As a client recently said to me in a rescheduling email—”summer is a wild beast.” This indeed feels true as I’ve been running from one activity to the next. I feel myself longing to surrender to the chaos and also not wanting to miss out on any fun. Usually experiences make it easier for me to write. But, after I sat for nearly an hour today, trying to write this newsletter, I decided that I have too much to process to try and make meaning of it all right now. So surrender, I will. The beast wins today—there is no essay forthcoming.

When I feel stuck in this way, one of my favorite mantras is: “How can I be helpful today?”

Shifting the focus away from myself and into my place in the collective feels like such a relief.

I’m grateful that this collective reading has become a way to be of service and a ritual I can rely on. I hope you find a moment of peace or reflection here.

Now, let’s see what the cards have to say.

Here is our collective card reading:

(Scroll slowly if you don’t want to see the cards revealed before you choose.)

How this works: I invite you to take a slow, grounding breath and let your attention settle. When you’re ready, look at the three cards and notice which one, two, or three, you feel most drawn to. Trust your intuition. Then scroll below the photo to read the message connected to your card(s) and let it support you over the days and weeks ahead. As always, please take what resonates and leave the rest.

If you chose 1:

The Ocean

Water is the element of emotion. Sometimes warm and inviting and often deeper than it appears from the surface. The wave metaphor is strong with this card. Reminding us to move with the current and allow hidden feeling to arise.

My favorite definition of emotional intelligence is having awareness of our feelings without immediately acting on them. The Ocean asks us to take time to process and listen. Our feelings are almost always more temporary than they seem. Sometimes there are moments when we must get swept up and seize the day—yelling “I love you” as a train rolls away. But, more often than not, we need time to reflect. To find a response that serves us rather than let emotions dictate our choices.

This is an invitation to go beneath the surface and ask yourself without judgement:

What is true for me right now?

What would my highest self choose to do?

When we can’t come to a decision, sometimes giving ourselves permission to sit with something long enough can bring the clarity we need. Give yourself time and allow the metaphorical wave to move through you.

If you chose 2:

The Lovers

The lovers card is less about romance and more about choice. Consider your relationship to giving and receiving in partnerships. Not as a way to keep score—that’s rarely a good idea—but as a way to feel balanced and nourished. All meaningful relationships go through seasons, and the lovers is an invitation to consider which season you’re in.

Often when I pull this card for a client they are being asked to choose with their heart instead of their mind. I notice that highly intuitive people are often more protective of their hearts and less trusting of others. Perhaps because we’ve been burned so many times, or were told we were too trusting?

Take a moment to consider:

What do I long to give or receive?

What do I truly have the capacity for?

Keeping the door open to possibility doesn’t mean staying unguarded. Self love often looks like boundaries and self protection.

If you chose 3:

Temperance

Life rarely asks us to choose between two extremes. Temperance is a card of finding the middle way. Weighing the greater good and seeing from different perspectives. It’s easy to get caught up in over thinking here. So, remember that there is often no perfect choice.

Temperance calls us to keep an open mind, listen deeply, and ask for help from your higher power. What’s often needed is less force and more allowing. Instead of acting on the first signs of discomfort and rushing to make or break a situation, we can allow the path to become clear.

This is an invitation to ask yourself:

What would balance look like in this situation?

Are there any comforts I am clinging to? What would it look like to loosen my grip?

Consider not only what could go wrong, but all that could go right—including that choosing yourself doesn’t mean abandoning others.

The middle way can be hard to see if we demand it show itself too quickly.

Thanks for being here.

With Love,

Sheryl

Here are more ways to connect with me:

Buy a copy of my book 📚 or check out these free articles

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Divination is less about predicting the future and more about helping us trust the present. Each January, I give myself a year-ahead tarot reading. (I do my wife Rachel’s year-ahead reading on her birthday, but this year I am woefully behind—she’s an Aries.)

People often assume a reading like this is about predicting future events. But my intention is to channel guidance that will help me move through whatever the year brings, with more trust.

One of the best things Spirit has ever said to me is “consider the fact that it’s all there waiting for you and act accordingly.”

After I do my year-ahead reading, I write two sentences for each month and add them to my calendar.

Spirit can be remarkably precise with what we really need to know. Messages that are short enough to revisit on a weekday morning when I’m stressed work better than trying to remember an entire reading. I can simply open my calendar and ask, What was this month inviting me to practice? Why is this shit happening again?

I’ve been doing year-ahead readings for clients since 2022, and for myself a bit longer. We reflect on the previous year: what they’re leaving behind, where they are right now, and then feel into the months ahead.

Over the years I’ve gotten emails about readings that coincide with pregnancies, career changes, moves, and meaningful relationships. It is fun to read those emails that are like “everything happened exactly as you said it would!”

But I’ve never believed divination is about predicting life with pinpoint accuracy.

I actually think there are good reasons not to.

I know this should go without saying, but I don’t know everything. That’s not how intuition or divination works.

I work with Spirit in these readings and hold the specific intention to be helpful and uplifting.

Do we all know someone who has been told by a psychic that someone they love will die and there is nothing they can do about it? I hear about this more often than I’d like.

These doom predicting readings, often cause periods of stress, self-doubt, and fear. Most times they do not come true. Of course we will all feel like the rug is getting pulled out from under us at some point. Personally, if there is nothing I can do about it, I don’t want to know.

But, I will gladly take a few sentences of guidance that make things feel bearable, that give me direction.

And yet—there are exceptions. One time a mediumship student told me the exact month and week my dog was going to pass. It unfolded exactly as she described, in April, after we returned from a vacation with the boys. But Bella was already sick. I knew my time with her was limited and I appreciated the message as a confirmation of what we already suspected. When she started shaking I didn’t question what to do. I scooped up all seventy pounds of her and took her straight to the emergency vet where they confirmed that it was time to say goodbye.

Because I believe we have free will and the future is somewhat changeable, I am cautious about being overly precise.

Say I told someone exactly where and when they would meet the love of their life. What if they stopped taking chances? Could the certainty make them less curious, less open, less engaged in creating the very life that would lead them there?

The way I experience divination is different than that. It isn’t all about fixed events—it’s more about seasons.

There are doors that begin to open. Themes that start to emerge. Opportunities that ask for our attention. We still have choices and free will. We are held by Spirit, the Universe, or whatever your higher power is.

This morning, I opened my calendar because I was trying to figure out how much more time I could realistically take off this summer.

If I’m honest, I was being a little hard on myself. Lately there’s been a constant tug-of-war between life is short, let’s go to the beach and we need to pay bills.

Before I closed my calendar, I reread the two sentences I’d written for myself back in January for this July.

The message was:

Build alongside others who feel familiar, supportive, and aligned with your values. Let shared history, trust, and a sense of ease guide how you collaborate and grow.

My spidey senses started tingling as I looked at my schedule. Over the next seven days, I have plans with friends on four different days.

For some people that probably wouldn’t seem remarkable, but for me it really is.

Some of these are friends I can go months—or even years—without seeing in person. These plans came together naturally (or supernaturally?) through rescheduled coffees and calendars finally aligning.

Seeing my month through the lens of that message got my attention, not because I feel like tarot predicted these plans, but because it reminded me that maybe this month isn’t asking me to measure my life by productivity. It shifted my awareness to something else. I’m much more curious and open, and more trusting of my time off, after seeing that message that past me scribbled down.

This shift left me with a question: If we knew it was all going to matter, that we’d get there, that it was “all there waiting for us”—how would we treat the present moment? And what would we give ourselves along the way?

Thanks for being here, and for reading.

With Love,

Sheryl

Here are more ways to connect with me:

Buy a copy of my book 📚 or check out these free articles

Book a reading with me 🕊️

Where else you can find me:

Website: sherylwagnermedium.com

Socials: Instagram Facebook

I spent most of last week washing produce. Not as a hobby, but in an attempt to avoid the parasite outbreak that’s currently sweeping through the U.S.

At the family barbeque to celebrate my parents’ 45th wedding anniversary, I was helping my mother make her potato salad when I held up a large plastic bag of green onions and asked if she knew they were on the list of produce that requires extra washing.

“They have been sanitized,” she replied, and I marveled at the instant relief that floods through my body at her certainty. A warm blanket of you are safe and I am sure.

I have stopped eating berries in the morning and switched to apples, oranges, and red grapes. Nice thick skins and smooth surfaces to scrub. I am not eating my favorite takeout salad or the strawberry acai bowls I treat myself to during heat waves.

Oh how I crave certainty in the face of helplessness.

I keep thinking about a poem by the beloved late poet Andrea Gibson, where they write about learning that people scream because it actually lessens pain. I was curious and looked it up. Screaming triggers the release of endorphins, the body’s natural painkillers, while also helping release tension and regulate our nervous systems.

So it turns out suffering in silence isn’t helping anyone. We need to release the tension somehow—through our actions, words, or yelling into the void.

I was discussing the Hanged Man with a client the last week. How the card brings us the image of a man hanging upside down from his toe. But I always imagine the Hanged Man more as being pinned to the wall. There is nowhere else to go. Surrender to what is, or surrender to self. It’s that liminal space of being conscious of our inability to escape, or gain comfort through certainty.

One of the ways I’ve learned to surrender is through small experiments in trust.

This morning, my phone treated me to a slideshow from our honeymoon four years ago. We stopped in Edinburgh for a few days, where I met an owl named Fluffy.

That morning, Rachel bravely ordered haggis and a Scotch egg. I stuck with yogurt.

As we ate, I said, “I have a feeling I’m going to see an owl today.”

At that point, I’d only ever seen an owl once before, at a local museum that was rehabilitating injured birds. We left the café, headed toward Edinburgh Castle, and walked right past Fluffy—a domesticated owl that tourists stand in line to hold. There was no line, and I couldn’t resist.

I’ve found that asking for a small glimpse of the day ahead has been one of the most affirming ways to develop my intuition. Sometimes I’ll ask, “What’s something you can show me about today?” Then I simply pay attention to what comes to mind. With this practice, the stakes are low. There’s no pressure to get it “right.” It’s just a chance to trust and see what happens.

Moments like that remind me that even when life feels uncertain, we still have choices. When I can’t change what’s happening around me, I can still choose what I practice within myself. When I’m going through something difficult, I notice my thoughts often take the form of questions. Why is this happening? What does this mean? What else could go wrong?

Instead of letting those questions continue on a loop, I can answer them.

We don’t know why this is happening, but it might be okay.

Maybe this will all make sense once everything settles.

There are lots of things that could go wrong, and just as many that won’t.

Have you considered what could go right?

Maybe that’s the question worth sitting with this week. Let’s see what the cards have to say.

Here is our collective card reading:

(Scroll slowly if you don’t want to see the cards revealed before you choose.)

How this works: I invite you to take a slow, grounding breath and let your attention settle. When you’re ready, look at the three cards and notice which one, two, or three, you feel most drawn to. Trust your intuition. Then scroll below the photo to read the message connected to your card(s) and let it support you over the days and weeks ahead. As always, please take what resonates and leave the rest.

If you chose 1:

Hummingbird

The hummingbird moves fast. Heart racing, wings that never fully stop, a blur of motion and shimmer. It’s easy to read that as stress, and it can be. But when you see one in the wild it doesn’t feel stressful. It feels catching a glimpse of magic. That high vibration isn’t a problem to solve. It’s an invitation to meet the moment with the same quickness and wonder.

This energy needs somewhere to go. If we stay open and curious, we become fully present. With that presence is the sense that life is unfolding for you. But the same energy, forced or gripped too tightly, can turn into the frantic feeling of trying to control what can’t be controlled. That feeling that things are happening to you.

Hummingbird energy asks us to consider: Can you stay open to possibility without needing to steer every outcome? Can you leave room for magic, faith, and the divine to meet you where certainty cannot?

If you chose 2:

Lizard

Immediately I think: lizard brain. Instinct, reflex, the primal part of you that knows before you think. Lizards shed their skin when it no longer fits, and they’re deeply attuned to their surroundings, sensing shifts in temperature and danger long before they become visible. There’s real magic in that kind of sensitivity. In the ability to feel a room, a person, or energy, before any words are spoken.

That sensitivity has a cost. If you’re highly attuned, it’s easy to become a chameleon, shifting your shape to match whatever’s around you. You could absorb every mood and expectation until you’ve adapted so completely that you lose sight of your own color.

That kind of constant adjusting can be draining. The lizard reminds us that sensitivity is only part of the gift. The other part is returning, again and again, to your own skin. Spending time in stillness, in spirit, and with what is truly yours beneath all that reading of the room is what keeps your instincts clear instead of depleted.

