Updated: Jan 17
This story is a long time coming - as I’m finally ready to let the world see me as I truly am. I have always been empathic and very sensitive to the world around me. When I meet someone, I can sense things about them from their energy, and if I tap into their biofield I can talk with their loved ones on the other side. Yes, I can talk to dead people and I know stuff.
How it all started
I suppose I always picked up too much information from the world - I was born sickly with colic and never slept. I puked and cried for a year and a half. Back then doctors told my parents I was allergic to dairy and had to drink expensive soybean-based formula. Doctors said “hopefully she will grow out of it.” Thankfully I survived and my teenage 18 & 19 year old parents loved me anyway.
My parents were young and ambitious “house flippers” before it was cool. They had bought their second house, an old 2-story farmhouse with 10 acres they got at a great discount price. The place was a shambles, but my dad had worked construction and knew how to rebuild the place. Mom and dad worked on the downstairs first and kept the door to the upstairs closed with clear instructions “do not go up there or open this door! It’s a mess and I don’t want the heat to go upstairs until I fix it up.”
The first time I went upstairs, a teenage boy greeted me and started telling me about the house. He looked like a real person to me. He told me he had lots of brothers and sisters but didn’t live there. He was 15 years old and showed me how he died right there in the hallway. He came over to play with the other kids. One boy was sitting out on the porch roof outside the bedroom window with a gun in his lap. He was shining it or something with the barrel pointed toward the window. The gun went off and the bullet went through the window and shot him in the head. He showed me blood all over the wall coming up the stairs. It was the wall my dad had replaced and painted white. I was scared at what he showed me but he said "don’t be scared, I'm okay now." He felt much love for the boy who shot him because he suffered worse by having to live with himself after the accident. He was peaceful and happy to talk with me.
Later that day we went upstairs to talk about which bedroom we wanted. I said “I don’t want the blue bedroom because that’s where that boy died.” My parents looked at each other in shock - I wasn’t supposed to know that! Dad had forbidden us from going upstairs because he was struggling to get the blood off the wall and didn’t want us kids to see it. The large blood spatter stain had soaked through the wallpaper into the plaster so my dad ended up ripping out the wall and installing drywall.
I told mom and dad that the boy talked to me and they dismissed it as my crazy imagination. I moved my bedroom upstairs and I would talk to him often. When I told my parents about it, they had confused faces and I felt their disbelief. My mom fearfully told me on many occasions “that’s not real, stop making shit up!” I shut up about the whole thing until something crazy happened at school.
She knows things!
I remember like it was yesterday, what happened in 1st grade. Our art teacher took us on a special art project activity, the whole class walked to the small country cemetery down the road from the school. Our task was to trace headstone writings on paper, running a crayon over it to transfer the letters onto our tracing project. WTF - I know, it’s a morbid art project for 6-year olds but whatever!
At the cemetery, I saw an old man in overalls standing there and began talking to him. He told me he was excited to have visitors here to see his family. He was super friendly and explained that all the people he loved were buried there. He showed me his headstone with his name on it, and his wife and daughter. His headstone said he died in 1900 and I was confused because it was 1975. He told me he was there a long time before my time, when there were only horses and trains. He came here from England on a big boat with friends and relatives to become farmers. "America is the land of opportunity" he said as he continued telling me his story. I didn’t realize that we were talking with each other without our lips moving.
The teacher came over and told me to stop daydreaming and get working on my project. I told her ‘the farmer is telling me about his family buried here.’ She was shocked at my answer and told me to get to work. I was used to being chewed out about daydreaming and always tried to do what the teacher asked. I decided to trace Henry’s stone and he watched me while I colored. All the while I was tracing we talked. He loved that a little school was nearby and told me how it all used to be farmland here. He didn’t seem sad that all his family was buried there, instead he was proud of their lives as settlers and successful farmers.
