I Went To A Psychic & Here’s What I Learned

I went to a psychic yesterday because I had some questions for both my service dog and my deceased loved ones. 

I’ve had a number of spiritual experiences in my childhood and into adulthood. And recently I’ve been having more and more, and I needed to speak with someone who could interpret what I was experiencing.

I feel like my old service dog’s spirit is inside my current service dog’s body. I feel his energy and his soulmate familiarity. It feels so similar, yet different, and more. I needed to know who he was and where I knew him from. Because we both recognize each other – only he knows, because dogs are more in tune. 

I also needed to ask my beloved deceased family members which one of them is keeping me alive, so I could thank them. There’s no explanation for my survival: I’ve survived 3 near-death experiences, 2 decades of severe anorexia, emaciation, significant electrolyte imbalances, starvation, and sepsis 9 times from my central line that feeds me, as I’m unable to digest food. My providers can’t explain how I’ve survived. But in a spiritual journey last week, I was spoken to by angels who said a group of them are the ones keeping me alive. I wanted to thank them. 

So one afternoon, I walked into the psychic’s room blind and skeptical. He knew nothing about me except for my nickname. But what I received was a gift bigger than life.

In my 3 near death experiences, I saw the same heaven/afterlife, and was told to go back to earth and life for my dogs by different loved ones who had already passed. 

When the psychic walked out of his room, I noticed that it was a burly older man with a beard. Instantly, that caused a freeze response due to sexual abuse as a kid. But Blizzard, my service dog, acted like he felt safe. I was uneasy when we went into a room alone, and the psychic closed the door. But Blizzard was unfazed, and I trust he can smell fear and danger. So I took a seat on the closest couch to the door, and Blizzard lay down beside my feet in front of the door, guarding the entry. 

I have both C-PTSD and Dissociative Identity Disorder from past trauma, so to be in a room with a man alone, feeling somewhat safe, is a big deal for me.

The first thing the psychic said was, “Did someone in your past have neuroblastoma?”

I felt my stomach sink. My mother was the first baby to survive neuroblastoma surgery in 1957. She’s in all the baby books on cancer from that time.

The psychic said his head hurt, and asked if my mom was deceased. I told him, “No, she’s alive and survived!” He then said a woman was talking about my mom’s cancer. I asked if it was my grandmother. “Maybe,” he said, but he didn’t look convinced.

Suddenly, I thought of the little girl named Brielle who died of neuroblastoma a few weeks ago. She was a social media sensation because she danced through her cancer treatments until the very end. I didn’t know her personally, but I followed her journey, and in that moment, I felt her sadness and fear. 

The psychic said, “There’s a little girl. Was your mom 9 when she had cancer?” I replied that she had it as an infant, but that a girl I connected to, who was 9, had recently died of neuroblastoma, too. The psychic said, “She’s here. She likes your energy. And she is telling me to tell you to dance.” My jaw hit the floor. I felt tears stream down my cheeks. 

“Could I have a tissue, please?” I asked, choking back tears. 

Next, he said, “How are your kidneys?” I reported that my bloodwork shows my kidneys are in excellent shape. He said, “Did you lose someone mid-April to kidney disease?” My heart stopped. 

“Bridgette, my best friend, died last April from kidney failure.” I blinked and pinched myself to see if I was dreaming. 

“She is here, and she is strong!” The psychic reported. He said, “She has a wicked, funny sense of humor!” I laughed because Bridgette really did have a funny sense of humor.

Suddenly, the psychic’s voice got hoarse, and it was hard for him to form words. He asked, “Did anyone in your past have throat surgery?” “My grandfather on my dad’s side had throat reconstructive surgery from throat cancer,” I told him. “Your grandfather is here.”

Then the psychic asked me what else I wanted to know. I asked if he could talk to Blizzard and see if he had any messages or requests for me. 

Blizzard told the psychic that he doesn’t like it when we make fun of him for being a thick boy.

He is embarrassed by his weight because we call him a big boy. He said he also loves food. Although his main message for me is that he is here to serve me – he is here for as long as I desire to live, and if I die, he will be okay. 

Tears streamed down my face. Blizzard looked over at me and came over to lick my tears. Then he settled back down in front of the door. The psychic then told me that Blizzard asked, “Can we be done yet?” And we both laughed. Blizzard looked over at us with a side eye as if to say, “Well… are we leaving?” 

The psychic told me that he understands why my team of providers has no idea how I’m still alive. He said, “The deceased ones are keeping you alive because your journey on earth is not done.” This caused more tears, but this time they were tears of relief. 