If you chose 3:

Spider

The spider builds without apology. She is intricate and deliberate. There’s something deeply artistic about that. I think of the quiet magic of Charlotte’s Web, where a web becomes a form of communication, even salvation. The spider doesn’t ask what her work is for. She spins because spinning is what she does, and the web is beautiful whether or not anything ever gets caught in it.

Spider Energy asks: Are you creating because you love the process, or are you waiting for your work to prove itself? To catch something, produce something, or be validated by a result before it’s allowed to matter?

This is a reminder that your work, your art, your love of the process doesn’t need an outcome to justify itself. Sometimes the most important thing you create is the thing you were called to make, regardless of what it catches.

With love,

Sheryl

Here are more ways to connect with me:

Buy a copy of my book 📚 or check out these free articles

Book a reading with me 🕊️

Where else you can find me:

Website: sherylwagnermedium.com

Socials: Instagram Facebook

If you’re a reader of this newsletter, you’ve likely heard me say that the Death card in tarot almost never represents a literal death. In the rare case it does, the death is expected—the natural end of a life.

That doesn’t mean it isn’t painful. I would argue there are many circumstances in life more painful than death.

As a near-death experience survivor, I don’t fear death. That doesn’t make me superhuman. I simply don’t fear what will happen when I die because I believe it will be peaceful.

I do fear pain and discomfort. I fear not being here for my kids.

I used to imagine that if I could just get them into their twenties, I’d feel more at peace with that possibility. But after a recent health scare, I’ve discovered that number has moved significantly. Maybe once they’re in their thirties I’ll feel better about the prospect of communicating with them only through mediumship and dreams.

They’re both quite mediumistic, and I sometimes catch myself imagining all the things I’d try from the other side to get their attention.

The health scare started like this. I’ve had lifelong migraines, and last year I developed a new kind that got my attention. They were focused in one area and resistant to my usual medication, so my doctor ordered brain scans.

Before the appointment, I said to Rachel, “I don’t want to get these brain scans. I’m worried they’re going to say it’s an aneurysm.”

Last December, about an hour before a live mediumship demonstration, I got a message from my doctor saying the scan showed a small aneurysm and that she was referring me to Mass General for follow-up. My mind immediately raced to the worst-case scenarios. Finally, I decided to stop arguing with catastrophic thoughts. I remember thinking, Well, if this is your last mediumship demonstration, let’s make it a good one.

It turned out to be one of my favorite demonstrations I’ve ever given. The three weeks before the appointment were very stressful. I felt like I had a ticking time bomb in my head. I caught a cold and found myself bracing at every cough.

The neurosurgeon I met with took a lot of that stress away. He said it was either a very small aneurysm (less than 3 mm) or an infundibulum—which is both a funnel-shaped, normal widening at the base of a branching blood vessel and a word my wife became remarkably good at pronouncing in what I suspect was an attempt to manifest the more harmless diagnosis.

The doctor assured us there wasn’t even a sliver of a chance that anything would happen in the near future. I should go enjoy my life with no restrictions.

“Travel, drink, have sex!” he said enthusiastically. And come back in six months for a better scan.

I didn’t leave feeling like celebrating, but I didn’t spiral either. I did feel good about my decision to buy additional life insurance the year before.

What I discovered over the next six months surprised me. In therapy, I realized that while I’m not afraid of dying, I am afraid of not being here for my kids. I hate that idea.

That sounds like an obvious thing, but it actually took changing therapists and months of digging for me to have that breakthrough. The real realization was that there probably isn’t an age at which I wouldn’t fear not being here for them.

It’s cute how my mind likes to bargain. Just another decade, it says, and then you can let go of your greatest fear. In reality, it doesn’t work that way. I just keep moving the bar.

The new scan was a couple of weeks ago. This one was better because they inject you with dye so they can really see your brain.

Fun fact: when they inject the dye, it feels cold going in, and then it gets warm. So warm that as it passes through your bladder you’ll be convinced you’ve peed your pants.

Both male technicians were absolutely delighted to tell me this and promised me I wouldn’t actually pee my pants. I haven’t worried about peeing my pants in public since elementary school, but apparently this really freaks people out.

Not wanting to look foolish, I made a mental note that no matter how convinced I was, I would not pat myself down to check.

It felt exactly as they described. The second I was out of the machine and able to move my hands again, I checked to make sure I was dry.

It really is a brilliant trick of the mind.

The result of this test was that I do not have an aneurysm. That’s great!

“Is it an infundibulum?” Rachel asked immediately, impressing both the doctor and me.

The doctor smiled and her eyes lit up. “No,” she said. “Your blood vessels are just unusually shaped.”

She enlarged the image of my brain and pointed out the areas that were “not usual.”

We thought that’s what an infundibulum was—an anomaly.

“No,” she explained. “This is a different kind of unusual. There isn’t even a name for it, but it’s not harmful.”

So now I know that I am probably not going to die from a brain aneurysm in the near future. I’m aware that this should feel like a relief, but it’s been three weeks since this appointment and I haven’t experienced that feeling.

I keep coming back to the Death card. It is almost never about a literal death.

I think the true death here was the illusion of control. The belief that if I could just eliminate one frightening possibility, I could bargain my way into certainty. But none of us gets to choose the timing of our ending.

Looking back, I can see there was an invitation hidden inside the experience. For six months I was asked to contemplate my own mortality inside the safe container of a very ordinary health scare. Nothing catastrophic happened to my body, but something shifted energetically.

Maybe that’s what was being asked of me all along.

Not to prepare for dying, but to become more awake to living. To remember that the only time any of us is ever promised is this moment.

Here is our collective card reading:

(Scroll slowly if you don’t want to see the cards revealed before you choose.)

How this works: I invite you to take a slow, grounding breath and let your attention settle. When you’re ready, look at the three cards and notice which one, two, or three, you feel most drawn to. Trust your intuition. Then scroll below the photo to read the message connected to your card(s) and let it support you over the days and weeks ahead. As always, please take what resonates and leave the rest.

If you chose 1:

The Two of Cups

The Two of Cups invites us to lean toward the people, relationships, and opportunities that naturally draw us in. We don’t always know where a connection will lead, and we don’t need to. Some soul connections arrive to become lifelong relationships. Others appear to teach us something, heal a part of us, or remind us of who we are.

Not every connection is easy, but very few are meaningless.

When the Two of Cups appears, it asks us to trust the pull we feel toward someone or something. There is value in exploring what calls to us with an open heart, without needing to know the ending first.

Whatever unfolds, this connection has something to offer you. And one day, you’ll be glad you said yes to discovering it.

If you chose 2:

The Fool

The Fool invites you to take a leap of faith, trusting that you are supported by the Universe—or whatever higher guidance speaks to you. Every new beginning requires a measure of risk. At some point, both feet have to leave the ground before you can arrive somewhere new.

The Fool also reminds us of the gift of the beginner’s mind. We don’t yet know all the reasons to doubt ourselves or all the stories that could make us jaded. Instead, we’re curious, open, and willing to discover what happens next.

Embrace this fresh perspective. Let yourself be a beginner. The path doesn’t have to be perfectly mapped out before you take the first step.

If you chose 3:

The Nine of Swords

The Nine of Swords always makes me think of nightmares. Not the kind that reveal hidden wisdom or bring unconscious fears into the light. Sometimes the Nine of Swords is simply about spinning out.

Often, the thing we’re afraid of isn’t what’s hurting us. It’s our mind racing ahead, imagining every possible outcome. The fear becomes the thing we fear most.

When this card appears, resist the urge to solve every imagined problem. Instead, gently turn toward the fear itself. Ask, What am I actually afraid of? What is true right now? Bringing your attention back to the present moment often reveals that the mind has wandered much farther than reality has.

The Nine of Swords reminds us that while fear deserves compassion, it doesn’t always deserve the final say.

Thanks for being here, and for reading.

With love,

Sheryl

P.S. I’ve been working on something I’m excited to share with you. The Intuitive Tarot Guidebook is a 33-page digital download that brings together the core teachings, exercises, and practices from my Intuitive Tarot course into one easy-to-reference resource. It’s available now in the shop.

Get the Guidebook

Here are more ways to connect with me:

Buy a copy of my book 📚 or check out these free articles

Book a reading with me 🕊️

Where else you can find me:

Website: sherylwagnermedium.com

Socials: Instagram Facebook

This morning when I sat down to write, I found myself sifting through ideas and kept coming back to my friend Josh. And then I hit a wall of grief I wasn’t expecting. We say grief comes in waves, but sometimes a wave is a wall.

When we lose someone, at first there is the loss of their presence. The waking up each day and adjusting to a new reality without them. But over time there is something else—the loss of their possibility.

Sometimes I feel overcome by that second loss. The infinite ways I can imagine a world where Josh was alive.

I wonder why this sweeps me up after so many years. Today, I let my mind roam freely as I imagine a different world. How Josh would have grown into an adult, the friendship we might have had. What dreams he might have pursued. Maybe he would have wanted to work with kids who struggled the way he did and found a way to turn that into something. I imagine him graying at the temples. Occasions that would have been changed by his presence. Relationships he might have had. A family, even. A world where he would know my kids, where Jubilee would jump into his lap and cover his face with kisses. He would have loved Jubilee.

And then there is a realization I wasn’t expecting. Both of my kids are now in their twenties, which means they have surpassed the age Josh lived to be.

There isn’t much room for denial inside a fact like that.

I would have liked the chance to know him as an adult. For him to know my kids not just from the other side, but to actually be here—to sit around and tell stories about some of the silly things we did when we were younger.

I would have liked the chance for the look back.

The loss of so much possibility stretches out ahead of me and seems to have no end.

I am writing in a notebook today as I allow my mind to move through all of these impossible futures.

And I feel Josh hugging me.

I take a moment to enjoy the specific closeness of receiving a hug from someone in spirit. I feel held and amazed.

Then I hear him say, “Play it as it lays.”

And I have an urgent need to Google the phrase.

Play it as it lays. Of course it’s a golf reference.

My friend who loved to golf. When he wasn’t able to play sports because he was struggling to keep his grades up, he could still golf, and he did every chance he got.

I remember the last time I saw him. I was driving him to the golf course to meet his friends. I can’t help but think: I would really like to experience that day again.

And again I hear him say, “Play it as it lays.”

In golf, it means you don’t get to move the ball to a better spot. If it lands in rough grass, sand, mud, or an awkward position, that’s the position you have to play from.

He is suggesting that I accept my current circumstances. Accept this hug that I can both feel and not feel. The way my heart knows he is both alive and not living.

The surprise of it gets me. These aren’t words I would have chosen. They arrive with a clarity that feels different from my own lamenting. Play it as it lays helps me step outside the endless alternate futures I’ve been imagining.

It shifts my perspective.

Not into some easy belief that everything happens for a reason. Not exactly “things are as they should be.” No.

But there is something here for me.

Something like peace.

A kind of acceptance from the other side that makes it possible for me to believe I can have the same.

I can have this continuing relationship. A chance to explore what it means that the ball landed here—in a friendship that continues across a threshold.

Thanks for being here and for reading.

With love,

Sheryl

P.S. I’ve been working on something I’m excited to share with you. The Intuitive Tarot Guidebook is a 33-page digital download that brings together the core teachings, exercises, and practices from my Intuitive Tarot course into one easy-to-reference resource. It’s available now in the shop.

Get the Guidebook

Here are more ways to connect with me:

Buy a copy of my book 📚 or check out these free articles

Book a reading with me 🕊️

Where else you can find me:

Website: sherylwagnermedium.com

Socials: Instagram Facebook

Last week I had my first beach day of the season (I want to say summer, but can you believe it’s not actually summer yet?).

It was a solo beach day. Rachel was working from home and occupying Jubilee, which meant I had no responsibilities for the afternoon. As of last week, both of my boys are officially in their twenties. I remember beach days with them fondly, and I also appreciate the kind of relaxation that comes from being alone.

Now, I sit at the beach and no one’s life is in my hands. I can do whatever I want, and I still haven’t entirely gotten used to that.

I brought three books and a large bottle of ice water. No snacks. I figured that would give me some motivation to head home for lunch and eat the precious taco leftovers Rachel made the night before. I rotated between three books. Swan Song by Elin Hilderbrand, a true beach read set on Nantucket and full of gossip and drama. The Sun Also Rises by Ernest Hemingway, part of my goal to read at least ten classics this year. And Nymph by Sofia Montrone, a coming-of-age novel set during a lush Italian summer.

I ended up devouring Swan Song, making it halfway through The Sun Also Rises, and saving Nymph for when I can give it my full attention. So far, it seems worth the wait.

