Ready to receive: Ramblings inside my head

Recently a friend stopped me and asked, “How does it work?”

I gave the best answer I could, but I don’t know how it works. The it my friend was referring to was talking to spirits. This question shook me to my core because the friend who asked, his brother is dead and that is the only real truth I know. We die. Grief is real. It is heavy – in fact grief is the extra sixty pounds of physical weight I carry.

Have you ever tried to split yourself into two separate people. I do. EVERY. SINGLE. DAY. One side is a typical human life and the other a soul trying to answer what it is I have been called to do.

I gain and gain and gain because I cannot escape the grief each session fills me with. People say you can be riddled with guilt, I am riddled with grief. It is burrowing holes into me, taking root, and setting up camp. There are stretches of time I am trying to disconnect (reading book after book to live in another world) because I just need to numb the grief. I have to not think about what I can feel.

In the last few weeks, I have talked to souls who were victims of shootings, murdered in cold blood for no good reason. (And after the events of these past few weeks, I can’t even begin to speak of the heartbreak that fills my soul). Souls who died by suicide and I have to sit and share their messages with their mothers who are without their children. That kind of heaviness can’t possibly leave you. I am so ripped apart by the grief of these mothers it still physically hurts.

The thing is, getting back to how it works, I am not a magic 8 ball. I cannot speak to spirit on cue, because they speak to me. They speak to me when and where and how they want. I guess I could stay on and open all the time, but I am pretty sure it would literally kill me. It already is to an extent. I am sure it is taking years off my life to do what I do. It is why I split myself in two. I want to be human and enjoy the life I created, but I also cannot escape this calling. I have already tried to out run it; it doesn’t work that way.

Some days, like a few weeks ago and this week I have crammed in some extra sessions and I think, “I will be fine.” But after days with extra sessions I almost pass out from exhaustion. I am nauseous and shake for hours after. Hours. This job takes every single piece of me physically, spiritually, and emotionally.

Now, I know I sound like I am complaining. I am not. This job is a gift. I feel extremely blessed, special. It is an honor and I do my best to treat it as such.

People want a little taste of what I do via email, text, conversation, social media, in line at the grocery store. If I was on the all the time and answered every request I would be dead in a year. I know that is truth because even now this job is slowly tearing me apart.

As a good person, I want to answer all of your questions. Your grief, your pain is real. It is tangible and I feel it. I want to help. The mornings when I walk, I am fighting back tears the entire time. Your grief is finding ways to live inside me, too.

I have started breathing out big puffs of air just to evict the pain trying to take up residence inside me. It isn’t working. Yes, I meditate. Yes, I have tried therapy. But the truth is I wish your sons, daughters, husbands, wives, mothers, fathers, friends were physically still here with you. I wish you could experience them in the afterlife like I do. I don’t know why it works the way it does. It isn’t fair and I know it.

I know in my heart and the depths of my being what I experience is real, but I could be wrong. Could what I experience be one cosmic joke? Sure, that’s possible. But there are too many things telling me it is not.

God created me this way. God had a hand in placing me in a small town where people could access someone like me on the sidewalk. God thinks I am strong enough to handle this weight, but I am not so sure.

Spirit and God work in mysterious ways because it isn’t in the expected logical way humans predict. Events transpire. Jesus only raised three people from death physically, but he raised us all spiritually by showing us there is life after death. Maybe God created mediums as windows so humans would have reminders of what has been given and why She sacrificed her only son. I don’t know.

What I do know is I am trying best as I can to be myself and live a human existence while I still do my best to answer to spirit and deliver their messages. To do this with some longevity I need to keep the boundaries I have in place. I will keep showing up at work day in and day out and spirit will get who they need to, to me.

I will do my best to show up in a human way each day in my life. I will do the best I can as a wife, mom, mother, daughter, friend and person. But I am just a girl at the end of the day. As much as I embrace who and what I am, it also terrifies me. Being an outcast, while in many way it suits my introverted self, the truth is as a human I want to be loved and accepted as much as anyone else does.

The constant need to prove what I am is crippling and I am over it. I will not do that anymore. I pass the burden of proof to you. You need to choose to believe. I show up and do my part and the rest is up to you. There is no proof, no piece of evidence I could provide that would solidify what I do. And honestly, it isn’t my job to prove it. I am tired of people asking me to. I am tired of people coming to see me just to poke holes in the messages I share. I am a human with feelings and I am delivering the messages as I receive them. There is nothing else I can do but share what I experience. And if someone calls me “one of those people” to my face again I will stop right then and there and politely ask you to take your leave from me. It is insulting and rude.

What I do every day terrifies me. You think you’re nervous to come and see me – I am petrified to see you. I am exposed, raw, on display, and often feel like a dancing monkey at a circus.

“Tell me the one thing my dad said to me the day before he passed away.”

“Where is my mom’s wedding ring?”

“What was my grandpa’s cousin’s wife’s name?”

“Why do you think you get to do this and we can’t?”

“Prove to me that what you do is real, tell me one thing no one else knows.”

“I need dates and names. I need specifics.”

These types of questions and demands are not the point of spirit communication. And honestly not helpful, you stop the flow of information when you demand one thing and refuse to listen to what is offered. I promise they will say or do something that is them. I know from experience they are trying to give you information to validate who they are. There is validation in a session, it just doesn’t come in packages you like or expect. You have to have an open mind and be ready to receive what is offered. Kind of like how you survive life. You have to be willing to try things and show up and hope things turn out and you learn from what is available to you.

Why do I keep doing what I do? I show up because I believe in what I do, I believe in spirt. I believe in God.

When I was little I easily believed what I saw before me. It didn’t bring me fear or pain. It is this side of things that brings fear and uncertainty. This society almost ripped this gift away from me. It still might.

“You are crazy.”

“I know you mean well because I know you’re a nice person, so you must believe in what you are doing.”

“I will pray for your soul.”

And even the teacher who gave a whole class lesson to my daughter’s class on why mediums defy God and the Bible. Thanks. Why would you do that to a child? And I am the bad guy? I would never force my beliefs on anyone. Ever. Especially not to a room full of impressionable fifth graders. And not to single out one little girl. If you have a problem with me, leave my child out of it.

Everything I experience feels real to me. I have shown up because there are events that transpired in my life which continue to bring me back to this calling, and the more I embrace it the more I am ready to receive, but it also makes it difficult. Because the more success I have, the more demanding people have become. I do what I can do, to the best of my ability. Will it last? I don’t know. Is it deserved? Probably not. Is it taking every ounce of me to move forward? Absolutely. Am I afraid? Yes. One day I am worried it will have taken everything so nothing is left of me to live out my human life, which I love beyond measure, which is more important to me than this gift. All I can offer is all I have to give. I just ask that you are ready to receive and patient with what is available of me to give.

I am doing the best I can with what I am able. I will continue to show up for as long as I can. I am just tired and riddled with grief. The sessions are definitely taking more out of me than ever before. My patience with those who question me and are rude about what I do is thinning. How does it work? I still don’t know.

Still muddling through, trying to find meaning,

Me

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