He told me my angels are chatty, and I have a lot of them keeping me going, despite unexplained survival from chronic health issues.

We spoke of past lives and what I might have been. Apparently, I’ve lived many lives. In one, I was a Viking; in another, a “Florence Nightingale type nurse”; and in another, a bigwig at a fancy medical facility. 

Blizzard farted, and then the psychic laughed. I said, “Did you smell that too?” To my surprise, he said, “Smell what?” I mentioned the dank smell emanating from Blizzard’s bum. He said he didn’t smell it, but that Blizzard was ratting me out about how many treats I give him. 

He said, “I get plenty of treats. Actually, Mom gives me too many treats, but I like them!” 

I looked at Blizzard, dropped my jaw, and said out of disbelief, “Blizzard, you told on me?! Really?! You want me to stop giving you more treats?” Then the psychic said, “No, no, he loves the treats, but he knows that you give him too many.”

We all laughed, and then Blizzard and I thanked him. As I stood up to leave, the psychic said, “I don’t usually do this, but you’re psychic too. Did you know that about yourself?” And I said, “Yeah, I gathered that much.” 

He told me to use him as a resource, a mentor, and gave me his personal cell number. He asked if I wanted a hug. Without even thinking about it, I leaned into his soft belly and squeezed his torso tight. My head rested on his chest. 

He had answered my question: Can I trust my psychic abilities? And the answer is yes. 

Nothing he said surprised me. Almost everything he told me I already knew from being in tune with Blizzard and from seeing angels in light form regularly. While some would call me crazy, I’m actually just gifted in a way not many understand.

The message I’m left with is that some psychics are probably fake, and some probably can’t really speak to animals or spirits. But some are as legitimate as a heart attack. And what I experienced yesterday, on top of seeing my spirit animal on my drive to the appointment (a bald eagle), and with everything I already knew about my dog and loved ones from my near-death experiences, was confirmed. I don’t know how to use these gifts yet to serve others. But maybe that’s why I’m still alive. 

Today I lay down to pray – something I’ve done only a few times in my life. I asked God, if there’s a god, what I needed to know to help this world. 

I dropped into a level of life below physical reality. 

Then, I felt the sadness of our world, of our country, and the collective of immigrants who are terrified for their lives. I started sobbing and continued to cry for 2 straight hours. The world feels so much sadness right now. 

In my spiritual experience, I felt like I could cry for the whales, the wolves, the polar bears, and the frogs. They are all sad about what’s happening in the world. 

I have hesitated to say anything about my spiritual experience to Brielle’s parents for fear of being called crazy or making them feel uncomfortable.  But I wish I could tell her parents that she’s happy where she is. 

It’s light and airy, and she’s in a pink lace dress, with a pink bow. She doesn’t want her Mommy to feel sad.

I heard the name  “Sam, or Samantha, or Sammy.” I asked, ” Who are you? Brielle wants her mom to know she’s happy, free of cancer, and dancing her heart out. She says she will remain as she was when she died. 

During this experience, I felt a collective sadness beneath everyone’s skin. Everyone needs to cry. Everyone. Especially since ICE is in town in Portland, Maine, and quite unwelcome here.

Then, like a slide show, I saw image after image flash before my eyes, hazed out by light beams. An old couple holding hands by the fire. A mother holding her daughter. A boy with his dad. Grandparents. They kept coming. I knew none of them. But they all had smiles on their faces, and they all were bathed in light. 

Between crying about Brielle and crying about what’s going on with ICE, I think I cried tears that weren’t mine to cry. 

I cried tears that belonged to other people. I was a vessel for others’ grief and a source of relief. And I accept that role. It is an honor to serve those who need an emotional release and cannot find one for whatever reason. I cried for people I didn’t know existed. 

This is the first time I’ve been shown images in prayer journeys. Usually, I just get to play with the light in the room, the energy strings, the magnetic energy I feel when deep in prayer, or play with the space. But this spiritual awakening offered me the gift of feeling the world’s sadness and the gift of being able to hear, speak to, and touch the deceased. 

If Brielle’s parents read this, I hope you know your daughter is dancing with angels and god. Nobody is ever gone. They are all right there waiting for us. 

I swear I just lay down to pray, but what I learned about my own gifts will carry me through this time of war and despair. I am psychic, and I can always go hang out with the loved ones I miss, just by lying down and opening my heart to all of existence. And I can trust that my dog and I can communicate telepathically. 

Call me crazy. I know far too much to believe that.

Featured image via Mikhail Nilov on Pexels