One of the things I love most about the beach is how easy it becomes to listen to my body. Going in the ocean when I’m hot, going for a walk when I want to move, and closing my eyes for what I call micro-naps. A micro-nap is when I close my eyes to daydream, and just hover on the edge of sleep.

I haven’t been much of a napper since the age of two. Maybe it’s because my ADHD brain is convinced I’m missing out on something. Or maybe it’s because losing consciousness in a public place feels scary. The one exception is the beach, if there are enough people nearby to feel safe, but not so many that I feel crowded, it’s just relaxing enough.

I suspect the real reason I never fully fall asleep is that about ten years ago my ex-husband and I dozed off on a roped-off section of a beach in Jamaica. When we woke up, we were no longer alone and noticed two things. Everyone was at least two decades older than us and they were all naked.

We briefly considered whether taking our clothes off to blend in would be less awkward than leaving. After a very short discussion, we decided it would not, and hot-footed it out of there cringing in apology at the people we were fleeing from. Sorry, we are American, we don’t know what we’re doing. Please forgive us.

Two days after my recent solo beach day, I noticed a familiar rash that appears every year after my first significant sun exposure of the season. Red bumps across my arms, legs, and feet. Not a sunburn, more like a sun allergy.

For years I accepted this as one of my body’s strange little quirks. This year I finally Googled it and discovered it has a name: Polymorphous Light Eruption (PMLE).

Apparently, it’s a reaction to the sun’s UV rays that often appears after the first exposure of the season and can resolve on its own. Which is reassuring because that’s exactly what it does every year (for me anyway). The next couple days I spent at home with hydrocortisone cream, Benadryl, and my books.

Even when I’m listening to my body, my body sometimes has notes.

Here is our collective card reading:

(Scroll slowly if you don’t want to see the cards revealed before you choose.)

How this works: I invite you to take a slow, grounding breath and let your attention settle. When you’re ready, look at the three cards and notice which one, two, or three, you feel most drawn to. Trust your intuition. Then scroll below the photo to read the message connected to your card(s) and let it support you over the days and weeks ahead. As always, please take what resonates and leave the rest.

If you chose card 1:

Six of Wands

This card is like a high five from the Universe.

You might know exactly what it’s for. Maybe you’ve accomplished something after months—or even years—of hard work. If so, this is your invitation to celebrate and enjoy your success.

And if you’re not quite there yet, or the progress feels small, take this as a sign to keep going.

The Six of Wands is about motivation, momentum, and recognition. The recognition or encouragement you receive now is meant to fuel you forward.

Sometimes this card appears when you’ve been working so hard that you’ve forgotten to notice your own progress. Take a moment to look behind you and see how far you’ve come. The confidence that comes from recognizing your growth can be just as important as the achievement itself.

If you chose card 2:

Eight of Wands

This card is all about speed, momentum, and potential. Things are moving forward—and quickly.

If you asked how long until something happens, the answer is: it’s on the way. If you asked whether you should do the thing, the answer is likely yes—and sooner rather than later.

With the eight of wands, you are a burst of inspiration, like an arrow flying through the air. Trust the energy that’s building. Embracing spontaneity may be part of the message. Send the email. Make the plan. Sign up for the class. Say yes to the adventure that’s been calling your name.

The Eight of Wands reminds us that not every decision needs months of deliberation. Sometimes the timing is right, the path is clear enough, and the best thing we can do is move. Take action, make a move, and follow this thread of inspiration to see where it leads.

If you chose card 3:

Ten of Wands

The man in this image is clearly carrying too much. The wands remind me of a handful of burnt-out matches, the energy has all been spent.

There’s a lot going on here. Maybe not the devastating or life-altering kind of overwhelm, but certainly the feeling of, “This is too much.” My anxiety kicks in just watching him try to carry it all. Something is going to fall eventually. We can only keep so many things in the air for so long.

When the Ten of Wands appears, it’s often a sign that you’ve taken on too much responsibility, pressure, or obligation. You may be trying to carry everything yourself, convinced that asking for help isn’t an option.

This card is a reminder that you don’t have to do it all alone. Where can you ask for support? What can you delegate? What can you postpone, simplify, or release altogether?

This is an invitation to decide what you can put down before the universe decides for you. Where can you make things a little easier on yourself?

Share

Thanks for being here and for reading.

With love,

Sheryl

P.S. I’ve been working on something I’m excited to share with you. The Intuitive Tarot Guidebook is a 33-page digital download that brings together the core teachings, exercises, and practices from my Intuitive Tarot course into one easy-to-reference resource. It’s available now in the shop.

Get the Guidebook

Here are more ways to connect with me:

Buy a copy of my book 📚 or check out these free articles

Book a reading with me 🕊️

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Website: sherylwagnermedium.com

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Sometimes, when we’re struggling to do the hard thing, we assume we need more discipline. If only we could wake up earlier, try harder, or be more consistent.

But sometimes what we need isn’t more discipline. What we really need is more self-compassion inside the discipline.

Last week I watched the baby ravens in our neighborhood take flight. I was out with Jubilee for our morning walk and I heard them before I saw them. The sound is unmistakable—like a cartoon witch screaming. Especially in the early hours of a foggy Sunday, it’s particularly jarring. When you multiply that screeching sound by five, you’ll understand why a group of them is called an unkindness. A flamboyance of flamingos, a murder of crows, a ballet of swans… an unkindness of ravens.

So, I turned the corner half expecting to see a group of gargoyles come to life. Four stories up on a peaked roof sat one of the parents, backlit by the rising sun hopping and squawking. The dawdling youngsters were all lined up on the ledge, and you could tell something momentous was about to happen.

Welcome to raven flight school.

This is the third year I’ve witnessed this milestone. The babies are full-grown by this point, distinguishable from the adults only by the way they stumble across the rooftops like they’ve had too much to drink. They sometimes lean on one another to stay upright, and there are always one or two who take longer than the rest. Last year, a pair huddled behind the group for an extra two days while Rachel and I tried to go about our day, checking on them constantly.

The parents seem to line them up on the highest rooftop they can find and, one by one, off they go.

It is both brutal and beautiful to watch. I feel that maternal pang that comes from watching someone else’s toddler climb to the top of a metal slide. Would it be totally inappropriate to interfere? Install a safety net?

One thing that strikes me in these moments is that the natural world feels remarkably free of judgment. The raven parents encourage their young out of biological necessity. Some of the birds take longer than others, but they simply continue calling them forward.

It’s been months of bringing food to the nest and protecting the babies from predators. Now their flock must fly.

It isn’t personal. The parents don’t seem to change tactics no matter what happens. The slower, more hesitant birds simply receive more encouragement (screeching) until they launch. Learning to fly is simply what comes next.

I don’t think we need to choose between discipline and self-compassion. We can hold both for ourselves. We can practice self-compassion within the discipline.

Every morning at sunrise, I take Jubilee for a walk. We both need it. I like to go before the roads fill with commuters and schoolchildren darting in and out of our path. That hour of stillness does a lot for me. As an added bonus, I’m blessed with a tired puppy for the first half of the day.

Mostly, I wake up excited for our walks. But on the days when I think, I can’t possibly do this today—and every day for the rest of my life—that’s when I need to lean into self-compassion.

Sometimes it’s as simple as changing the internal dialogue. You can do this. Take it one day at a time. You’ll feel so much better after.

Other times, it’s coaxing myself into trying a shorter walk and letting it turn into a longer one. I am not above a little trickery.

But gone are the days of berating myself.

I recently had a student tell me that they are “really bad” at sitting in the power. They described the thoughts that keep coming in, the boredom, the feeling of being stuck.

“I know I’m not doing it right,” they confessed.

And I know what that’s like.

I first started meditating twenty years ago when I was pregnant with my second child. A therapist told me that meditation could help with the anxiety I was experiencing in ways that medication couldn’t. I latched onto that idea. More than anything, I wanted a tool that would always be available to me—a way to find peace when I desperately needed it.

As long as I had my breath and my mind, I could find my way back to solid ground.

And at first, I thought I was bad at it. Thoughts would come in, and then I would pile more thoughts on top of them. I wasn’t just anxious. I was anxious about being anxious.

Eventually, I learned that the point wasn’t to eliminate my thoughts or force myself into some serene state. The practice was simply to notice the thoughts and return to my breath. To remember that I am not my thoughts. I am the awareness behind them.

Over time, meditation became less about controlling my mind and more about developing a friendship with myself.

In the space of sitting in the power, it becomes clear that much of our suffering comes from the layers we add on top of an experience. We don’t just feel frustrated. We tell ourselves we shouldn’t be frustrated. When we struggle, we tell ourselves we should be doing better.

Most of us aren’t consciously aiming for perfection. There has been so much conversation around perfectionism in the self-improvement spaces. We all know perfectionism is bad for us.

Maybe a more useful goal is improving the relationship we have with ourselves. Self-compassion as a practice.

Compassion doesn’t make us less accountable. It actually makes discipline more sustainable. It’s an invitation to keep coming back, especially on the hard days.

Discipline still matters, and we still show up. But compassion changes the quality of the experience and allows us to stay engaged with our process without turning ourselves into the enemy.

If we can relate to ourselves with less judgment and more curiosity, that doesn’t stop with us. The way we treat ourselves will shape the way we relate to others. The compassion we practice within ripples outward.

Most of us look around and feel astounded by the callousness of our world. Part of changing it begins in the smallest and most private spaces: our inner worlds, the conversations we have with ourselves, and the moments we decide to keep showing up.

In those moments, we can choose to call ourselves forward rather than tear ourselves down.

Thanks for being here and for reading.

With love,

Sheryl

P.S. Here are more ways to connect with me:

Buy a copy of my book 📚 or check out these free articles

Book a reading with me 🕊️

Where else you can find me:

Website: sherylwagnermedium.com

Socials: Instagram Facebook

Lately, I have been thinking about change in new ways. First, let me explain the old way of thinking. It goes something like this: Change is hard. Change is something that happens to me. Change is something I need to work through.

A few weeks ago my therapist said to me that people with PTSD tend to think that we have something fundamentally wrong with us. But this feeling is a symptom of trauma, not a personal failing or personality flaw.

This has been true for me. My brain seems hardwired to seek control, scan for flaws, and try to correct them before any damage is done. I’ve noticed that I experience this less frequently in areas of my life where I’m more practiced at vulnerability, such as my work, my writing, and interactions with familiar people.

Partly because I have developed boundaries that allow me to share my work with the world. I don’t spend my days monitoring reactions or trying to manage everyone’s response.

The other factor is practice and repetition. I’ve hit publish on enough articles, done enough mediumship readings, and written enough work emails that these things no longer feel new. Over time, the threat has been neutralized.

That got me to consider how I might change on purpose. Rather than avoiding situations that stretched my capacity, I began to wonder if they were the very things that could expand it. What if I did the hard thing enough times that my body would eventually catch up? What if I focused intentionally on the unpracticed vulnerability and saw whether I could move the needle on what felt comfortable?

Over the last few weeks, I’ve said yes to things I normally wouldn’t. Things like having deep, honest conversations with strangers, being interviewed on a podcast and not over preparing, taking my son with me to an in-person mediumship practice group and spontaneously sharing.

All of these things have been hard for me. Afterwards, I notice the desire to replay my words back to myself and examine interactions from various perspectives. Did I overshare? Respond appropriately? My brain searching for evidence of any failings. I let myself be with these thoughts without trying to fix anything. Here’s what I noticed.

Each time, I’d imagine my capacity for vulnerability expanding, like a muscle that grows stronger through small tears and repair. Each time stings a little less. I notice I’ve made tiny strides. I’ve stayed with my own discomfort a little longer. Not by ignoring my desire to leave interactions or retreat, but by acknowledging it and promising myself ten more minutes. A little longer. I’ve also noticed that not planning ahead allows me to relax more. Every time I survive an unplanned conversation or uncertain moment, I collect a little more evidence that I can trust myself.

Perhaps vulnerability, like anything else, becomes easier with practice.

Here is our collective card reading:

(Scroll slowly if you don’t want to see the cards revealed before you choose.)

How this works: I invite you to take a slow, grounding breath and let your attention settle. When you’re ready, look at the three cards and notice which one, two, or three, you feel most drawn to. Trust your intuition. Then scroll below the photo to read the message connected to your card(s) and let it support you over the days and weeks ahead. As always, please take what resonates and leave the rest.

If you chose 1:

The Four of Wands

The Four of Wands signals a time for happiness and celebration. Sometimes when this card lands in our path, we already know what we’re celebrating. Other times, we might feel like we have nothing to acknowledge or no particular reason to be joyful.

