The moment I knew I was intuitive

I don’t think there was one big lightning-bolt moment. It was more like a slow remembering. Like something that had always been there, just waiting for me to notice.

When I was a kid, I used to see people in my room at night. Not in dreams — like, really see them. They didn’t do anything. They were just there. Standing, watching. I never felt scared. I just accepted it. Like, “Okay. So that’s happening.”

I’d also hear this loud, roaring sound before falling asleep. Not outside — in my head. Like a storm was building. I couldn’t explain it then and I still can’t now. But it always felt like… something was shifting.

And then the dreams. Big ones. Repeating most nights. War time, tanks, instead of people daisys in each window, train crashes, smoke and fire. I didn’t know what they meant, but i felt that dream. Decades later I found out someone in my family had died in a train accident. I’d never been told that story. But somehow, I knew.

Other stuff happened too. I used to float above my school in dreams — flying, looking down, totally normal to me. I never talked about any of this, I just carried it. Quietly. Like something I didn’t fully understand but knew was there.

Now, I’m trying to return to that space. Not the polished, filtered version of intuition everyone posts about. Not the love-and-light all day or perfect rituals. But the real part. The raw, private, sometimes silent connection that doesn’t need anyone’s stamp of approval.

Honestly? Sometimes I feel invisible. Like I’m not loud or shiny or marketable enough to be seen in this space. But I always come back to this:

Whatever this gift is — it was never about performance.

It’s about trust.

It’s about remembering.

It’s about showing up with honesty and care.

And if anything in this sounds familiar — if you’ve ever felt like there’s something right under the surface of your life, quietly waiting for you to notice — let me say this:

It’s still there.

You didn’t miss it.

You’re not too late.

It’s okay if your path has been weird or hard or not what you expected.

Mine has been too.

But whatever lives in you — that quiet pull, that knowing — it hasn’t left you.

It’s still here.

And maybe today, we don’t need to prove or fix anything.

Maybe it’s enough to just slow down for a minute and listen in.

Even just a little.

You're not alone in this.

You never were.

And you were never supposed to follow the noise.

You came here to remember.