Birgitta Visser World-Renowned Soul Empowerment Coach
Birgitta Visser is a Soul Empowerment Coach and Divine Channel, tuning into higher frequencies, delivering messages from the many Light Beings and Master Teachers. With her Light Language Healing, she weaves light codes that activate transformation in those seeking alignment with their soul’s purpose. Having overcome significant abuse and trauma, Birgitta has emerged out of the darkness into the light of self-love and spiritual awakening, embodying authenticity and truth in both her life and her work. She shares her wisdom and insights, guiding others on their own healing journeys toward empowerment and enlightenment.
Birgitta is the co-author of several motivational works, including “Become Empowered: Echoes of Grace and Strength,” “I’m So Glad You Left Me,” “Divine Rebirth,” and “Miracles are Normal.” Each of these books serves as a beacon of hope and empowerment, encouraging readers to embrace their own journeys of transformation. She also penned “BE-com-ing Authentically Me,” (currently being re-edited), a deeply personal reflection on her own path from darkness to light, showing her resilience and growth. Her most recent work, “Child of the Sun: Enroute to Enlightenment in India,” takes readers on a journey at the Art of Living Center with various meditation practices set against the rich backdrop of India.
What is a Soul Empowerment Coach?
I am a way guide for the rememberers, a space-holder for the awakening, a fellow traveler on the path back to wholeness. I work not with the personality, not with the résumé or the daily roles we play, but with the essential, eternal core of you: your soul.
We live in a world that often asks us to dim our light, to trade our luminous soul for practicality, to outsource our power. Oh hell, we give it away like sweets in a candy jar… We forget that we are, in our truest essence, spiritual beings having a human experience. My purpose is to help people reverse that amnesia. This is the sacred work of empowerment: taking back our power, learning to dance back to the grid of our divine selves; coming home to ourselves.
Think of the word: Hue-man. A Light Man of light and color. A walking, breathing prism designed to refract the pure, white light of Source into a unique, magnificent spectrum that only you can express. We are all a kaleidoscope of colors. My role is to help you polish that prism, to clear away the dust of doubt, trauma, and old stories, so your light can shine, undimmed and brilliant.
We are sacred geometry in motion. Our energy bodies, our chakras, our very DNA—they are living mandalas, intricate and divine. When we are in alignment, we are a symphony of harmonic frequencies. But life can create dissonance causing dis-ease, and we fall out of rhythm with our true song.
This is where the soullular work begins. It’s a deep, cellular-level awakening where the soul’s wisdom speaks directly to the very fabric of your being. It’s healing that doesn’t just skim the surface; it rewrites the code. It’s dancing—sometimes a gentle sway, sometimes a wild, ecstatic release—back to the sacred grid of your original blueprint. Back to your purpose. Back to your power.
It is about your words, for they cast spells (spell-ing) and shape your reality. It is about your thoughts, for they are the architects of your experience. It is about your actions, for they are the prayers your feet make upon this beautiful blue planet called Earth.
As the great teacher Carl Jung once stated, the privilege of a lifetime is to become who you truly are. And moi? I’m just here to help illuminate that path.
I am not here to fix you, because you are not broken. I am here to witness your wholeness until you can feel it for yourself. I am here to reflect your light until your own inner vision clears. I am here to hold the map, but you, beautiful soul, are the treasure.
Tell us about challenges that you have faced and persevered.
There’s a particular kind of fire that only rises from the ashes of crap so deep, so raw, so utterly messy—that you wonder if you’ll ever breathe clean air again. I have lived in that fire. I have eaten the ash. I screamed into it, slept in it, and somehow, somehow, I emerged not just intact—but became a far more luminous firefly.
I’m Dutch. Blunt. Grounded. Unapologetically real. Not the tulip-and-cheerful-bike-riding kind but the I-don’t-give-a-crap-if-you’re-offended kind. We don’t do delicate. We do windmills, grit, and really good potato dishes—I certainly miss those! And if there’s one thing I’ve mastered, it’s alchemizing all that crap into gold, the shit into spirituality, and the messy into meaning.
Let me be clear: I have been buried alive in my utter created chaos of my hoarded experiences, and yet all I’ve been through, well let’s just say I wouldn’t have it any other way, because without them, I would not be who I am today.
I lost my father at fourteen, and my stepdad at twenty-five. Loss was a visitor that had the knack to redecorate my nervous system in combination with the lethal collection of my other accumulated trauma. Grief doesn’t come with instructions—it just splinters you. Then came the silence: the abuse I never spoke of, the bullying in high school for being a tall, knobbly kneed noodle, who just wanted to disappear into the floorboards. The world told me I wasn’t enough, so I starved myself to prove it. I became lighter, smaller, emptier—until all that was left was a hollow echo of a soul.
