Lightworker
I’m going to say something that might ruffle feathers: I hate the term lightworker.
There, I said it.
It’s not that I don’t believe in spreading light, love, or compassion – of course I do. It’s the smug, self-righteous tone that sometimes clings to the word, like a badge of spiritual superiority. As if some people are here to “do the light work” while the rest of us are bumbling about in the dark. Spare me.
Because it’s easy to bask in “love and light” when life feels good. But real spirituality? That happens when the lights go out. When grief guts you. When the rug is pulled out from under your feet. When you’re in the trenches and all the pretty affirmations in the world don’t touch the rawness of what you’re living through.
The Illusion of Floating Above It All
“Lightworker” culture can sometimes promote a subtle bypassing – as though if you just vibrate higher, you can float above the mess. But life doesn’t work that way. The darkness comes for all of us. The shadow is part of the deal. Pretending otherwise just makes you unprepared when it hits.
If your spirituality only works when the sun’s shining, you’ll shit yourself when the lights go out.
The Sacred Rebel View
Here’s how I see it: true spiritual work isn’t about avoiding darkness. It’s about walking into it with open eyes and a steady heart. It’s about sitting in the mud and holding space for yourself and others when everything feels broken.
That’s not glamorous. It doesn’t always photograph well for Instagram. But it’s where resilience, wisdom, and compassion are forged.
The Sacred Rebel path isn’t about light or dark – it’s about wholeness. Owning all of it. Claiming the power in the shadows as much as the sunshine.
Light That’s Been Through the Dark
Don’t get me wrong: light matters. Hope matters. But light that hasn’t walked through the dark is shallow. It flickers out the second life gets hard. Real light is the kind that knows the night.
So if you call yourself a lightworker, I challenge you: don’t just glow when it’s easy. Show me your light when everything has collapsed. Show me your love when it costs you something. Show me your presence when the room is pitch black.
That’s when we’ll know it’s real.
Final Word
So maybe I don’t hate the word itself – maybe I just hate what it’s become. A shiny sticker slapped over deep, gritty, honest work. Spirituality isn’t an aesthetic. It’s not a hashtag. It’s a practice that will drag you into the trenches and demand you rise.
And if you can still stand there – raw, human, messy, but present – then you don’t need a label. Your life will speak for itself.
