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Mysty-Eyed (Part One): My Experience with a Psychic Medium

Mysty-Eyed (Part One): My Experience with a Psychic Medium

Have you ever met someone who knew you inside and out? Ever spoken to a person who could read things about you that you’ve never realized about yourself? I’m not talking about your parents who raised you. Nor am I talking about your closest confidante who gives the best advice. I’m talking about a relationship that feels supernatural. I’m going to tell you about my experience meeting a psychic for the first time.

I was nervous. My cousin had seen this psychic many times and told me stories about her predictions and medium abilities, so I was ready to be wowed. I walked into the reading room in the side of her home and was drawn in by the quirky pillows and tchotchkes. This was not the psychic from Now and Then. I didn’t hear creepy chimes pinging in the window and there weren’t any candles burning on the table. I sat down and braced myself. My psychic was not what I expected, but she was far cooler than I could have ever predicted.

This psychic was not trying to be anyone but herself. She was blunt, cursed like a millennial thinking about politics, and unapologetically strange.

Though I came to this psychic for some much-needed insight into my past, present, and future, I wasn’t ready to face my weaknesses and recognize the bleakness seeping into spheres of my life. I recently lost my job and have been feeling stuck. Immediately, my psychic slapped me in the face with reality. “You’re talented and creative, but you’re sitting on it. You’re letting BS get in the way of doing what you want,” she said.

Woah. How did this woman immediately speak thoughts that have been floating around my head like fish in a tank? I suddenly felt the glass walls I’d been building around my career life start to crack. I’ve been seeing opportunities on the other side, but I haven’t let myself try to achieve them. “Your career life may be a shitshow right now, but it won’t last forever,” the psychic continued. She gave me hope that while it may feel like I’m skiing on a downhill slope on Broke Millennial Mountain--and I’ve never been skiing--change was coming just down the bend. In June, apparently.

While my psychic didn’t claim to know my entire future, she insisted she had a good feeling for me in the month of June. “Your finances will be more secure. And don’t get me started on your romantic life… it’s been a clusterfuck your whole life,” she said. But she foresaw a relationship becoming solid for me come sunshine season.

Besides helping to assuage my doubts about the future, my psychic gave me tips on how to decrease the anxiety filling more of my body each day. She urged me to see that I needed to be my most authentic self. Cautioning that I have to avoid negativity and cleanse myself from pessimistic thoughts, my psychic said that my tendency to be empathetic could be harmful. Though skepticism about psychics permeates popular culture, this had me thinking: Yo, my therapist said the SAME thing. But she’s never given me this nugget of purifying advice my psychic spouted: “Throw some sea salt in the shower, drink water with lemon, and avoid the BS.”

I’ve already started taking some of my psychic’s sage wisdom to heart. I bought a diffuser with my birthday money to “perk up my living space.” It smells like “inspiration,” a lovely aroma of citrus (props to Serene House bought at my fave BK shop, Friends). I’ve tried to ramp up my water-drinking, but because I forgot to buy lemons, it’s slow-going. The next step is to reduce my overthinking, overanalyzing, and worrying so I can relieve anxiety and achieve my goals. I’ll get there at some point.

Maybe I’ll use the help from the angels looking over me… Oh right, I forgot to mention that my psychic used her medium insight to bring forward three dead people who spoke to me. But for that hell of a story, you’ll have to wait for my next post.

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