I don’t think this card is always asking us to celebrate a major milestone. Sometimes simply making it this far deserves our attention. We need reasons to rally. We need opportunities to recognize our own efforts and the efforts of those around us. It can be a reminder that small wins count too.

There is something deeply nourishing about encouragement, whether it comes from others or from within. This card invites us to notice what is working and what is worthy of acknowledgment. Sometimes simply celebrating the work of being alive is enough of a reason.

If you chose 2:

The Ten of Swords

Ten pointy swords hang in the air above thorny branches, and a skull lies below. There’s no denying that something painful has happened. There’s grief here.

It reminds me of words I heard during meditation this morning while I was trying very hard to lose awareness and go deeper into the spirit realm. Spirit shared with me that losing ourselves is closely connected to finding ourselves. Just as birth and death are linked, we move through portals and thresholds throughout our lives.

The Ten of Swords is a difficult card to see and an even more difficult card to find ourselves living through. It speaks to the grief we carry, painful endings, and necessary releases. The silver lining is that the end of one cycle signals the beginning of another. Release creates space—an invitation to remain open to what is emerging.

If you chose 3:

The Queen of Wands

If a card could embody encouragement, I think the Queen of Wands would be it. This particular version of the card spent months as the screensaver on my phone while I was working on a creative project. Whenever I looked at her, she felt like a reminder to keep going.

The Queen of Wands is passion in action. She takes ideas and gives them somewhere to live. She reminds us that confidence is not always something we have before we begin. Sometimes confidence is built through participation, through showing up, creating, and allowing ourselves to be seen.

She encourages us to let go of self-consciousness in favor of experience, to nurture the parts of ourselves that want to be expressed, and to cheer on the people around us as readily as we cheer for ourselves. There is vitality in this card, a sense of momentum and possibility. A reminder that our enthusiasm, creativity, and presence matter.

Thanks for being here and for reading.

With love,

Sheryl

P.S. Here are more ways to connect with me:

Buy a copy of my book 📚 or check out these free articles

Book a reading with me 🕊️

Where else you can find me:

Website: sherylwagnermedium.com

Socials: Instagram Facebook

We often think of tarot as the answer to our question. We inquire and the cards answer. But that dynamic is limiting. A way to get richer information is to shift our perspective away from the answer and consider what the cards might ask of us. This is especially helpful when we are faced with a card we don’t connect with. It’s worth mentioning at the point that every time I say the word tarot card you could insert “situation” in its place.

Every tarot card we encounter has something to teach us if we slow down and notice. Particularly the ones that elicit big reactions. I talk a lot about how desire is directional, but the things that make us want to look away or scream into the void can be valuable teachers too.

Taking the focus off of what does this mean? and shifting it to what is this asking of me? gives us more choice.

I am in a season of pulling the Eight of Pentacles. It jumps out of every deck I shuffle for myself, and makes appearances in my daily card pulls.

Traditionally, this card points to mastering your craft—the imagery often depicts someone absorbed in their work and feeling good about it. It conjures images of an artist working through the night in a studio, or a CEO sleeping beside their phone. The shadow side makes me think of a man hunched over a typewriter at the Overlook Hotel—all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy…

In the past, I might have taken this to mean something positive like professional success, or as a correction that I was being overly focused on work. When we approach tarot in a less collaborative way, we might look for the cards to bring us our fortune. And with that mindset, the Eight of Pentacles peeking around every corner isn’t the worst thing. At least you are busy, at least you have a job, whispers my inner cynic.

If we take a card at face value, the information is limited. But when I consider sitting down with this card over a cuppa and allowing it to ask me questions, things shift and open up.

Here’ what the eight of pentacles is asking me today:

• What are you working towards?

• What do you want your life to feel like?

• What would happen if you stopped being productive?

Spider imagery is quite common in interpretations of the Eight of Pentacles. It speaks to intricate work and the discipline required to build something thread by thread.

The version that jumps out at me most is from the Shadowscapes Tarot, where an orb weaver sits in her web surrounded by eight glowing pentacles. As is often the case, tarot imagery seems to leak into my life.

Over the winter, a wispy little spider took up residence on the ledge in our bathroom. Recently, there was also a much smaller spider nearby who suddenly vanished, leading me to suspect she might be pregnant. Her body grew noticeably larger by the day, and this past weekend, I was forced to face the Eight of Pentacles and gently move her outside. I’ve gotten better at appreciating these delicate creatures—but while one spider is a friend…anything more is a crowd.

I caught her much more easily than I expected and carried her to the daisy bush in front of our house where she could continue the work she’s been devoted to.

Here is our collective card reading:

(Scroll slowly if you don’t want to see the cards revealed before you choose.)

How this works: I invite you to take a slow, grounding breath and let your attention settle. When you’re ready, look at the three cards and notice which one, two, or three, you feel most drawn to. Trust your intuition. Then scroll below the photo to read the message connected to your card(s) and let it support you over the days and weeks ahead. As always, please take what resonates and leave the rest.

If you chose 1:

The Six of Wands

The Six of Wands rises up in victory. The transformation may have been messy, but the results speak for themselves. This is visible success—the kind you can celebrate in a group chat or share on social media. The Six of Wands reminds us that some accomplishments are meant to be witnessed.

In the spirit of allowing the cards to ask us questions, here are some that the Six of Wands might beg of you:

• What kind of recognition are you seeking right now?

• What parts of your journey remain unseen beneath the victory?

• What happens when your success is visible to others?

If you chose 2:

The Four of Swords

The Four of Swords is a time for contemplation. The lamb sits poised beneath four floating swords—thoughtful, aware, third eye activated. This is not a time to force meaning or seek action, but rather to take a beat, go within, and trust that you know who you are.

A quote by Lao Tzu comes to mind: ‘At the center of your being you have the answer; you know who you are and you know what you want.’

This card asks us to pay attention the what’s available to us in the stillness.

Some questions from The Four of Swords:

• What would change if you trusted yourself more?

• What is the difference between protection and avoidance in this moment?

• What would it feel like to stop forcing an answer?

If you chose 3:

The Mother of Cups

The Mother of Cups, also known as the Queen of Cups, is a warm and nurturing energy. This is the wisdom that comes through a lifetime of deep feeling and empathy. There is knowledge here born from experience, intuition, and emotional awareness.

The Mother of Cups asks us:

• Are you caring for yourself with the same tenderness you offer others?

• What emotions are asking to be acknowledged rather than managed?

• What boundaries allow your empathy to remain sustainable?

• What part of you needs compassion right now?

Thanks for being here and for reading.

With love,

Sheryl

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P.S. Here are more ways to connect with me:

Buy a copy of my book 📚 or check out these free articles

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Website: sherylwagnermedium.com

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One of the most common ways we interrupt our intuition is by outsourcing it. We want reassurance and confirmation, and when the stakes feel high, we seek these things outside of ourselves. Sometimes this looks like polling friends and family before making a decision or searching social media for consensus.

More recently, many people have shared with me that they check their intuition against AI. I understand the impulse. We all want good information, and it makes sense to use the tools available to us to find it.

But intuition becomes harder to recognize when we constantly interrupt it.

Our brains and nervous systems love repetition. The more often we second guess ourselves, the more we reinforce the habit of seeking reassurance before trusting what we feel. Over time, this can make self trust more difficult.

Being well resourced is not the same as outsourcing. Having a friend to talk things out with or a good therapist can be incredibly supportive. The best mediums, healers, or tarot readers will validate your intuition and send you back to yourself.

Intuition is like a relationship. It needs our care and attention to grow stronger. The problem with checking our intuition against external sources is that it deprives us of uncertainty. The discomfort of not knowing teaches us how to stay with ourselves.

In the space of uncertainty, we gain clarity around our desires.

If we rush the process from uncertainty to answers, we can’t be in relationship with our intuition. When we immediately gain external validation for the choices we plan to make, we might feel temporary relief—but that’s not the same peace that we feel from building self trust.

Intuition works best when it’s based on internal validation. Remember a time when you did something well, something you were proud of. It doesn’t matter if anyone else knows or sees because you are content and secure in your abilities.

This is the kind of intimacy that is possible with our intuition. The kind of self knowledge that can come from building trust and limiting the external interruptions.

I’m not talking about instincts—the kind that keep us safe and alert us to danger. Instincts can influence intuition, but their primary role is survival.

Intuition comes from our soul. There is a mystical wisdom component to it. A directional desire that subtly influences us through ideas, inspiration, and a sense of “I just know.”

Your relationship with your intuition is deeply personal. This inner world lets you spend time with a version of you that is authentic. You get to know this version of you when you are not presenting your energy to another person.

Other people are not you. They have limited information when it comes to the desires of your soul or the blind spots we all have.

So, what do we do instead?

Have a conversation with your intuition. Notice where you feel it in your body. Is it low in your belly? Warm in your heart? A subtle energy running up your spine? Ask yourself some questions about your current situation and imagine different scenarios. Notice any nervous system responses: fight, flight, fawn, freeze.

Nervous system responses are helpful information, but they are not intuition.

Intuition is often subtle—more steady than urgent. Notice how your intuition feels as you imagine different actions or choices. Is there a color, pressure, temperature, or emotion? Gather this information and pay attention to what stands out. Ask your intuition for a sign that you are moving in alignment with yourself. Remember that you are building a relationship, and relationships are built on trust.

A few thoughts on interrupting intuition with AI:

Apps like Chat GPT function like trained answer machines with enough information to soothe your nervous system and sound intelligent. But AI cannot compete with the wise and loving awareness of your soul. Human beings bring memory, emotion, contradiction, symbolism, and lived experience to the process.

If we were to ask AI to interpret a tarot card, as a client recently shared with me, it looks up at the traditional meanings and symbolism. It pulls together messages from the internet from a variety of sources and it would likely sound pretty good. Often, the response sounds insightful because it reflects familiar patterns and popular interpretations. The language is designed to feel reassuring. But something essential is missing from that process. By immediately reaching for an external interpretation, we interrupt our own intuitive response before it has the chance to unfold. Over time, this can dull our intuitive awareness.

When you allow your intuition to freely interpret a tarot card, a dynamic human process unfolds.

I pulled a card for myself this morning. As I look at the Ace of Swords, immediately my eyes go to the hint of a periwinkle blue color on the right. I remember years ago—a mentor shared with me that for them that color represents a deep spiritual cleansing—the kind that comes from releasing self criticism.

They shared that self criticism is like cancer to the body and that the color of periwinkle blue is the treatment that shrinks it and draws it out. I remember how my eyes filled with tears when I heard this. I remember how the tile in the kitchen of my childhood home was this color and that I loved it so much that I stretched my budget to include it in my first home when my kids were little. I feel warm with the memory of wanting my kids to have this color in their childhood home.

Now, I am on an emotional journey. My neurons are firing and my memory has been activated. My brain, body, and spirit are lighting up. I feel the subtle weight of a hand on my shoulder. I look down and see that my sweatshirt is the same shade of blue. I feel warmth spread through my chest and I have the thought: letting go of self doubt lets us see clearly.

And I know what this card means right now—in this specific moment. I feel a specific way that I will never feel with my phone in my hand, or waiting for a computer to spit out an answer.

We deserve to feel the closeness of our intuition, and we need to make space for it. To be in relationship with the kind of knowing that unfolds when we stop interrupting ourselves.

Thanks for being here.

With love,

Sheryl

P.S. An Evening of Spirit Messages is tomorrow night, Thursday, May 14th. If you’d like to attend, you can reserve your spot here.

Here are more ways to connect with me:

Buy a copy of my book 📚 or check out these free articles

Book a reading with me 🕊️

Where else you can find me:

Website: sherylwagnermedium.com

Socials: Instagram Facebook

The other day a man came up to me in the park and shared something personal. First, he thanked me for always saying hi to him. Then, he shared that there is a woman that walks past him every day and never says hello. “I can’t figure it out—maybe I teased her in high school?” He seemed to be seriously considering it. It was clear in the way he shared this, that he was not upset with the woman, he was upset with himself and looking for ways to make amends.

To be fair to this man, it’s possible I am misquoting him here. If you know this man, or you are this man, I apologize. I only removed one Airpod as we began speaking, because it was barely sunrise and I assumed the topic would be something about our dogs.

He went on to confess that he teased a lot of girls in high school. It was his schtick back then, and not completely off-putting according to him because “he married one of them.”

Before this interaction, I already liked this man. If you asked me yesterday why, I would have said something about good vibes. And this is what I love about writing—the discoveries that come from putting the words down.