When I showed the teacher my finished tracing of blue and green, she asked me why I didn’t use more colors, and I told her ‘Henry told me to use blue and green, his two favorite colors.’ I began telling the teacher all about Henry. The teacher had a terrified look on her face and said “stop talking like that! Kids, two more minutes to finish your projects then line up by the fence to walk back. Jackie, go stand by the fence right now and keep to yourself.” We walked briskly back to school and the art teacher took me to the principal's office. She had a hushed conversation with the principal and all I heard was "she's scary and she knows things..." The principal said “I understand you are not feeling well, I called your mother to come get you.” I didn't like her punishing tone I wasn’t sure why I was considered “sick”. I felt terrible because only the "bad" kids get sent to the principal's office and sent home.
My promise to be good
I cried in the car on the ride home as I told my mom what happened. She was dumbfounded and had a shaky voice as she told me “you can't tell people things that will scare them. You have an overactive imagination and need to stop this shit! People will start talking about you and you’ll be the weird kid! You don’t want to be the weirdo do you?”
I felt defective and stupid. I didn’t want to be the weird kid, I wanted my parents to love me and be proud of me. I decided that day that I would stop it and be good. I prayed to God to make it all stop. I lived in fear of it all happening again, so I had to keep my guard up. I was afraid to be me and struggled to know what was real. I followed the cues of my family and teachers to know how to be. I would often ask my little sister "do you see that person?" as she helped me know who was "real." Other spirits would visit at bedtime and I would beg them to go away. Even though I had my own bedroom, mom often found me sleeping with my sister in the morning. I just felt less scared with my sis there. I loved my family and knew they loved me, but I couldn’t share my true self with them back then. Always an outsider, I felt like an alien pretending to be human on a planet where I didn’t belong.
I got really good at playing the game, being good, and living by the rules. Although I felt tortured inside, on the outside I was working hard to succeed. For decades I carried on this way and found my intuition to be helpful - my ability to "read people" helped me to be a great leader. I got my bachelors and masters degrees, married the love of my life, raised two awesome kids, climbed the corporate ladder and achieved my career goals. I checked all the boxes on the good citizen checklist. Despite having it all, I had this feeling that I was missing something, there was more out there for me.
In 2018 the Universe knocked some sense into me - when I got a concussion in a random trip and fall accident. Of course, I’m fine now - but the experiences I had during the recovery process changed the course of my life forever. The preciousness of life stared me in the face while I had a 3-week constant migraine headache. I realized how much I had taken for granted and decided that I wanted a second chance at life. Facing mortality and the struggles of concussion recovery, I knew I had to start listening to my soul’s voice. I dreamed of a future me that I never thought possible - escaping the cage of conformity, coaching, writing, helping others and doing the work my soul intended.
I thought if my life ended now, what would I regret NOT doing? The list was long, and that’s when I knew it was time to change everything. I hung up the worn and tattered superwoman cape that had been strangling me. Instead I opted for a fluffy feather boa of self-discovery. Soft, with a tickle of “hell yes” dancing on life’s stage for the first time as ME. My life is no longer a theatrical performance, now it's improv and the only smiles and laughter that matters is my own. I realized that the purpose of life is to be happy and the time is now.
There is a PLAN and your SOUL knows what it is
I know now that I don’t fit in because I wasn’t meant to. I am what they call “biodiversity” embodied in human form. My deep dark secret of “seeing dead people” and having strong intuition is a gift and superpower! AND I’m not alone!!! On my journey of self-discovery and embracing my gifts I found that there are other people like me, struggling to fit into a world that demands conformity.
By embracing my gifts I have helped many people get messages from their loved ones on the other side. Some need closure and others need contact to give them hope that there is life after death. My intuition helps as I coach clients in my coaching program - because I can often get to the core concerns and ask the right questions that support their growth. As a Transformational Life Coach I can utilize my intuitive gifts in coaching to help bring forward information from the soul and infinite consciousness. Clients find these insights invaluable for setting the course for their transformation and getting the results they desire.
It took me 3 days to write this blog because I cried, relived my past, had a sleepless night, and experienced a ton of FEAR about revealing the real me. This news is no surprise to my close family and friends - I came clean with them a few years ago about my gifts. But for the rest of the world, I know I will be judged by many and "unfriended" by others, called a nut job or devil worshipper, who knows what else. This is my True Self, take it or leave it.
I am out of the spiritual closet y'all! The plan that my soul revealed to me is already in motion - sharing my story, embracing the outliers, and bringing Light where darkness has been.
What is your soul's plan?