So I decided to write another blog post. Something raw. Something real. Something that’s been sitting in my heart for a while now.
When I look back on my spiritual journey, there’s this one chapter that still stings—yet somehow, it also shaped who I’ve become.
It all started right after I was released from a two-month stay in the psych ward. I walked out of that hospital only to be told I had to head straight to the courthouse. Why? Because I was being charged with criminal harassment. Yep—you read that right. The person pressing charges? A spiritualist minister I once called a friend, a mentor. He was my mediumship teacher. A psychologist. Someone I thought would understand.
But when I spiraled into mania and psychosis, and I reached out for help, hoping he’d get it—hoping someone in that world would get it—he didn’t. They didn’t. The very people I thought would be my safe zone, my spiritual family, turned their backs. Fast.
Instead of support, I got police visits. Instead of a helping hand, I got silence. And eventually, I lost everything—my home, my business, my dignity. I spent close to a year on the run, avoiding the police, terrified of being locked up. And eventually, they caught me. Just like I feared, I was forced into the hospital and made to take meds—no conversation, no consent.
After the hospital stay, they slapped cuffs on my hands and feet and threw me in jail for a few hours while I waited for court to begin. I had never, in my life, done anything criminal. But there I was. Just because I’d had a mental health crisis. Eventually, the case dragged on for about two years. I was placed on probation—two appointments a month, two hours each way by bus into the city.
At first, my probation officer seemed alright. Then, everything changed. I was transferred to a new officer—a woman who clearly didn’t like me. I didn’t fit her idea of who should walk into that office. She signed me up for Life Skills school—basically, a class to teach you how to live a normal life. The kicker? I was qualified enough to teach that course. But there I was, barely surviving, dealing with anxiety and depression, being told to go anyway.
One month, my probation officer called in sick, and I ended up speaking with her supervisor. I was honest, told her I’d just applied for a job managing the local Legion. She was surprised. Actually, stunned. She asked more questions, listened to my background and experience—and just like that, everything shifted. She said, “You don’t need Life Skills. You don’t even need to meet with us anymore. Just sign in and you’re good.”
I can’t explain the relief. I went home that day and just said, “Thank you, God.”
That whole ordeal lasted three years. When I finally had my day in court, I was cleared. Deemed a non-criminal. Obviously. But the emotional damage? That took way longer to heal.
See, I reached out to my spiritual community when I was mentally ill. If it had been cancer or a broken leg, I probably would’ve gotten flowers and visits. Instead, I got silence. Except for one person—one woman from the church who did visit me. She was kicked out herself for not fitting in. That should’ve been my red flag.
But for years, I blamed myself. Thought I was the problem. That I didn’t fit in. Just like when I was a kid being bullied at school. That “not good enough” feeling came rushing back. I ended up walking away from spiritual mediumship. The grief was heavy—like losing a family. I spent 8 years trying to rebuild—not just my life, but my sense of self.
The sad part? My teachers were world-renowned mediums. Everyone knew them. So when I tried to study mediumship again, I was blacklisted. Shut out. Isolated.
Mental illness still carries a heavy stigma. And honestly, during that time, I didn’t want to live anymore. I prayed to go home to God every single day. But it wasn’t my time. Not yet.
One day, I found myself on their website and realized… it wasn’t just me they were excluding. It was anyone with mental illness. That’s when something clicked. I realized—maybe I wasn’t the broken one. Maybe they were.
Looking back now, I feel embarrassed to say I was part of that group. It was like the movie The Stepford Wives—everyone had to look the same, act the same, never cause waves, always contribute, always volunteer. And if you didn’t fit the mold? You were out.
Now I see the bigger picture. This was the Universe—what I call the Great Spirit—removing the wrong people from my path. Because they didn’t align with who I was becoming. They were a life lesson. A season. A reminder to be discerning. To not trust just anyone who wears a spiritual title.
Since then, I’ve become more quiet. More cautious. But also stronger. I’ve learned that forgiveness is for me, not for them. I haven’t forgotten, but I’ve let go. Because my peace of mind matters more than carrying around their shame.
Funny thing is, I feel more powerful now than ever before. Not because I have something to prove—but because I’ve walked through the fire and came out with my soul intact. I have God on my side. And I believe—deep down—I deserve another chance at life.
I’ve met people on the margins, just like me. People who’ve fallen, with no one around to catch them. I get it. That’s why I try to lead with compassion. Because at the end of the day, we’re all just human. All trying our best.
These days, I don’t live in a fancy condo anymore. I live in the middle of a rainforest, by the ocean, surrounded by trees, bears, bunnies, cougars, eagles, and hawks. And somehow, I feel richer than I ever did before. Rich in soul. Rich in wisdom. Rich in love.
If there’s one thing I’ve learned through it all, it’s this: you can lose everything and still come back to life. Maybe not the same life—but maybe, just maybe, a better one.