For as long as I can remember, the spirit world has been a constant presence in my life. It’s never felt far away—just a thought or a breath out of reach. No matter how much I tried to ignore it, it’s always been there, quietly weaving its way into my experiences.

I still remember one of my first encounters vividly. I was about six or seven years old when I was awoken in the middle of the night by the sound of banging pans and clattering cutlery coming from the kitchen. It was late—probably around midnight or the early hours—and I was curious enough to leave my bed and see what was going on. I felt no fear, only a child-like wonder as I crept down the stairs. But as soon as I stepped into the kitchen, the sounds stopped abruptly. Everything was still. Confused but unafraid, I went back to bed, not realising that this was just the beginning of a lifetime of otherworldly experiences.

As I grew older, these moments became more pronounced. When I was 13, my best friend tragically passed away at school under sad circumstances. I remember the shock and grief that followed her death, but what stayed with me even more deeply were the two times she appeared to me afterward. The first time I was wandering the school grounds, and I had stopped to admire a flower and without warning I just felt her stood behind me. I spun around and although I couldn't physically see her, I could feel her as if she was visible to the eye. The first time, I was sitting in class, staring into space, when I suddenly felt her standing behind me, looking over my shoulder at my work, clear and vibrant. These moments felt so real, so undeniable, and they brought me comfort in a time of profound sadness.

Not all experiences were comforting, though. One night, I woke abruptly to the sound of a woman speaking passionately in Italian. I couldn’t see her with my eyes, but I could see her vividly in my mind’s eye. Her voice was full of expression, and I somehow knew, without understanding the words, that she was speaking Italian.

Another night brought a much darker experience. I woke to the sound of a woman screaming—a heart-wrenching, haunting scream that filled me with terror. It wasn’t an external sound; no one else could hear it, but it was as clear as if it were happening right in front of me. In my mind’s eye, I saw her crouched on the floor, cradling a baby in her arms, wailing, “You killed my baby. She’s dead.” The raw pain and grief in her voice were almost unbearable. I covered my ears, desperate to block it out, and ran to my mother’s room, crying for it to stop. As soon as I reached my mother, the screaming ceased, but the memory stayed with me. Now that I have children of my own, I understand the depth of her anguish, and it chills me to this day.

One of my most unsettling encounters happened in my teens. I woke in the night to use the bathroom, which was located at the top of the stairs in our house. From where I sat, I could see the frosted glass of the front door at the bottom of the staircase. As I stared, lost in thought, I heard two soft knocks at the door. Startled, I looked down and saw the outline of a man standing on the other side. He wasn’t moving, just standing completely still, glowing faintly white. I could see the shadows of where his eyes would be, staring back at me. My heart raced with terror—not because I felt threatened, but because I instinctively knew he wasn’t of this world. I ran back to my room without a second thought, too frightened to even flush the toilet. I spent the rest of the night with the lights on, watching Johnny English to calm my nerves and make me laugh. Looking back now, I wish I’d stayed to see what he wanted to say.

My first physical apparition was when I was around 10 years old. I woke suddenly, going from deep sleep to wide awake in an instant. As I opened my eyes, I saw a glowing golden orb floating near my sister’s bed. It wasn’t like anything I’d ever seen—fluid, but not a liquid, and contained within itself like plasma. It glowed brightly, yet it didn’t light up the room or cast shadows. I stared at it in awe and fear, knowing without doubt that it wasn’t of this world. Overwhelmed, I pulled the duvet over my head and whispered to myself, “It’s okay, it’s okay,” until I eventually fell back asleep.

As I moved into adulthood, the encounters continued, but I also became more sensitive to the emotions of others. I found myself absorbing the energy of everyone around me, often to the point of exhaustion. To cope, I started setting boundaries—not just with people, but with the spirit world as well.

Today, I have control over the energies that come through. I’ve learned to protect my space and prevent burnout, allowing me to focus on the beauty of the connections I can facilitate. I love giving readings and helping people find comfort in knowing their loved ones are still present in their lives. They’re just a thought away, listening to our words, and sharing in the moments that matter most.

I can’t wait to meet you and help bring those connections to life.