Questions from the Curious: How did you know you are a medium?
How did I know I am a medium?
Truth is, I am still not sure I am.
All I really know is, that once I started learning about mediumship, practicing it, and experiencing the wonder of it, I have never felt so at home.
How did I know I am a medium?
Mostly because it's where I seem to fit in the world. Being with other mediums is the place where I can feel like I can be all of me. It's where I don't worry that something I say will be met with a side eye glance and a disbelieving “Do you REALLY believe in that??”
How do I know I am a medium?
I don't.
I don't really know, for knowing comes from that part of the brain that I need to stay out of in order to truly spiritually connect.
I don't "know" I am a medium, I just know that I keep coming back to it. I keep trying. I keep wanting to be in the spiritual energy more than in this physical world energy. I keep wanting to do better, give better readings and connect with more complete certainty.
I don't know that I am a medium.
I just know what I feel. And what I feel is that when I am with other mediums, I don't have to hide. I don't have to explain myself.
Being with other mediums allows me to be me. All of me. I can be a therapist. I can be a healer. I can be an insecure and self-doubting version of me. I can be real. I can be vulnerable. I can admit I have no idea what I am doing and then in the next breath, come up with a piece of information that pops into my head that I would have no way of knowing if it didn't come from spirit.
When I am with a room full of mediums, I can have moments of great triumph and I can have moments of crushing disappointment. I can ride the highest high of bringing forward evidential information about the dearly departed. I can realize and give gratitude for spirit's influence in me being able to access that information, and I can also acknowledge how much my ego clung onto it as a huge “win” for me. I can be completely disappointed when I cannot connect at all, and question, once again, if I really am a medium. I can be surrounded by others who nod their head and know exactly what it's like to have a stage-fright-like blankness overcome me and an accompanying inner voice who whispers to me that I must be a fraud.
When I am with other mediums, I can explore the parts of myself that have gone unexplored. I can find a community that understands. I can find others with whom I do not have to do the dance with to see how open they are to hearing about my experiences and beliefs. It's a place I don't feel judged. It's a place I don't need to worry about skepticism.
And yet having said all of this, there is still a part of me that doesn't believe I am a medium. Not the true kind of medium, not the real kind...
I have this fantasy of what a “real” medium is:
*A “real” medium is someone who have always had spirits come to them.
*A “real” medium opens their eyes and sees a ghostly figure who speaks to them in full sentences and ongoing conversation.
*A “real” medium doesn’t have to work at it and has been “blessed” with a “magical” gift.
That's what I always thought a medium was, and that's why for so long it didn't even occur to me that I was one. I wanted to be one, but thought that was not me.
Instead, what I found out, is that I am the “real” kind of medium who openly admits that it takes work for me to connect. Mostly the work is getting my little scared parts out of the way, asking my ego to step aside, asking my people-pleaser to quiet down, and my fear of other's reactions to take a backseat.
Being a “real” medium means that I share with you that a part of me thinks I get away with my charm, or my easy people skills, or my empathy, or my years of training as a social worker. Sometimes I feel that I just give others the impression that I am a good medium, like some optical illusion.
Sometimes I think it's because I am likable that people call me the “real deal.” Sometimes I believe people feel bad for me and don't want to be honest. They don't want to give me the bad news that they have seen better, experienced better, and are utterly disappointed in me. Sometimes I feel like they are patting me on the head like a little kid who is trying to do a grown-up task and don't have the heart to tell me that I was not even close.
When I have conversations with myself and that tiny little worried part of me shows up and frets that I am not a medium, the soothing soul part of me steps forward and re-encourages her:
“I think you are a medium.”
Every time I say these words to myself, that terrified little part finds a sense of calm and a cozy blanket to fall asleep in with a sweet smile on her face.
That's what I do know. That's what I know for sure.
