For the longest time, the idea of being called a psychic used to make me chuckle. I assumed that everyone had dreams that unfolded in reality, possessed an innate knowing of things unspoken, or casually interacted with spirits. My grandmother’s advice was always straightforward: if you encountered a spirit, ask them what they wanted. Little did I know that this nonchalant perspective would undergo a profound shift in 2010, marked by the passing of my cousin. In the events leading up to that moment, I received glimpses, a forewarning of sorts, about what was to transpire

Since that pivotal year, I’ve embraced what comes naturally to me—I was born a medium, born a psychic. The puzzle pieces of my abilities fell into place, bringing with them a heightened sense of responsibility. Engaging in numerous investigations and connecting with others who shared similar experiences, I discovered a community of kindred spirits. Some embraced their abilities, while others feared acknowledging or had shut down their gifts, seeking ways to reopen that connection. It was in these moments that people turned to me for learning, healing, and closure.

I recognized that every facet of my life had uniquely prepared me for this juncture. I intimately understood pain, loss, the struggle for acceptance, the yearning to belong, and the solitary path of self-reliance.

I didn’t want others to navigate the challenges I faced, but if they did, I wanted to be a guiding light, helping them overcome obstacles, pain, rejection, and fear. This, fundamentally, is my “why” behind what I do.