I was a master of survival, not living. Breathing, yes. But not inhaling life — more like cautiously sniffing it, like it might, ‘BOOM,’ explode.
And still, I kept going. Held down jobs in cities across continents. Smiled, told people I was fine. Tja, that smile plastered on my face was as fake as a ten-euro Louis Vuitton bag. I pretended the storm inside wasn’t tearing me apart; that ended in me being a bloody pulp of a mess.
Because here’s the thing about trauma: it doesn’t announce itself. It slips in like a thief in the night, unconscious, disguised as love, as desire, as need. I attracted broken men because I was broken. I poured myself into toxic relationships like a sacred offering—only to realise I was bleeding out on bloody altars built for someone else’s salvation.
I dabbled in drugs after my stepdad crossed over—not for fun, but for escape. I blacked out. Woke up with memory gaps. But no—fate said, “Hold my gedroogde erwtensoep,” and threw me into the superficial modelling industry, because I wanted to prove that I was a somebody rather than a nobody, where I got assaulted, underpaid, and told my face was “interesting but not commercial.” Interesting is Dutch for: “We don’t know what to do with you, there’s the door.”
Healing isn’t soft. It’s not candles and crystals and quiet affirmations (though I love all that too in the form of Joe Dispenza). Healing is brutal. It’s raw. It’s scrubbing your mind and soul with steel wool. It’s digging deep and sitting with those insistent demons, having a talk round the campfire. It’s waking up at 3 a.m. shaking, screaming into a pillow. It’s staring into the mirror and recognising a stranger wearing your skin.
Eventually I began to wake up from my slumber of having become a permanent fixture of living my life according to the rules of a created society. Not all at once—no, enlightenment doesn’t work like that. It’s like surfacing from deep water, gasping, disoriented, blinking at the light. I started questioning everything: Why do I attract chaos? Why do I make myself small? Why do I confuse pain with love?
In 2009, I was the idiot who bought my ex from North Carolina a ticket to Holland. Yes, that idiot. The one who thought love could fix everything, but it actually meant self-destruction. The situation descended into chaos, involving the Dutch Crips, a ransom, and his mother holding me responsible. I disconnected to survive, helping police rescue him before he was deported, with the leader of the gang threatening to find me and kill me. It was a trauma that should have been a full stop. But unconscious patterns have deep roots.
And I thought—maybe this time? Maybe the healing has changed things? Maybe he’s done the work?
My guides must have been leaning in, grabbing their popcorn, watching this unravel and thinking, here we go. Let’s see if this extremely heightened experience will make her shut that door, or leave her drowning even further in her own sticky stinkin’ cotton candy….
What followed was a masterclass in what happens when someone who has done the work tries to build a bridge to someone who is still happily setting fire to their own. Well burn baby burn…. Three weeks I managed this descent into chaos. My home was no longer my sanctuary; it felt like a horrific low-budget episode of some random psychological thriller. Verbal abuse. Financial recklessness. Steroids. Converting GBL to GHB, because why not? Hallucinations. Paranoia about a government chip implanted in his head. Eight-hour showers. He changed phones more often than he changed his underwear. Took cabs, left me to pay. Fentanyl threats. A house with puddles of water—and my spirit flooded with fear.
I became invisible in my own life again.
And the one day I snapped, I finally told him to get the hell out of my house. He threatened to commit suicide, blamed me for everything that had gone wrong in his life. Left my house in chaos. Came back a week later, stating he had been robbed, sleeping on a park bench, merely holding a weekend bag instead of the suitcases he left with, demanding I pay the cab fare. I wanted him out of my home, and got him into a hostel. The next day he came back again. And I—finally—called the police. It was hard, but I was done being his ride-or-die. I was now his get-the-hell-out-of-my-life.
The experience taught me an important lesson: healing isn’t a group activity. You can’t drag someone across the finish line of their own recovery. Mental health issues are no joke, but my job wasn’t to save him; it was to stop letting him drown me. I was a woman who had buried herself under the weight of other people’s healing, mistaking it for love. So, I scrubbed. the whole damn house. Threw out everything he touched. Burned sage, and as per my Guides, I also combined distilled white vinegar, table salt, and sage essential oil steeped in hot water, naming it vinsasa to wipe everything from top to bottom. I cried, screamed, and then—I invited the plants in.
San Pedro. Psilocybin. Ayahuasca—the grandfather of deep soul healing. That shit doesn’t play. You don’t meditate your way into awareness. You get dragged there by your hair, by your spine, by your womb. You puke. You shake. You howl. You remember things you swore you’d forgotten. And then—you release them.