Like me, this man walks very early in the morning with his dog. Unlike me, he brings his coffee in a flask and covertly smokes a cigarette. One time he recognized Rachel and I as a couple without any awkwardness—commenting that we are “so good” always spending time together. Conversely, he is always alone with his dog.

I like that he seems to have this air about him like he’s in trouble or thinking about doing something that would get him into trouble. The day before his spontaneous sunrise confession about the girls in high school I said to Rachel “this guy has Roger Sterling vibes.” If you haven’t seen the show Mad Men, Roger Sterling is a 1960s ad executive who embodies the excess of that era—drinking, smoking, womanizing—and delivers dry one-liners while navigating an inner spiritual crisis. It’s a pretty specific vibe.

Most of us can think of infinite reasons why a woman would not say hello to someone in the dark hours of the morning. I thought of offering up some that came to mind. She could be grieving, or shy, or hard of hearing, or just not interested in saying hello to strangers.

“I bet it’s not personal” I finally offered.

I found it so interesting that this man was walking around at sunrise contemplating his high school behavior that may have led a woman to shun him. And even more interesting that something guided him to confess this to me.

It reminded me of something my mom used to say: don’t worry if people don’t like you, most people are struggling to like themselves.

And that reflection of parental advice made me consider myself. Flipping back the years and remembering the balm of that phrase when I first heard it. Trapped in the worries of what other people thought of me. The comfort of realizing the universal struggle.

The realization that the mental space about being perceived takes up a lot more room than other people’s actual thoughts about us.

The transition over the years from considering “Am I likeable?” to “Who do I like?” and finally to “Who or what am I interested in?” Because truly we are all likable and unlikeable in different scenarios depending on who’s judging.

As someone who has been locked into performance mode for a huge chunk of their life, I can say that once you stop performing, you become more and more free.

Freedom comes slowly. You learn to spot the ways you are performing, and the layers drop off one by one, making you lighter and creating more space to live with ease. I don’t mean to say that once you stop performing everything becomes easy. But at least, most of the time, I am not making things harder on myself.

I consider how many life stories pass through me as a medium. How being in that state of openness and non-judgement gives me this sense of people I didn’t have before. To observe humanity in this way leaves me feeling excited to wake up in the morning and do it again.

There is nothing more exhausting than trying to prove how good we are, or being the audience for someone else’s display of goodness. Enough with performing likability and goodness.

In books, in mediumship, in life—I love, love, love unlikeable characters. The ones struggling to understand themselves and do better.

The truth of a moment is better than anything curated.

Here is our collective card reading:

(Scroll slowly if you don’t want to see the cards revealed before you choose.)

How this works: I invite you to take a slow, grounding breath and let your attention settle. When you’re ready, look at the three cards and notice which one, two, or three, you feel most drawn to. Trust your intuition. Then scroll below the photo to read the message connected to your card(s) and let it support you over the days and weeks ahead. As always, please take what resonates and leave the rest.

If you chose 1:

The Ten of Coins

The Ten of Coins represents lasting abundance in matters both spiritual and financial. This is the kind of success that comes after years of work and dedication. Friendships that have been cultivated over time. A home that feels like a sanctuary. A spiritual practice that nourishes you from the inside. This well earned abundance asks us to settle in, enjoy, and share our overflowing cup with others. It’s usually a good time to consider what aspects of your life deserve a moment of prayer or thanks. You might decide to share the wealth by hosting a dinner, mentoring someone, or donating your time or money. This is a solid place to be if you are considering extending yourself—trust that you have enough to give.

If you chose 2:

Page of Swords

The image on this card reminds me of a young Harry Potter. The page of swords is a youthful, seeking energy. The beams of light whirling around represent ideas, inspiration, and action. This energy finds us full of enthusiasm, but lacking experience. You may be starting a project or new interest and gobbling up information quicker than you can absorb it. The upside to being new at something is the energy of it—you haven’t had a chance to become jaded yet and nothing can stop you. This is a time, not to apologize for your inexperience, but to seek out people who share your interests and those who will encourage you.

If you chose 3:

Eight of Swords

It’s hard to recognize Eight of Swords energy when we’re in the midst of it. Often we feel trapped—convinced there is no way forward. We have closed our eyes to the possibilities or support that will help us find the way. We retreat into self-doubt.

If you find yourself in this space, it’s a good time to hear the phrase “you can do hard things” from a loving friend or in lieu of that, whisper it to yourself. Take a bird’s-eye view of the situation and examine any disempowering beliefs. Making a choice (literally any choice) that moves you forward can help break the stalemate. Start small, build momentum, and give yourself some grace. You’ll come out of this situation with the confidence that comes from finding a way. The new ideas that emerge from the navigating the Eight of Swords are often long lasting and worth the discomfort.

Thanks for being here, and for reading.

With Love,

Sheryl

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P.S. I’m hosting an Evening of Spirit Messages on May 14th. These gatherings are a gentle, shared space where I connect with the Spirit World and offer messages to attendees. If you’ve been feeling drawn to experience mediumship in a group setting, I’d love to have you there. You can find the details and reserve your spot here: An Evening of Spirit Messages

And here are more ways to connect with me:

Buy a copy of my book 📚 or check out these free articles

Book a reading with me 🕊️

I have firm boundaries around communicating with spirit outside of a structured reading space. There are many reasons why, most of them rooted in honoring the sacred nature of this work and protecting my energy.

One of those boundaries is that I don’t intentionally communicate with someone’s loved one before a reading begins. Early in my development, it wasn’t unusual for spirit people to show up before a demonstration or before a client arrived. Over time, I’ve learned to set clear intentions—to hold spirit off, so to speak, until the scheduled time.

Mediumship may seem calm and peaceful from the outside, but it’s a highly active energetic experience for the medium. A reading unfolds best when that connection happens in real time. I like to start from an overflow of energy. There is a stronger feeling of recognition when I open my awareness and spirit moves closer, as I become aware of them, they recognize their loved one sitting across from me. When I feel their excitement and love moving through me, I know we are connecting. It is spontaneous and magical and in the moment.

These days, I may sense a spirit person before a reading, but I’m not actively receiving information or communicating. It’s more of a subtle awareness. I sometimes have to intentionally keep my mind on other things as I prepare for my client.

There was one reading years ago that completely broke this rule, and I still think about it often because it changed how I understand intuition and got me thinking about how our soul may begin preparing us for what’s ahead.

I was on a break between sessions, preparing for my next client when I heard the front door open downstairs.

I called hello but got no answer. I heard what sounded like a young child moving around in the waiting room. Light footsteps. The sound of objects being touched and shifted around. I found myself mentally cataloging what was in the room—crystals, bottles, anything fragile that could be knocked over. The electric kettle that had just finished boiling.

I was surprised that my client had arrived early and brought a child with them. Maybe they were parking the car or grabbing something outside and had sent their kid in ahead.

I walked downstairs and the waiting room was completely empty.

I knocked on the bathroom door. When there was no answer, I announced I was opening it, but the bathroom was empty. I opened the closet. I opened the front door and looked out at an empty parking lot. Finally, I looked under and behind the furniture. Nothing.

I thought a child must have come in by mistake and run back out. But then I realized something strange. While I thought I had heard the front door open, I never heard the small bells hanging on the door ring the way they always did when someone entered. I gave up trying to figure it out and went back upstairs.

Twenty minutes later, my client arrived on time and alone.

During our session, I connected with a child in spirit and understood instantly who I had heard in the waiting room earlier.

This was a first for me and as a medium and I was fascinated by what had happened. Was it claircognizance—a clear knowing that allowed me to perceive this child as if they were physically present? Was there an element of physical mediumship at play? Had I slipped into a light trance state between readings?

All of those things could be true to some degree. But the strongest truth I felt was simpler: my soul had registered the presence of this child before my conscious mind could understand what was happening.

That experience changed the way I understand intuition. We often expect intuition to arrive as a clear answer, an inner voice, or instant realization. But sometimes it arrives as a feeling we can’t explain or an experience that only makes sense in hindsight.

On a soul level, we begin processing what is coming before our logical mind has context for it.

I’ve noticed this outside of mediumship, too. We can feel relationships shifting before conversations happen. We may sense a major life change before external circumstances catch up. We can begin grieving before loss fully arrives.

And then there are the more subtle ways my perception shifts. The internal crises that I don’t have words to describe here. Things are happening around me and it doesn’t all make sense until… suddenly it does. Not everything can be understood.

But intuition is not always here to explain what’s happening.

Sometimes, it is simply helping us become ready.

Thanks for being here and for reading.

With love,

Sheryl

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P.S. I’m hosting an Evening of Spirit Messages this May. These gatherings are a gentle, shared space where I connect with the Spirit World and offer messages to attendees. If you’ve been feeling drawn to experience mediumship in a group setting, I’d love to have you there. You can find the details and reserve your spot here: An Evening of Spirit Messages

Mediumship members: check your email for a special offer.

And here are more ways to connect with me:

Buy a copy of my book 📚 or check out these free articles

Book a reading with me 🕊️

Spring has finally found me. Everything feels new. I find myself shouting hello and isn’t it nice to neighbors like we’re characters in a musical. Nothing has changed except the weather, but suddenly life seems doable again.

I finally finished reading Les Misérables after three long months with it. I’m in the market for a lighter, brighter book for my next classic read. The ravens welcomed their babies last weekend. I can see where they nest in the cell tower from my office window. The parents scurry and squawk at all hours, and the sound is one of a kind. Full-grown ravens sound like cartoon witches cackling, and the babies have a strange, robotic quality. Their brand-new voices break in to demand whatever they need.

I feel like I’m subtly coming into the energy of spring. Not quite at the level of twirling on a mountaintop, but I feel good enough to share a few things I’ve been enjoying.

And honestly, I’m embracing the gift of good enough.

A few things I’ve been loving lately

Around my home:

Yummy Taper Candles

These 10-inch Yummy taper candles are my favorites. They come in over four dozen colors. I usually choose one based on my intention or mood while I’m writing, meditating, or planning in my office—blue for communication, mint green for growth, violet when I want to feel more open and intuitive. They come in packs of twelve, so I stock up for the year and keep a small stash on hand.

Tulip Season

I picked up my first bunch of tulips this weekend, 20 stems from Trader Joe’s, and split them around the house. I’ve been using some of my grandmother’s crystal glasses and vases, which makes it feel a little more special. I tried the trick of dropping pennies in the bottom to help them stand up straight. I’m not sure yet if it’s working.

Sacred Soil Tonic from Sacred Elements

I have an outrageous number of plants at this point. Most of them came home with me during the pandemic and they’re all somehow still thriving. I’ve been using a plant food from Sacred Elements, a dime-sized amount in a watering can, and it seems to be doing the trick.

Where I’ve been going:

Freesoul Yoga and Wellness

Rachel and I have been taking a beginner’s yoga class at my friend’s studio. It’s a warm, tranquil space, and I’ve really been enjoying it. Michelle is so thoughtful about injuries and offers plenty of modifications, with lots of props to make it accessible for everyone in our group. I’m so glad we signed up.

What I’ve Been Reading:

It hasn’t been that long since I shared my favorite books. Luckily, I’ve got a string of five star reads in the last few months.

Instructions for a Heatwave by Maggie O’Farrell

A family saga that unfolds over one sweltering London summer. Beautifully written, layered, and emotionally precise—everything you’d expect from Maggie O’Farrell.

Almost Life by Kiran Millwood Hargrave

A queer coming-of-age love story that spans decades. It has an intimate, slightly aching feel. Sally Rooney vibes in a good way.

The Best Dog in the World: Essays on Love edited by Alice Hoffman

A collection of essays from well-known writers. Tender, funny, and full of moments that might make you cry. I especially enjoyed the funnier ones. Bonnie Garmus’s chapter about her rescue greyhound, 99, and Roxane Gay’s essay about her Maltipoo were my favorites.

The Singer’s Gun by Emily St. John Mandel

I picked this up ahead of Emily St. John Mandel’s upcoming novel Exit Party because I heard there might be some character overlap. It centers around a crime family and a son trying to get out. It’s different from her other novels, but still has her signature way of building out a story and layering pieces one on top of the other until everything comes together in a really satisfying way. It’s atmospheric, with a steady underlying tension that keeps creeping in.

The History of Sound by Ben Shattuck

A beautiful collection of interconnected short stories set around New England. I especially love when short stories connect like this. Each one was moving and perfect—this will definitely be one of my favorite books of the year. I read it on my Kindle, but I’ve heard the audiobook is beautifully narrated.

