Memoir of a Medium
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 I don't belong here We were raised Catholic, my brother and I. Not very strict, but I was baptised with 6 months, did my communion when I was 7 and choose to do a confirmation when I was 12. I did not really like the church though. I never understood the strict rules and all the official mayhem around them. Also, if God was really this caring guy looking after you, then why in the world were we to sit on those painfully hard wooden church benches? I could sense something was off. All I could see were parents and children being seemingly certain about the word of God, and me feeling not so certain about it. Trapped I remember one particular day where my mother sat to the left of me, my father to the right and a row of dark grey coats was blocking my view. I could not go anywhere. I could not see anything. All I could do was obey like everyone else around me and sit and listen. I knew what was going to happen, and I dreaded it already. The pastor's voice echoed on the walls and the ceiling: What is the relationship with your father like? It's always been my dream to write and be a writer. Writing is my (he)art. I write in diaries. I write on my laptop. I have written tons and tons of blogs, stories, programme modules and course content for my private clients. Yet, every time I wanted to make all this yumminess available to a wider audience, I would freeze. Initially I thought I was just procrastinating things, so I got really mad at myself and used strategy, accountability and force to get it done. That did not work. Then I thought it was a matter of perfectionism, so I got really gentle with myself and took my time to create something truly beautiful and aligned that I would feel proud of. That did not work either. Eventually, it occurred to me that this was not just a mindset thing. Writing, (even just a blog like this) and hitting "publish" was triggering a proper full body freeze responds. And I owed it to myself and the people whose life I could change with my writing, the release this. The Father Wound During my early teens, my father started to retreat from our family. He was still there, living and breathing, but his heart was in another place. No one knew where he went to. We just knew he was not with us.  Allow me to share a bit of magic with you.
In a recent blog post I wrote about rejection. And how I, if I were to have received a penny for every rejection I had faced, I would have been rich by now. It’s not always easy to continue walking the path of your heart and soul. There will be people who don’t like what you are saying or doing, no matter how well your intentions are. What I have come to learn though, is that the rejection you might feel from others also signifies a rejection within you. Ask yourself: |
Memoir of a Medium
is an ongoing series of personal stories and experiences about my life and work as a high-level medium and oracle. Writing these stories makes me feel good and fills my mystical, sacred feminine heart with joy. By sharing these stories I trust they do the same for you.
February 2023
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