noticed it even included harmonium instruction, though owning one was not required.

For years, I had searched for a used harmonium. They are hard to find and expensive to buy new. Then, seconds after enrolling in chanting school, I opened social media and the very first post I saw was someone selling a harmonium just minutes from my house.

Sometimes life does not whisper.

Sometimes it sings.

Reflections

This next chapter feels like a door swinging open.

It is an invitation into a deeper understanding of these mantras, not only to learn their words, but to embody their essence. I want to carry them in my breath, in my voice, and in the way I live so that when I share them in classes, gatherings, and eventually kirtans, they come through as something lived rather than simply recited.

I know in my heart that it is part of my dharma to bring these teachings to my community. To create spaces where people can heal, remember themselves, and feel connected through sound, devotion, and presence.

That responsibility is something I do not take lightly.

These practices have helped guide me through grief, addiction, uncertainty, and transformation. They have offered me strength when I felt weak and belonging when I felt lost. To now become a bridge for others feels both sacred and humbling.

So I step through this doorway with reverence, gratitude, and a willing heart, ready to learn, ready to serve, and ready to sing.