Lunch Lately

This Chicken Salad recipe by Broma Bakery

Rachel is definitely more of the cook in our house, so most of my cooking tends to be for my own lunches. This chicken salad is so good. It’s made with Greek yogurt, mayo, celery, red grapes, garlic powder, apple cider vinegar and Dijon mustard. I skip the tarragon, and it still has a really fresh feel to it.

If I’m keeping it simple, I’ll eat it with big, crispy lettuce leaves. If I want a little something extra, I’ll pop a naan in the toaster oven, cut it into triangles, and use it as a vehicle to get the chicken salad into my mouth. Easy and so satisfying.

Something That’s Been Helping

Mindful Grounding Activities Deck by Lindsay Braman

I’ve been pulling a few cards from this mindful grounding activities deck after a day of doing mediumship readings to help me ease back into being a human. The prompts are simple and a little playful. Looking around the room like a robot, reaching as high as you can, pretending to blow up a balloon. They bring me back into my body pretty quickly. The illustrations are sweet, and it’s one of those things I don’t think too much about. I just do it, and it helps.

I’m looking forward to seeing how many of the little, robotic, squawking raven babies make it out of the nest. I’ve heard they look like little goblins when they are brand new. I’m sure they’ll be older by the time I finally spot one—but I’m hoping Rachel and I get to watch them learn to fly on our neighbor’s roof again.

Thanks for being here.

With love,

Sheryl

P.S. I’m hosting an Evening of Spirit Messages this May. These gatherings are a gentle, shared space where I connect with the Spirit World and offer messages to attendees. If you’ve been feeling drawn to experience mediumship in a group setting, I’d love to have you there. You can find the details and reserve your spot here: An Evening of Spirit Messages

And here are more ways to connect with me:

Buy a copy of my book 📚 or check out these free articles

Book a reading with me 🕊️

We often think of catharsis as a kind of intense spiritual experience. I picture Tom Cruise’s face at the end of A Few Good Men, baiting Jack Nicholson’s character into revealing his true colors. When we get the final payoff—“You can’t handle the truth!”—all the tension breaks. The thing that’s been building finally happens, and there’s a kind of glorious relief in it.

I’ve had the big moments of catharsis: a near-death experience, changing careers, getting divorced, moving across the country. Oh, how they all drip with spiritual cleansing. But to be honest, I don’t even feel like I can take credit for those things. They haven’t felt like choices—more like my intuition has taken over and I’m the navigator of someone else’s life until things settle back down again.

Part of being human seems to be how quickly we forget the spiritual cleansing and return to sweating the small stuff.

Lately I’ve been thinking about the types of catharsis that tend to unfold with less drama. The kind that move slowly enough to feel part of.

When my son was little I avoided taking him to the supermarket at all costs. Like most moms of neurodivergent kids, I begged negotiated with the universe to avoid daily public spectacles, and I was good at it. Managing his distress—and my own during the meltdowns—was a big part of my life, along with trying to stay one step ahead of it. With the right combination of naps, distractions, bribes, and consequences I steeled myself to navigate busy stores in order to buy food.

I remember the first day it all caught up with us. My son shrieking, hands held firmly over his ears like he had just hit a self-eject button. The stares and whispers were just as bad as I thought they’d be. He was little, but not little enough for this. I felt ashamed, trapped by my inability to explain the situation.

There was no sympathetic stranger nearby to give a meaningful look to, or covertly whisper that “he is overstimulated,” no maternal checkout person—just an annoyed teenager who seemed to want to be rid of us, but also to possess zero sense of urgency.

I had always thought that this would be the end of me. But after the eternity of a minute, all the emotion I had been holding in released in a kind of hysterical laugh-cry sound. The moment I had feared had come, and it didn’t kill me. Like a nightmare when someone is chasing you and you decide to simply turn around and face them. I felt stronger, freer. The tunnel vision faded, and with my head up I looked back at the staring strangers, challenging anyone to speak to us.

I walked out of that Shaw’s feeling like a new person. I had survived, and there was a sense of purification in that. This was our reality, and there was nothing in it to be ashamed of. Catharsis through embarrassment—still a win.

It’s freeing to stop trying to keep everything under control. I am a sensitive person, highly attuned to others. I’m aware not everyone feels this way. I shush Rachel in public when our private conversations get too loud for my comfort. I avoid passing by the dogs (most often black labs) that Jubilee likes to bark maniacally at.

I am still working on surrendering to the unknown in big and small ways. When I am feeling strong, I welcome this kind of catharsis—letting go of control in order to face fears, to experience something new. Anything can be a spiritual experience if we are present with it. People and situations become the spiritual teachers we need.

In the spirit of that, Rachel and I started taking a beginner yoga class over the weekend. Although I’ve practiced yoga over the years to varying degrees, I haven’t really been paying attention to what I’m doing, so a beginner class is perfect for me. Rachel is a complete beginner, but expresses no concern about being perceived.

I started out feeling strong, but eventually wobbled, felt my sweaty hands slipping, and fell over several times. At some point I went from trying to get it right to just breathing and moving. No longer wondering how I looked to others, just noticing how it felt to be inside the experience. A mini catharsis, making me stronger. The kind that comes when we stop trying to hold it all together and let it all come down.

That’s the place I come to the cards from this week—humbled and ready to see what’s next.

Here is our collective card reading:

(Scroll slowly if you don’t want to see the cards revealed before you choose.)

How this works: I invite you to take a slow, grounding breath and let your attention settle. When you’re ready, look at the three cards and notice which one, two, or three, you feel most drawn to. Trust your intuition. Then scroll below the photo to read the message connected to your card(s) and let it support you over the days and weeks ahead. As always, please take what resonates and leave the rest.

If you chose card 1:

Ritual

What routines in your life could benefit from being reframed as ritual? Ritual adds care, presence, and nourishment. With the word ritual, we make space for something more intentional, perhaps even something sacred.

You may take a walk each morning for exercise and simply try to get through it. Or you may move your body as a ritual, noticing breath, beauty, and connection along the way. This card invites you to bring presence to what you already do, allowing the ordinary to become meaningful.

If you chose card 2:

Express

What is waiting to be expressed? This card speaks to being seen in both big and small ways. It may be the truth you’ve been hesitant to say, or simply acknowledging something honestly within yourself. Expression doesn’t always have to be outward. Sometimes it’s naming what you feel, even privately, and allowing it to exist without pushing it away.

Through expression, we give ourselves the chance to be seen, but also the chance to be honest. You may not always be in a position to share openly, but you can still express inwardly what is true. From that honesty, a sense of freedom begins to emerge.

If you chose 3:

Evolve

What is evolving in your life? We all move through different versions of ourselves, sometimes gradually, sometimes all at once. If we’re lucky, we also get to witness those close to us evolving too. At times this brings us closer, and other times it creates distance, depending on where each path is leading.

We might evolve out of necessity or be active participants in our own growth. This card invites you to notice what is shifting, and to allow space for change, even if it feels unfamiliar. Evolution doesn’t always feel comfortable, but it is a natural part of becoming.

Thanks for being here.

With love,

Sheryl

P.S. I’m hosting an Evening of Spirit Messages this May. These gatherings are a gentle, shared space where I connect with the Spirit World and offer messages to attendees. If you’ve been feeling drawn to experience mediumship in a group setting, I’d love to have you there. You can find the details and reserve your spot here: An Evening of Spirit Messages

Mediumship members: check your email for a special offer.

And here are more ways to connect with me:

Buy a copy of my book 📚 or check out these free articles

Book a reading with me 🕊️

Yesterday I received an unexpected gift—wisdom arriving at exactly the right moment.

I was talking to my ex-husband, who, like me, left the family car business about eight years ago to start his own work.

Mike and I are friends. We met very young and have grown up together. It often feels like a sibling relationship, and most of our conversations revolve around the logistics of our adult kids.

He’s remarried with a young daughter and has always been the busiest person I know—running two businesses as a realtor and contractor. When I recommend him to friends, I often hear things like, he saved us or we never could have done it without him.

He thrives in chaos, and always has. First as a Marine, and then in the car business, where we worked together. He handled commercial sales, and I handled financing. Once a day, without fail, he’d walk by my office and mime throwing a grenade through the window.

I no longer have a high-pressure job, but I still feel pressure.

When I first realized I could support myself through mediumship, I felt elated. There was a sense of freedom in it. Somewhere along the way, that feeling shifted. Lately, what I notice most is the pressure of self-employment.

I question my decisions, wonder if I’m doing enough, if I’m using my time well, if I’m reaching my potential.

When I’m doubting myself, I sometimes look outward. I compare myself to other mediums, other authors. I wonder what more I might do if I were more outgoing, more comfortable in a crowd. I do this even though I know comparison is a trick of the mind and doesn’t lead anywhere useful.

I’ve wondered if this is just part of being self-employed. Maybe it’s another form of self-motivation. But even when I feel secure in my choices, the feeling of striving doesn’t fully lift.

I circle it constantly, talking it through with my therapist, my business coach, and most often with my wife, Rachel. On her advice, I decided to ask Mike about the pressure.

Right now, I’m winding down a mediumship mentorship with a group I’ve come to care about deeply. Our recent sessions have been full of conversations that stayed with me—premonitions, spirit communication, self-belief. And alongside the gratitude I feel for that space, something has been surfacing.

The sense that I may want to take a break from teaching.

I don’t mean to share that as an announcement, just as something I’m noticing in myself. A pull toward going deeper into one-on-one work for a while. This has been throwing me for a loop, because it may mean changing the way I’ve been doing things. My mind is screaming at me…will this mean more striving? More pressure?

So, back to my realization when I asked Mike about the pressure and whether it all feels worth it.

He didn’t hesitate and said:

“At least we’re not in a car dealership for ten hours a day with your grandfather asking us why we didn’t work on Sunday.”

That sentence landed heavy, and I felt myself wanting to fold around it. I let out a bitter laugh that softened and became genuine as Mike joined in. It brought me right back to the moment and to perspective.

How easily I had let my mind drift so far from where I came from that I forgot how much has changed.

The way things used to feel. What it was like to be in an environment where my time wasn’t my own, where the expectations were constant, and where I was often trying to force and fix things.

And realizing, almost in contrast, how different things are now. Not perfect, but mine, a life I’ve intentionally created.

That realization felt like something I didn’t want to rush past.

I’ve seen this moment so many times in readings. Someone hears something that really lands, and for a brief moment everything opens. They can see clearly. And then, just as quickly, they start questioning it, looking for more proof, pulling it apart—like a rubber band snapping back into doubt.

I can feel that same pull in myself and I don’t want to do that here.

I want to stay with what I already know. To trust myself and my own worthiness. To recognize how far I’ve come and how different things are now. And to honor the fact that I’m the one who made those changes.

Thanks for being here, and for reading.

With love,

Sheryl

P.S. Here are more ways to connect with me:

Buy a copy of my book 📚 or check out these free articles

Book a reading with me 🕊️

Last week I didn’t send a newsletter because I was in the middle of a DIY writing retreat. When I sat down to write to you this week, I was surprised by the force with which the phrase the retreat was successful tried to force its way to the front.

It’s hard for me to feel good about taking time away from work, even for something like writing a book. It brings up old beliefs around worthiness—needing to feel productive, helpful, practical. Wanting to make the most of the time, to have something to show for it. I notice the pull to validate my choice, and even to try to assert control over a creative process.

I find myself asking: how do I define the success of time off? And what would have made it a failure?

The book I’m writing is on mediumship development. It’s been five years since I published Uncovering Intuition, and I’m in a very different place in my life now.

When I wrote my first book, I had long stretches of time alone. I hadn’t met my wife yet, and the kids were moving between my house and their dad’s each week. It was the end of 2020, and I was rarely leaving the house. On the weeks I didn’t have the kids with me I could devote entire days to writing.

I knew this time would need to be different. I would have to build writing into my life in a new way.

Writing retreats always sound appealing to me because of the space they seem to offer. I’ve never gone on one, but I’d imagined myself taking long walks alone. Being away from the static energy of everyday life and decision making. Getting lost in the process, setting a timer to remind myself to eat and stretch. That satisfied feeling of having brought my internal world onto the page.

I started calling it a DIY writing retreat because I didn’t sign up for any program or go anywhere. Not wanting to put more pressure on myself by traveling or spending money. I decided, with the right preparation, I could simply stay home and write for three days.

So I let Rachel know what I was doing—that I would be focused solely on writing from 10:00 a.m. to 5:00 p.m. each day. I let my boys know I wouldn’t be available for calls during those hours, and let a handful of coaching clients know as well. I could feel how much mental space the pressure to respond to emails or be available would take up.

