Tanya Ryder

I came to sound healing the way most people do — accidentally. I was burnt out from a corporate job in London, took a sabbatical, and stumbled into a sound bath in a yoga studio in Hackney. I cried for three days afterwards. I didn’t know why. I still don’t entirely know why.

Three months later I was in Bali on a teacher training I’d booked on impulse. Three months after that I was apprenticing with a Tibetan bowl master in Northern India. I came back changed, quietly, in the way that real change happens.

“The longer I do this work, the less it feels like a profession and the more it feels like a quiet vow.”

I came to Ibiza because a friend invited me to hold a session in their villa for a small group. I never went home. The island has its own intelligence — long, low, golden light most of the year; cliffs that catch the wind in winter; a salt that gets into your hair and your hands. People come here when they’re ready for something to shift.

I work with individuals, couples, and small groups. Sometimes corporate retreats — when the brief is honest. Every session is built around what the room asks for in that moment. I have a structure I trust, and I am willing to drop it entirely when something else wants to happen.

Alongside the sessions, I make sacred candles. They came as a way to extend the work into the quiet hours of someone’s week — to give them something to light when they get home from a hard day. Each one is poured by hand, slowly, with the same attention I give to a session.