Growing up I didn’t know I was psychic. I thought everyone saw the world the way I did way… boy, was I wrong. I remember being in the second grade at Catholic School when I first realized something was going on. I was sitting at my little school desk hearing my teacher, Sister Jean, sobbing and crying, even though at that moment she wasn't. Yet, I also knew why she was crying and that everything was going to be okay. So, I took a deep breath and walked up to her desk without asking permission, which was a big no-no. When we locked eyes, and before she could start scolding me, I calmly told her: “It's okay. There’s no need to cry. Sister Marie is going to be okay. She’s going to be fine.” The towering nun looked down at me like I was Damien or something and told me to sit down. The moment I got back to my desk, Mother Superior started tapping on the microphone of the PA system. When she started to talk, I felt Sister Jean’s piercing eyes. Mother Superior asked for a moment of silent prayer for Sister Marie, who had just been rushed to the hospital. Apparently, it was very serious, but after a week, Sister Marie made a full recovery.
Needless to say, that’s when I first kind of realized I saw the world differently – not to mention having Sister Jean sprinkle Holy Water on me while in line genuflecting to the sound of her clicker. There were also a few times I basically horrified my parents as a child - when I’d walk up to complete strangers, to tell them stuff I knew they needed to know. Those moments didn’t go over very well, especially in my family. I didn’t know I wasn’t supposed to do that kind of thing. Instances like that growing up actually taught me to squash and not use “my gifts.” It wasn’t until after graduating college that I started to understand exactly what my gifts were all about.
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