I debated taking Jubilee to daycare on those days, but decided against it. I get so much out of our morning walks, and driving to daycare would mean time in the car.

For the actual writing, I kept my expectations low. My inner creative needs to be coaxed out of her shell and seems to only feel comfortable when the focus is on the experience of writing, not the result. This is how I always get my best work—by convincing myself no one will read it, or that it doesn’t have to matter yet.

I set a goal of free writing on two subjects a day, with editing in the afternoons.

I took long walks in the morning and read after breakfast before getting started. I’ve been making my way through The History of Sound by Ben Shattuck, a gorgeous collection of short stories. I tried to avoid reading anything that would sweep me away from writing, and the break between stories helped with that.

My morning writing session ran from 10:00 a.m. to 1:30 p.m. Then I’d take Jubilee for another long walk, have lunch, and write again from 3:00 to 5:00 pm.

The writing itself surprised me. When I stopped trying to control it, I found myself writing about animal mediumship, clairaudience (hearing spirit), what it feels like to be inside a reading, and even what it’s like in the spirit world.

By the end of the three days, my total word count was around 33,000. That gave me a sense of accomplishment and satisfied that part of me that wants proof. But what felt most valuable was simply that this process had worked.

This way of writing, this kind of space—worked for me. I have a repeatable process. And even more exciting, the fact that I can feel the shape of the book now. Organizing chapters, rereading stories and exercises, I’ve begun to really see it coming together.

That’s the place I come to the cards for our collective reading this week—trying to be less focused on outcomes and more open to what unfolds. Befitting of this energy, I’ve reached for the Wild Unknown tarot deck by Kim Krans.

Here is our collective card reading:

(Scroll slowly if you don’t want to see the cards revealed before you choose.)

How this works: I invite you to take a slow, grounding breath and let your attention settle. When you’re ready, look at the three cards and notice which one, two, or three, you feel most drawn to. Trust your intuition. Then scroll below the photo to read the message connected to your card(s) and let it support you over the days and weeks ahead. As always, please take what resonates and leave the rest.

If you chose card 1:

Mother of Pentacles

The Mother of Pentacles is nurturing and generous, inviting you into a more grounded kind of self-care this week. She doesn’t rush, but builds a sense of stability through consistency and presence.

This can look like making your space more comfortable, feeding yourself well, and taking care of your body in ways that feel supportive rather than corrective. Letting things be simple.

Check in with your capacity for care. You might notice if you’re always the one giving, organizing, or holding things together, and gently begin to rebalance that. There may also be a desire to give back—to tend to the people who steadily support you.

This week, you might ask: What would it look like to care for myself in the same way I would naturally care for someone I love?

If you chose card 2:

The Emperor

The Emperor brings in a different kind of strength—steady, intentional, and rooted.

This isn’t about forcing your will or proving something. It’s about stepping into a leadership role in your own life, slowly and with clarity.

There’s an invitation here to protect your own best interests. To take yourself seriously and make decisions that support the life you’re building.

The Emperor leans on discernment. The analytical parts of you have a place here—not to override your intuition, but to support it, allowing your head and heart to work together.

There’s also a sense of responsibility in this card—not just for yourself, but for what and who you care about. Like strong roots beneath a tree, a living structure is forming that allows you to nourish others without losing yourself in the process.

So you might reflect: Where am I being asked to lead in my own life—and what would it look like to meet that with steadiness instead of urgency?

If you chose card 3:

Six of Pentacles

The Six of Pentacles asks us to notice the balance between giving and receiving—not just in our actions, but in our relationship to both.

When you give, is it from fullness, or from habit? From care, or from a sense of obligation?

And just as importantly—how do you receive?

Receiving can feel more vulnerable than giving. It can bring up questions around worth, independence, or whether it’s okay to be supported.

This card asks you to gently examine your relationship to self-sufficiency. Where has it served you—and where might it be keeping you from letting support in?

Balance here isn’t about perfect equality. It’s about honesty, and allowing the flow to move both ways.

So you might ask: Where am I overextending—and where am I being invited to receive?

Thanks for being here.

With love,

Sheryl

P.S. Applications are now open for my Professional Alignment group, a curated space for intuitive coaches, healers, mediums, tarot readers, therapists, and other one-on-one practitioners working in a spiritual way. You can learn more here or fill out the application here. I recommend applying soon as I’m currently assembling this small group.

And here are more ways to connect with me:

Buy a copy of my book 📚 or check out these free articles

Book a reading with me 🕊️

As a kid, I was easily distracted by figurative language. When someone said they had killed two birds with one stone, my imagination pictured the poor birds instead of the multitasking. I wondered if it was actually possible to fit my foot in my mouth (shoe or no shoe) rather than whether I should have spoken.

With time, these phrases become familiar, almost invisible. But the first time you hear them as a child, they set the imagination to work. And every spring—perhaps a New England favorite—we hear that March comes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb.

I wonder if I am alone in this, but I picture a lion arriving in a rush of wind and gray skies, mane wild, claws sharp, pacing across the cold early days of March. Then, slowly, almost imperceptibly, he begins to change. The mane softens, the claws retreat, his large body shrinks and rounds, his roar becomes something gentler. Fur begins to curl and lighten.

By the time this month ends, I’m left with a lamb in my mind, small and soft, blinking in the spring light.

Childhood daydreamers, can you relate? We were always paying attention, just maybe not outwardly.

And that’s where I sit today, smack in the middle of March. The lion is half lamb. Some unknown creature on a cold, dark, rainy almost-spring day.

When I sat with Spirit this morning, they asked if I was open to seeing a future version of myself—if I could resist the temptation to steep in longing for what is to come, for a transformation that hasn’t happened yet.

I may be a spiritual human, but the human side is strong. I do steep in longing. I glimpse future versions of myself and want them to be here right now. Very Veruca Salt. My foot itches to stamp.

The question brought me face to face with this in-betweenness—this half-formed stage of transformation—and illuminated how much my own expectations can steal the joy from the process.

To this, I hear a loving thought: let yourself be in process. And I try. I do try.

This is what I bring to the table this morning as I’m pulling cards from the Modern Witch Tarot Deck by Lisa Sterle.

But first, this is currently my favorite card in the deck…

Here is our collective card reading:

(Scroll slowly if you don’t want to see the cards revealed before you choose.)

How this works: I invite you to take a slow, grounding breath and let your attention settle. When you’re ready, look at the three cards and notice which one, two, or three, you feel most drawn to. Trust your intuition. Then scroll below the photo to read the message connected to your card(s) and let it support you over the days and weeks ahead. As always, please take what resonates and leave the rest.

If you chose card 1:

Six of Cups

The Six of Cups often brings warm memories, nostalgia, and the gentle pull of the past. Sometimes this card feels comforting, but it can also be a little uncomfortable. Nostalgia has a way of idealizing what once was, and when we linger there too long, we may unknowingly deny ourselves the joy that is available right now.

When this card appears, take a moment to notice what you’re remembering and why it holds such power. Is there a feeling from that time—simplicity, connection, creativity—that you’ve been longing to experience again? Rather than chasing the past itself, look for ways to invite that feeling into your present life. The Six of Cups reminds us that the essence of what we loved before can still be created again, sometimes in entirely new ways.

If you chose card 2:

The Hierophant

The Hierophant reminds us that wisdom moves in many directions. In every relationship or moment of exchange, we are both teachers and students. Each of us carries something worth sharing, and each of us has something to learn.

When this card appears, it may be asking you to consider how you participate in the flow of knowledge and guidance around you. Are you willing to share what you’ve learned through your own experience? Are you also open enough to recognize when someone else—perhaps in an unexpected place—has something to teach you?

The Hierophant may be urging you to seek out spaces where learning and sharing naturally occur. Joining a class, offering mentorship, asking thoughtful questions, or simply listening more deeply to the perspectives of others. Pay attention to the environments that encourage growth and reflection. Often, wisdom reveals itself through conversation, curiosity, and the willingness to show up as both guide and learner at the same time.

If you chose card 3:

Ace of Cups

The Ace of Cups often appears as a gift—an opening to emotional nourishment, renewal, and a deeper connection to love. Sometimes this offering arrives through another person, but just as often it is something that begins within us. I see this card as a reminder of the divine presence that flows through our emotional lives, inviting us to soften, open, and receive.

When this card appears, it can be helpful to first consider the state of your own cup. How full does it feel right now? Are you giving more than you are allowing yourself to receive? The Ace of Cups reminds us that true generosity begins with a willingness to refill ourselves. When our own well is tended, what we offer to others comes from a place of abundance rather than depletion.

Guidance from the Ace of Cups may involve returning to the simple practices that restore your emotional and spiritual energy. This might mean spending time in nature, allowing yourself moments of stillness, reconnecting with creative expression, or reaching toward the spaces of stillness where you feel closest to the divine. Pay attention to what helps your heart feel open and nourished. The more care you give to filling your own cup, the more naturally love and compassion will overflow into the world around you.

Next week I’ll be taking a short break from the newsletter as I attempt a bit of a DIY writing retreat. I’m hoping the change of pace will give me some space to focus on my book and spend a little more uninterrupted time with the work. I’ll share more about how it goes when I return.

Thanks for reading,

With Love,

Sheryl

P.S. Applications are now open for my Professional Alignment group, a curated space for intuitive coaches, healers, mediums, tarot readers, therapists, and other one-on-one practitioners working in a spiritual way. You can learn more here or fill out the application here. I recommend applying soon as I’m currently assembling this small group.

And here are more ways to connect with me:

Buy a copy of my book 📚 or check out these free articles

Book a reading with me 🕊️

It’s been about five months since I started a break from social media—meaning Instagram and Facebook. Every now and then someone asks me what I do with the extra time. I try not to analyze it too much; adding more pressure to be productive was not the reason for my break.

That said, I am writing a book about mediumship development. Sticking to a writing schedule of three hours per week has added up to about 15,000 words so far—a solid start.

But reading is by far the thing that fills my time the most. At the time I’m writing this, I’ve finished my 51st book of the year.

I’ve gone through periods of book binging since the summer after fifth grade when my uncle gifted me a trash bag full of Stephen King paperbacks. Books give my mind somewhere to go when I want a break, and that’s felt especially nourishing this year. I’m aware that I’m probably reading more than most people would consider reasonable, but if I’m being honest, of all the things a person can do too much of, reading feels like one of the least harmful.

This year my little rituals around books have changed too. For a long time I used to post what I was reading on Instagram—usually just a photo of a book I’d finished with a few thoughts.

Now that habit has moved somewhere else. I’ve started keeping a handwritten reading journal where I track the books I finish. I highlight titles, jot down ratings, and print the book covers onto sticker paper so I can place them on the page next to my notes.

This simple habit of creating a tiny book universe for myself is surprisingly satisfying. Watching the pages fill up with color, titles, and small impressions from each book feels much more grounding than watching them disappear into a story feed.

And I’m aware of the irony that I’m now sharing this offline habit here. But doesn’t a newsletter feel slightly different? I hope it feels slower—more like a conversation.

So before too much time goes by, I thought I’d share a short list of some of my favorite books from the year so far.

Favorite Books of the Year So Far

Is This a Cry for Help? by Emily Austin

This novel follows a grieving librarian returning to work after a breakdown. While the story deals with the complexities of grief, it’s also full of humor and warmth, and populated with characters I genuinely wanted to spend time with.

If you’re someone who enjoys stories about queer people finding themselves—and especially if those stories take place in and around libraries—there’s a good chance you’ll love this book.

This was the first Emily Austin novel I had read, and after finishing it, I immediately went back and read everything else she’s published.

One and Only by Maureen Goo

This was a really fun read. I went into it knowing almost nothing and ended up loving it.

The novel centers on a Korean American family in Los Angeles who, for generations, have had a supernatural gift: they can identify people’s soulmates. It’s the foundation of their matchmaking business, which comes with a one-hundred-percent guarantee.

It’s a romantic comedy with just enough mysticism woven in to make it feel special. There are complicated family dynamics, ancestors with supernatural abilities, family secrets, and happiness amongst the lingering presence of grief and loss.

These Heathens by Mia McKenzie

“Dear Lord, please forgive me for the sins I’ve committed and for the one I’m still planning to commit tomorrow. Amen.”

Seventeen-year-old Doris Steele arrives at the home of her favorite teacher seeking help obtaining an abortion in 1960s Georgia. The two travel to Atlanta for a weekend that ends up changing Doris’s life in ways she never expected.

