There’s something sacred about stepping into a new phase of life. Lately, I’ve been feeling a quiet shift—a soft lifting of heaviness I didn’t realize I was carrying. My connection to Spirit feels deeper, clearer, and more purposeful. I’m beginning to understand that my gifts are not just about communication with the unseen but also about connection with myself.

I’ve been doing a few readings here and there when I feel called or when someone asks for insight. I don’t do this for financial gain. I deeply respect those who use their gifts to support themselves, but for me, that’s never been the calling. I’ve always known that my gifts weren’t meant to become a business or a form of entertainment. They’re sacred tools meant to help others—especially those who are grieving or yearning for connection with a loved one. If I can help someone heal even a small piece of their heart, that’s enough. That’s all I’ve ever wanted: to make a difference, even if it’s only in the lives of a few.

I want to enjoy my life, be happy, and share that happiness. My purpose is to keep evolving—to become a better version of myself each day. My gifts are part of that growth, a way to spread healing in small, quiet ripples that touch the unseen world.

A few nights ago, a friend asked if I could tune in for her father. I didn’t plan to “do a reading.” I simply stepped into the shower to clear my head, and the moment the water hit my shoulders, details began to arrive—images, words, and sensations that felt both familiar and new. When I finished, I grabbed my notebook and wrote everything I remembered. Later, when I shared it with her, all of it matched. Then I did something I’ve learned to do every time now: I went to bed and rested my brain. That simple sequence—receive, record, rest—has become one of my healthiest habits as my intuitive gifts evolve.

For me, impressions don’t always need long meditations or elaborate rituals. Sometimes they slip in during ordinary moments—washing dishes, driving, or showering. Water especially seems to quiet outside noise so that subtle awareness can surface. I’ve realized that what once felt like anxiety in my stomach is often just my body’s way of saying, “You’re connected.” The key is to breathe, notice, and allow the information to unfold naturally rather than chase it.

The minute a session ends, I write down everything—every color, phrase, and body sensation—without editing. Writing first and sharing later keeps the information clean. It gives my logical mind something to do so it doesn’t interfere while I’m still open. Later, I look back and tag each note as an image, emotion, word, or physical feeling. Over time, patterns emerge, and I can see which channels are clearest and which need grounding.

After a reading, I don’t scroll or rush into another task. I rest. Sometimes I nap; sometimes I just sit with tea and breathe. Sensitivity uses energy, and the nervous system needs time to reset. Resting helps me integrate what I’ve learned—how Spirit communicates through sensation, emotion, and memory. Before sleeping, I close with a simple line: “Thank you for the information. I’m closed for the night.” It tells my body and mind that the session is complete.

Developing intuition isn’t only about accuracy; it’s about self-care and structure. The more consistent I am with receiving, recording, and resting, the clearer my sessions become. I don’t feel drained, and I can look back through my notes and see real growth. My mediumship is strengthening, but so are my boundaries.

Whether you call it intuition, mediumship, or sensitivity, I’ve learned to treat it as a sacred craft. Practice, reflect, and rest. Accuracy grows not from constant effort but from a balanced rhythm between openness and grounding. Our bodies are the instruments—if we care for them, the messages will continue to flow exactly when they’re meant to.