So You Think You're a Psychic?

When I was a kid I used to predict little, silly things and ended up being right about them. Maybe I'd guess what we were going to talk about in class, or notice a small pattern and call it. I thought it was a cool little talent I had.

I remember seeing myself as an adult in my own apartment—sun pooling on the floor, feeling safe and happy. I grew up wanting to be an adult in the truest way; I hoped for that imagined life over and over where I was safe. Most kids grow up wanting to be older and then find themselves wishing to be a kid again. I have never been happier to be an adult. I would tell myself that one day I would reach that space I was dreaming of, and if I could only wait, I would get there.

And here I am. Not exactly where I pictured I'd be, but here. I have created my own world—the one I saw. Of course, anyone could imagine a future like this and make it come true, but this particular space means more to me than I could ever explain.

When I turned nineteen it was like someone turned a volume knob up on my ability to pick up on things that might happen. The first time I recognized it, I was hiking with a boyfriend. He said to me, "We should do this in the morning sometime and have breakfast here." I loved the idea, and then I thought, almost instantly, "but you won't be here to do that." I thought it was strange—we were really happy when we had this conversation. Shortly after, the relationship ended because of a strange misunderstanding. It was as if my brain had sent a warning.

I hated that. I hated that more than anything. Then it kept happening, especially with couples that I knew. I remember working with a girl when I was twenty and telling her about this sudden, overpowering gift. We were joking and she asked, "Well, what about me and my boyfriend?" I barely knew them—he'd pop into our store sometimes—and it was so clear that they really loved each other. So imagine me, standing there, (wishing I wasn't) and telling her, "It's not going to work out but I promise you're going to be alright. It's like you end up just glowing." She took the response well, and I watched their relationship flourish for a few more years before it ended. And let me tell you—she is absolutely glowing in every part of her life. While she took it well, that's the moment I realized I wouldn't and shouldn't answer that type of question again.

In college, in Boulder, I met my best friend and I told her a significant man would come into her life when she was 28. I had a sense of how he would present himself and that he was completely, completely in love with her. At the time she was 23. Five years later, guess who showed up and right on time?

The things I picked up on weren't always romantic, though. Another time I was cleaning my living room one afternoon and the thought "she's pregnant" kept repeating in my mind. I stopped, thought about it, and texted a friend from high school that I never see and only talk to every maybe six months. After chatting back and forth, I flat-out asked her "Are you pregnant?" She answered, "I knew that's why you texted me." She was. And she knew that I knew because of seeing me do this type of thing before. Moments like that stacked up until I couldn't ignore them.

Not all of the experiences felt magical. On the last day I ever spent with my mom in 2021, I knew something about it was significant. I didn't know why. The next morning, I told my then partner that I wanted to see my mom more because I had this fear she might pass away soon. A month later I lost her. That's the part I still don't know how to live with.

I had—and still have—no idea how to navigate this.

I've seen multiple psychics, in person and on the phone, listening to the ways they spoke, comparing what they shared about me with one another. Every single one would ask, "Do you know that you can do what I can do?" It makes me smile every time. I tell them yes, and a few of them have helped me sketch out how to handle it. But it's been such a process.

In the fall of 2021 I was in Salem and saw a line of people standing outside of a shop. They were there for aura photos, and I immediately jumped in line behind them. When my photo was printed, shades of blue and purple surrounded me. The man explaining my aura grinned and excitedly said, "This is rare! You're magic! Purple is the color of Salem!" It was a very cute interaction—one I'll never forget.

A year later, I headed back to Salem with a friend. We were walking in a light spring rain, the streets were practically empty, and I asked her what color she thought her aura might be while we waited for our scheduled time slot; she said green. I said I thought mine would be purple again. We stepped into Crow Haven Corner, where several psychics work, and were greeted by a man who simply said, "Hi Green, hi Purple." Like it was nothing. Both of us stared. My friend responded, saying, "...why did you say that? We literally just guess what our auras might be and I said green and she said purple." The person beside him glanced at him as to say, "Get out of here, you problem," and he covered his mouth and ran to the back of the store. I had to laugh—it felt less like a party trick and more like an instant, human recognition. That's what I love about psychics: the way they name something inside you on sight, as if they can see the particular color of your presence and greet it like an old friend. It's intimate and validating in a way nothing else is—and Salem has always felt like coming home. A place where I was understood and could understand.

We ended up at HausWitch (one of my favorite Salem shops—if you're ever there, go!) I got my photo taken again and, unsurprisingly, the same blues and purples appeared. But the photo looked odd: I'd sat completely still for it, but in the image it almost looked like I was in the middle of moving. The reader explained: purple meant spiritually gifted, but looking like I was moving indicated that I exist in different planes. They asked me if I constantly felt exhausted; I explained that I dissociate more often than not. They explained that this was most likely why and we drew up a little plan on how to really navigate the gift.

Have I done anything that we talked about? Of course not. :) And now looking at my astrological chart, I realize this ability is only going to increase.

Earlier this year there was something odd happening in a connection I had and I kept saying to my best friend, over and over, what was going to happen and why. They heard me but didn't really hear me—until it happened. I remember my best friend just looking at me and saying, "How did you know that?????"

The human brain is so bizarre. Many people will read this and sit in a skeptically amused "yeah, right" place, and I get it. But there is something almost scientific about this "extraness"—gifts that some people have. I know there's cons out there, so I do understand.

But there are people who know things they shouldn't, see things they shouldn't, and hear things they shouldn't. And oddly enough, I just happen to be one of them. I think that's just how it is. And I'm sure one day there will be an answer and trust me, I will be the first in line to ask as many questions as I can.

I can't just walk up to strangers on the street and tell them what's coming next. There are people in my life I can't connect to in that way either. Then sometimes it can be overwhelming. For some reason my gift likes to settle on whether a couple's relationship will work out or not then I sit there in silence worrying about their wellbeing. And worst of all, I can't see anything about my own life anymore. It's like the more other parts of this gift heightened, the harder it was to connect with where my life was going.

As I've gotten older and accepted that this is never going away, I've started finding ways to make peace with it. I'm learning to live side by side with the noise instead of trying to drown it out. Some people will think I'm nuts— and hey, that's okay! I get it. Maybe living with a little strange knowledge doesn't have to mean you know everything or control anything. It's a private current running under the surface of days that look otherwise ordinary.

I am happily soaking in the sunlight, living in the same small adult rituals I dreamed of as a kid. The quiet, the safety, the sunlight—those feel like a kind of home. The gift arrives and departs unpredictably. I have my own proof: I kept that promise from me to me and it is still intact.

I keep tending the small things—watering my somewhat dying plant, working, answering messages, lighting incense and candles. I show up. I let the weirdness be part of the backdrop. I keep my curiosity, and I try not to make it the loudest thing in the room.

So: is the hardest part of having a psychic gift learning how to use it, or simply learning how to accept it?

***And do not ask me about your relationship!! lmao