There she meets celebrities she has only seen in the pages of Jet and Ebony, crossing paths with civil rights leaders like Coretta Scott King and Diane Nash, and discovering a vibrant queer community. Over the course of the weekend, Doris shifts from feeling scandalized by what she sees to feeling inspired about the life she might create for herself.

This is a really enjoyable book—funny and sharp, and very easy to get caught up in.

Trespasses by Louise Kennedy

This coming-of-age novel is set during the Troubles in Northern Ireland in the 1970s. The story centers on a young woman and a complicated affair, unfolding within a small mixed Catholic and Protestant community where daily life is punctuated by reports of violence.

This book completely swept me up—I finished it in a single day.

While the central relationship drives the narrative, the novel quietly explores much larger themes: religion, justice, family, community, and the way political conflict seeps into the most intimate corners of ordinary life. It’s a brilliant character study, full of tension and moral complexity.

The Barbecue at No. 9 by Jennie Godfrey

I hesitated to put this book on my list—not because I didn’t love it, but because I had to order it from the UK since it isn’t available in the United States yet. But my feeling is that if you’ve already read Jenny Godfrey’s The List of Suspicious Things (one of my all time favorites), you probably wouldn’t mind ordering this one too. And if you haven’t read it yet, you can easily start there.

For the record, I think I liked The List of Suspicious Things just slightly more than this one—which is saying a lot, because The Barbecue at No. 9 was still a five-star read for me.

Jennie’s second novel centers around a small neighborhood in Northern England in 1985 during a community barbecue taking place while Live Aid is being broadcast. I recommend getting the physical copy if you can—it includes a helpful map of the neighborhood that makes following the story even more enjoyable.

This is very much a character study: strangers coming together, secrets slowly revealed, and unexpected bonds forming. There’s also a subtle thread of mystery running through the story.

I loved everything about this book and am already thinking about rereading it. Jennie Godfrey has a way of writing about characters—especially children and young adults—that really speaks to me.

Adrift by Will Dean

This dark psychological thriller follows a couple and their young son who move onto an isolated canal boat. As Drew becomes increasingly frustrated by his wife’s sudden writing success, he begins steering their life—quite literally—farther and farther away from civilization.

This book is excellently written. I was completely immersed in the story and carried a constant sense of dread while reading it.

At three quarters of the way through, I skipped ahead and read the final chapter just so I could break the tension and keep going—which is something I never do.

The novel captures emotional abuse and gaslighting with unsettling accuracy. Some scenes were genuinely difficult to read because the characters felt so real and the dynamics so believable.

This is definitely one of those books that lingers in your mind after you finish it. Because of the intensity, though, it may not be for everyone.

Lost Lambs by Madeline Cash

This is a quirky novel centered around a dysfunctional family. The parents are unhappily experimenting with an open marriage and three young daughters spiraling through their own forms of chaos.

As the story unfolds, the plot takes on a slightly fantastical edge, but I was completely invested in what the author was doing and the points she was making along the way.

One thing I especially loved is that every woman in the book—even the youngest daughter, who is still in elementary school—has a strong point of view and isn’t afraid to say exactly what she wants. The characters are flawed and messy in ways that feel refreshing rather than exhausting. This is not a light book, but I laughed out loud several times.

A great weird book for people who love weird books.

The Buffalo Hunter Hunter by Stephen Graham Jones

“What I am is the Indian who can’t die. I’m the worst dream America ever had.”

This book sits in a strange and compelling space between horror and historical fiction. It probably requires just about every trigger warning you can imagine. It is not exactly fun or enjoyable to read. Words like enthralling, mesmerizing, and brutal come to mind.

The most intricately plotted vampire novel I’ve ever read. The true horror comes from being rooted in the real historical violence of genocide. Before reading this, I had never heard of the 1870 Marias Massacre, which is a major plot point.

I finished this book a couple of months ago, and I’m still thinking about it. I suspect I will be for a long time.

What have you been reading lately?

If you’ve come across a book you loved this year, I’d genuinely enjoy hearing about it.

With love,

Sheryl

P.S. Here are more ways to connect with me:

Buy a copy of my book 📚 or check out these free articles

Book a reading with me 🕊️

We had the first warm day in months here in Massachusetts—a sign that the elusive false spring is around the corner. If you’ve lived in New England, you know what I mean. A week of sunshine and fifty-degree temperatures that brings a kind of elation and has us wondering whether we’ve all been quietly negotiating with seasonal affective disorder. How else could a few hours of warmth change our entire outlook?

Soon enough, we’ll dip back into bitter cold. Maybe even a snowstorm. As if nature is saying, hang in there just a little longer. Spring is near.

The intermittent squawks from the ravens who live in the cell tower behind our townhouse will soon be joined by a fuller chorus of birdsong. I’ve noticed that I can almost decode my own mood by which birds I’m paying attention to. They seem to mirror something in me.

I have always loved ravens. Coincidentally (haha), when I was a kid we lived on Raven Road. I was enamored with Maleficent’s raven accomplice in Sleeping Beauty, “Go, and do not fail me.” And if you’ve been here for a while, you might remember that our dog Jubilee is named after one of the ravens at the Tower of London who followed me around and even brought me a stick.

But the first time I remember being fascinated by ravens was in religious school, hearing the story of Noah’s Ark. After forty days at sea, Noah sends out a raven to search for dry land. When it doesn’t return, he sends a dove. And then another dove, who finally comes back with an olive branch—evidence that life is beginning again.

My child’s mind assumed the raven had simply taken off. Too clever to be used by a human so willing to replace him as a messenger. I once had a dog like that—never fully trusting that, if given the chance, he wouldn’t wander off and start a new life. Some beings don’t belong to us. They coexist beside us. Like the ravens outside my window. And maybe that’s what I’ve always loved about them.

Today, I pulled cards from The Bird Kin deck for our collective reading. It feels fitting this time of year—when we are between seasons, listening for signs, watching the sky, noticing what is stirring.

Let’s see which bird is calling our attention this week.

Here is our collective card reading:

(Scroll slowly if you don’t want to see the cards revealed before you choose.)

How this works: I invite you to take a slow, grounding breath and let your attention settle. When you’re ready, look at the three cards and notice which one, two, or three, you feel most drawn to. Trust your intuition. Then scroll below the photo to read the message connected to your card(s) and let it support you over the days and weeks ahead. As always, please take what resonates and leave the rest.

If you chose card 1:

Blue Jay

The blue jay is intelligent, vocal, and deeply attuned to the well-being of its group. Jays do not shrink for the comfort of others. They call, signal, and make their presence known.

If this card is finding us now, it may be asking: Where have you been quieter than you need to be?

The blue jay reminds us that speaking up is not aggression—it is participation. In the wild, their calls alert others to danger. They even mimic hawks when necessary, creating protection through sound.

This week, notice where your voice could serve the greater good. Not from reactivity, but from clarity.

Blue jays also prioritize family and the strength of the group. There may be something here about community—about remembering that you are not meant to do everything alone. Intelligence shared becomes wisdom. Protection shared becomes safety.

Sometimes the squeaky wheel gets the oil, and sometimes the clear call keeps the flock alive.

Let your voice be clear and timely. And let it support what matters to you.

If you chose card 2:

Woodpecker

I often hear woodpeckers before I see their tiny bodies snaking along tree trunks. These birds do not strike once and walk away. They return to the same place again and again, trusting that what they seek is beneath the surface.

When a woodpecker appears, it may be asking you: What are you working toward that requires steady, repeated effort? Not frantic action or force, but rhythm.

Woodpeckers are built for impact—a stabilizing tail, two toes forward and two back for grip, a thick skull, and strong neck muscles acting as shock absorbers. Everything about their design supports sustained effort.

Consider the structures that support your persistence, the boundaries that stabilize you, and the practices that strengthen you.

Woodpecker energy reminds us that progress is often incremental. The hollow inside the tree does not appear all at once. It is revealed through repetition.

If something in your life requires patience, trust the process. Keep showing up. Adjust your stance if needed, and protect your energy while you work.

Remember that breakthroughs are often carved quietly, one strike at a time.

If you chose card 3:

Peacock

The peacock has a reputation for showing off. Its plumage is so striking that “peacocking” has become a verb—a way of describing someone who draws attention to themselves.

And yet, this display is not accidental. It is how the bird is built. The feathers are not decoration added on top, but part of its design.

When a peacock feather appears, it may be inviting you to examine your relationship with visibility.

Where are you dimming yourself to avoid being misunderstood? Where are you holding back your gifts because you worry they will be perceived as too much?

Peacocks are highly social birds. When they feel safe, they can be affectionate and engaging. Under stress, they may react quickly or dramatically. There is something here about environment. Confidence flourishes in spaces where we feel secure.

This card may be less about ego and more about permission. Permission to take up space in the ways that are natural to you.

Permission to let your work, your voice, and your ideas be seen.

Thanks for being here.

With Love,

Sheryl

P.S. Here are more ways to connect with me:

Buy a copy of my book 📚 or check out these free articles

Book a reading with me 🕊️

I’m writing to you today from behind snow-covered windows. A blizzard is taking its time moving through Massachusetts, and the world outside continues to disappear from my view. As a kid who grew up loving snow days, it makes me want to call off work and stay in my pajamas. But then I’d fall further behind on my book—and who am I kidding, my writing clothes are yoga pants and a comfy sweater, so here we are.

I’ve been working on a book about mediumship development since the beginning of the year, and today is the first time I’ve felt moved to share some of that writing with you.

Books start with hope, and my greatest hope for this one is that it offers clarity by naming and answering the questions about mediumship people genuinely ask—and sometimes feel embarrassed to say out loud.

Over the years I’ve been asked things like:

Are my spirit guides trying to trick me? No. Never.

What if I don’t know the name of my guide? I bet you do, or you will if you listen in the stillness.

Can my guides see me when I’m in the shower or having sex? Maybe, but in a neutral way, just like the stars can see you.

Before we worry about the details of the relationship, let’s begin at the beginning. The foundation of any relationship with spirit is awareness.

Especially for highly intuitive people, there is often a baseline of knowing about situations that is easy to dismiss. We may not have evidence for what we just know. And we were likely taught not to be so sensitive. Still, we notice problems where others don’t—when the energy feels off.

We have been shown the value of measurable information: here is the method, here is the data, here is the graph.

But intuitive knowing offers no such measurement.

The more often we dismiss that knowing, the more elusive it can begin to feel. The words may not form, like trying to remember the details of a dream before it fades. And yet, the knowing is still there.

If we dismiss what we know, we make it harder to tune into anything deeper. We override the very mechanism that allows us to perceive.

This is especially true in spirit communication.

Here is something I know about spirit people: they share three things about themselves right away, and those three things are always true. Whatever nuance or interpretation may exist in spirit communication, those first impressions do not change.

They do not always share their name, birthdate, and cause of death as these first three things.

There was a time, early in my development, when I wished that were the case. But that would be unnatural. In any communication, we experience essence first.

I may feel someone as kind, fatherly, and proud. Or warm, with an infectious laugh and generous spirit. The essence arrives before the details.

When I’m coaching a developing medium and they feel stuck—“I’m not getting anything”—I encourage them to pause, take a breath, settle their awareness back to spirit, and begin with what they just know.

The results always amaze them.

We know so much that we imagine isn’t good enough. But the essence of a person opens the door to everything else.

This is the same method I recommend when communicating with your spirit team. Start with what you already know, and allow that to unfold.

Now, here are three things I know about spirit guides:

We all have them.

They are infinitely wise and loving.

They have our best interests at heart and do not judge us.

What you call them is not important—guides, inspirers, angels, loved ones. Your relationship with your spirit team is personal. We don’t need to bring any doubts or self-consciousness to it. It is quite literally between you and God, and your willingness to participate in it is what deepens it.

Consider how many souls have lived. How many lives were fully experienced. How many prayers were whispered, hearts broken, lessons learned, art created, risks taken, wisdom gained. The spirit world is not scarce. There is nothing you have lived through that has not also been lived by another—your highest highs and your lowest lows. You have never been alone in it.

Your guides may present themselves in ways you can understand and accept. The help you receive will conform to your capacity to recognize it.

You do not need to invent a story or decorate the connection with details that satisfy your human personality. But if it is your wish, open your heart. Find a thread to pull. And return to it each day.

Read these questions slowly and notice what arises:

• What are your spirit guides helping you with in this life?

• What word describes the feeling you get when they are near?

• What word describes their personality?

• What symbol represents your relationship with them?

• What activities bring you closer together?

Start by noticing and trusting what you already know.

Thanks for being here.

With Love,

Sheryl

P.S. Here are more ways to connect with me:

Buy a copy of my book 📚 or check out these free articles

Book a reading with me 🕊️