Maybe it’s because of September, and I feel the frenetic energy of kids returning to school, but I find myself reminiscing on my kids' school years and even my own. I remember posing the kids on the front steps with our dogs, who are both now in spirit. I recall the relief or dread at finding out who their teachers are. The intensity with which my heart filled with hope and the desire to keep them safe. I wonder how, when things seemed to move so excruciatingly slow, has it all gone by so fast? Like Gretchen Rubin says, “The days are long, but the years are short.”
Last week, my youngest son, who is still in high school, kissed me goodbye on the first day, and I chose not to ruin the moment by asking for a photo. On the advice of my wife, I resisted the urge to say, “You look so cute,” and instead, as rehearsed, told him, “You look great!”
I then regretted not having a photo and texted his Dad a detailed description of how he looked as he left. His voluminous hair defied the laws of gravity, he was wearing a new black t-shirt and silver chain he bought with the money he earned doing oil changes this summer. At seventeen, I don’t know enough about his daily life to worry over the details. He gets his own schedule and manages his own relationships. I feel lucky to have frequent updates and a kiss goodbye.
It amazes me how elusive some memories are and how some are stubbornly unshakable, ready to gut-punch you at a moment's notice.
I remember the feeling of my own school years past. The first day like cracking open a carefully chosen book you have high hopes for. The feeling of slipping on new socks, filling the pocket of a backpack with unused pencils, and vowing to be somehow new and different. To come prepared for class—and life. I remember walking to school, arms crossed across my chest, my body tensed with the idea that I could somehow avoid mistakes and conflicts of any kind. This year I will be good. Hoping to be chosen by my peers and respected by my teachers.
I went through my school years with undiagnosed ADHD, which allowed me brief moments of success and plenty of struggle. I was a strong starter, but by late fall, I had no control. All organizational attempts were lost along with my new pencils. One of my biggest challenges, I could not keep hold of writing utensils to save my life, an executive functioning skill that took decades to build.
This September, I’m dedicated to teaching a bunch of new classes. The Mediumship Membership has grown and welcomed new members. One of the most exciting for me is a new mediumship group coaching mentorship class I’m teaching.
I have been debating for some time what to do about the growing waitlist for coaching clients and decided to create a small group cohort. I offered it only to the waitlist, and it filled up within four hours. I paced excitedly around my house, watching the signups come in. Am I worthy of this response? Will I be good enough?
Then feeling the overwhelming sense of responsibility. How will I make everyone feel welcome? It’s particularly important in mediumship to create a sense of belonging. So often, mediums, intuitive folks, and highly sensitive people have gone a lifetime of feeling like they don’t belong. Picking up on the energy of the unseen world, noticing problems where others don’t. Loneliness is a common denominator among myself and many colleagues and students.
In the past, when I have joined groups, I have desperately wanted to be seen by other people for who I really was. I was chasing a sense of belonging. Forgetting I belonged first to myself.
On the first day of class, I tell my group not to give their power away, to remember they are, first and foremost, their own guide, teacher, and friend. They are supported by an infinitely loving and wise spirit team, and nothing they will ever do or say will take that love and belonging away.
Mediumship really is like the opposite of loneliness. Over time, you become keenly aware that you are never alone. As I write this, I feel a guiding hand on my shoulder just above my collarbone, urging me to remind you that it’s not just in mediumship.
None of us are alone, especially in the moments when we are engaging with life. The spirit world is with us when we are writing a newsletter, walking to school, bracing ourselves for failure, or being amazed at our successes.
And there is nothing you could ever do or say to make them love you any less.
With love,
Sheryl
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I did NOT expect to cry listening to this as I was stir frying my dinner. Sheryl, you are a gift. Thank you for bringing me back home.