I followed it up with Light Language Healing with the glorious Louise Rhodes (yes, I’ll plug her—she’s my go to high-vibe healer based in the UK). I channeled sounds that weren’t me, but through me, dissolving ancestral grief, past-life contracts, and karmic BS I didn’t even know I was carrying. It felt like my DNA was getting rebooted.
I used to feel alone in every relationship—because it was never about me. It was always about their wounds, their needs, their salvation. Now? I pour love into my own heart first, because loving yourself and healing the relationship with yourself is a necessity.
“If you don’t heal, you’ll attract more of the same. You don’t level up by avoiding the crap—you level up by walking through it.”
Our experiences don’t taunt us; they teach us. Our demons don’t want to destroy us; they wish to be heard and to be freed so that your soul can finally breathe in the body it has been given home to.
Today? I honestly don’t have time for the “dramallama” energy. My backyard is—while not perfectly manicured, is still my backyard. I’m the one pulling the weeds. I learned that healing yourself is the greatest rebellion within the societal grid of a created existence. Never conform to the norm, rather live a life in the radiance of your own essentiality and originality. It’s all about bursting free from the bubble of conditioning that makes it hard to breathe in your own skin.
I walk in my freedom. I breathe love for myself. I centre in my peace, and I walk in my own power. And that, honestly, scares the shit out of people who are still knee-deep in their own crap.
I’m not perfect. Some days, I still feel the ghost of old fears tap me on the shoulder. But now I just go ‘Cheers mate,’ offer it a cup of tea, a stroopwafel, thank it for its concern, and send it on its way. I practice gratitude on a daily basis and wake up thankful—not because life is perfect, but because I’ve earned every scar, every lesson, every ounce of this strength.
And honestly? I’m beautifully, messily, unapologetically okay.
PS: As Michael Caine famously stated in the final moments of the movie Alfie, “You know what? When I look back on my little life and the birds I’ve known, and think of all the things they’ve done for me and the little I’ve done for them, you’d think I’ve had the best of it along the line. But what have I got out of it? I’ve got a bob or two, some decent clothes, a car, I’ve got me health back and I ain’t attached. But I ain’t got me peace of mind—and if you ain’t got that, you ain’t got nothing. I don’t know. It seems to me if they ain’t got you one way they’ve got you another. So, what’s the answer? That’s what I keep asking myself—what’s it all about? Know what I mean?”
You are changing lives globally. What are some of the reasons people are coming to you?
Am I changing lives? Hmmmmm… Let’s just say I’m not here to hold hands and whisper sweet nothings into your aura. Hell no. I’m here to shake the cosmic dust off your soul and kick the spiritual crap out of the unconscious patterns keeping you stuck in the same repetitive loop since possibly your high school days or even pain that runs within your ancestral lineage.
Let me ask you something—when was the last time you looked in the mirror and didn’t flinch?
Not the polished version you post online. Not the smile you wear like a mask at dinner parties. I mean the real you—the one beneath the filters, the “I’m fine” lies whispered into the void of 2 a.m. insomnia. The one drowning in a deep black hole of why does nothing feel like enough?
People come to me not because their lives are crashing—but because they’re tired of pretending the crash never happened. They’re done with the monkey business. Done outsourcing their joy to promotions, relationships, likes, validation. Done believing the crap that they’re not enough, not doing enough, not being enough.
They come when the weight of the masquerade becomes heavier than the pain of the truth.
And let me tell you—truth is messy. Healing isn’t pretty. It’s not gratitude journals and candlelit affirmations while your soul is screaming in silence. Real transformation is showing up when you’re raw, when your insides feel like scraped concrete, when you realize you’ve been living unconsciously—on autopilot, repeating the same patterns, reliving the same pain, mistaking familiarity for love.
So why me? Well, because I don’t do fluffy spirituality. They come because they’re ready for deep healing, not just deep breathing.
Because here’s what no one tells you: spirituality isn’t about rising above the shit—it’s about walking through it, feeling every damn drop, and realizing you were never dirty to begin with.
“You don’t heal by making the pain disappear. You heal by finally letting it speak—and then choosing who speaks louder: your trauma, or your truth?”
And yes, I use Light Language and Frequency Healing—but not as a magic wand. Think of it more like soul software updates. We’re clearing out the old programming: “I’m not enough,” “Love is conditional,” “Success means suffering.” That outdated junk? Deleted. Recycled. Sent to the cosmic dumpster.
Light Language isn’t just celestial gibberish (though I’ll admit, to the uninitiated, it sounds like I’m channeling a fired-up Minion on espresso). It’s a vibrational rewire. It speaks to the part of you that remembers—before trauma, before shame, before your third-grade teacher told you your drawing “lacked perspective”—that you are infinite. That you are already whole.
But the healing doesn’t stop there. Because consciousness without action is just decoration. Awareness without accountability is delusion.
But let’s get real: I’m not your savior. I’m not your guru. I’m more like a spiritual drill sergeant with a sense of humor.
Together we face the parts you’ve buried—the shame, the rage, the grief you’ve called “weakness.” We stop deflecting. We stop blaming parents, exes, capitalism, the stars. Because yes, your experiences shaped you—but they don’t have to define you.
“Your experiences teach us to reflect, not deflect. Responsibility isn’t guilt. It’s power.”
You can’t outsource your self-worth. The moment you hand someone else the keys to your happiness, you become a prisoner in your own life. Been there, done that and worn that t-shirt multiple times until I finally chucked it in the dumpster.
“Your pain isn’t here to ruin you. Your demons aren’t here to destroy you—they’re here to be healed. People want their pain erased, but how will you ever grow if you refuse to walk through the fire?”
This work? It’s not for the faint of heart. It’s for the ones who are done dying slowly—the ones who’d rather burn in the fire of growth than freeze in the comfort of their cemented stagnation.
So, am I changing lives globally?
Let me rephrase that: Am I reminding people—across time zones, languages, and levels of spiritual cynicism—that they already hold the power within to change their own lives?
Hell yes. (Well at least I’d like to think so…)
One messy, conscious, radically human breakthrough at a time.
Share your goals for 2026.
I’m not here chasing perfection — I’ll be dancing in the mess.
Life isn’t a tidy timeline of planned milestones, well not to me anyway. It’s a wild, unpredictable symphony of sorts — sometimes a jazz improv, sometimes a thunderous rock anthem, and often, the raw, soul-baring lyrics of a blues ballad.
“Life is like the sound of music. You’ve got to dance before the music stops and live a little before life is over.”
We are never guaranteed tomorrow. Live according to the ho-hums of your own soul, rather than playing the role of fiddling puppet dancing to the tune of someone else’s strings.
My goal isn’t to have “figured it all out.” It’s to be deeper in the knowing — the kind that doesn’t come from answers, but from asking the right questions. I want to be someone who holds space for the messy, the unresolved, the parts of us we label as crap or unconscious behavior. Because those parts? They’re not failures. They’re invitations.
Seeing we are already at the end of Q1 in 2026, I’m gearing up to move back up north to the Costa Blanca area, right by the Mediterranean Sea. I will be in the headspace of writing more books — not bestsellers I can frame on a wall, although I do have those, but honest, soul-soaked words that land in someone’s lap like a letter they needed but never asked for. I’ll have penned articles that crack open silence, that say, “You’re not broken — you’re be-com-ing.” My mission? To plant seeds — tiny, quiet, food-for-thought seeds — in the soil of someone’s awareness. Maybe they won’t sprout for years. But one day, in the middle of their pain or clarity, they’ll remember the words they read and that penny will drop and that seed will grow.
I definitely plan to get up on stage, hold talks—merely as a way guide who’s walked through the fire and still believes in light. I’m just here to remind every soul that their pain is not a prison. It’s wisdom disguised as wounds. The experiences that once broke you? They’re the very things teaching you to reflect, to grow, to rise.
I’m not here to be some guru. I’m a mere earthly traveler just like you, learning as I go along. I’m here to help others heal themselves—not by fixing them, but by walking beside them. I’m here to be that flashlight someone drops in the dark and goes, “Oh thank heavens, that’s not a monster—that’s just my trauma wearing a darn hoodie.” I want to empower people to step out of their victim mode—not because pain isn’t real (it is, and sometimes it friggin’ hurts like hell), but because power is realer. And healing is about feeling and dealing with our demons, and saying, I’m willing to do the work. That’s where transformation begins — not in denial of our pain, but in the courage to face it. Our darkness is not a foe to be feared but merely asking for the pain to be released into the ethers of light.
“You can’t heal in the same mind that created the wound.”
— Ancient wisdom wrapped in modern truth
I believe in sowing the seeds of love in the heart of humanity. I want to look back and say: I wrote. I healed. I laughed in the face of fear. I planted seeds. I held space. I may not have fixed the world—but I helped a few people fix their inner worlds. And that? That changes everything.
The key is to live a little more boldly, love a little more openly, and heal a little more deeply before the music stops. The world doesn’t need more perfect people; it needs more people who are real, who have alchemized their pain into purpose, and who are brave enough to dance with their whole, imperfect, and beautiful hearts. That is the dance I intend to lead.
