THE HEALING BUTTERFLY.ORG
WITH THE LIGHT ✶ BY THE LIGHT ✶ FOR THE LIGHT
Being A Psychic Child
She knew it was odd. That she wasn't like the other kids and that nothing about this was "normal" yet it was what would happen with her. She was only 4 or 5 years old... Adults would come to her to hear about themselves. She would sit in a chair and the adults would be on the floor, sometimes 10 rows deep. Taking turns hearing what she had to say about them. What were the messages? She would look out the window at the other kids, playing. They never did this with those kids, not any of them. Just her. She knew why. The other kids were'n't like her one bit, aside from being in little bodies, they were not the same. It was very, very rare that she would meet someone like her. And when she did, they were usually really, scared and shy. She wasn't like that. She liked talking to anyone. She liked it when they listened.
But she began as she got older, to see things more clearly.
They heard her words but they didn't listen.
Only a couple of times someone would listen and follow her messages, but for the most part people were fascinated that she knew what she knew. She realized that most people will not listen. She was completely ignored. She realized that people used her for entertainment.
Then ignored her.
One day, about 2-3 years after giving messages-there was another party, where the adults would want to talk to her for hours, and it could be hours if there were a lot of people. She walked in, and saw the room they had set up for her. A big chair, big pillows, and lots of them on the floor so the adults could sit too. She didn't smile. She didn't get excited. "What's wrong?" The host of the party said, looking around the room trying to figure out what could be the problem.
"I'm so sorry, I hate that you went to all of this trouble for me-" Vanessa said. The host interrupts her, "OH! It's not rouble, we have so many people coming and they are excited to be with you!" "Well, that's the thing...I don't get messages anymore." "What do you mean, child?" The Host said.
"I don't hear them. The Angeles don't whisper anymore. I don't hear the messages any more." Vanessa said. "You mean you're not psychic anymore? Is that possible?" The host said Vanessa just starred at the woman. "I don't know. Maybe? I guess?" She said. "This is such a shame. Oh I'm sure it's not your fault. I guess it happens right?" The woman said but she was obviously unhappy. "I'm so sorry you went to all of this trouble, I don't want to disappoint people, but I can't pretend I get messages, I just don't anymore. It's been very quiet."
"Of course not my dear, I understand. They will understand." As she looked through the house to the very back, where the pool was, and all of the normal kids were playing and screaming and being kids. She walked past people who were ready to begin with her, Vanessa-the Psychic Child. "Are you coming right back?" One of them asked her. "No. I'm sorry. She would let the adults explain. I'll never come back. She thought to herself. And there's nothing they can do about it. The car ride there was not pleasant one. "You know Vanessa, try not to give people such bad news all of the time!" Her mother strongly suggested in the car on the way to the party. "I've told all of you, I do not control what comes. They get messages, I just give them to them, I don't know what I'm talking about or care most of the time. But I say what I'm supposed to say. I can't make it something it's not."
"Just TRY to make it nicer so people will WANT to hear what you say, that's all I'm saying. Don't tell them the things they don't want to hear, that upsets them, and I know you know when they won't want to hear something."
Vanessa didn't see the point in that at all.
So, as she stood there on that hot summer day thinking of looking out at the adult faces that just wanted to feed off of her energy in that room, asking question after question and then arguing with her, and debating, and over and over, or getting excited, and then not listening, or acting like they will actually listen, but not.
She didn't care to spend another minute doing that with any of them. Maybe if people actually cared and paid attention to her she wouldn't mind it so much, but that wasn't the case.
She wanted to be NORMAL.
To be a kid, to do kid things at a party on a summer day. She wanted to swim. So she did, and she did disappoint all of the adults. They wanted to hear her, but not listen and she said to herself, "NO MORE" Especially when her mother was going to dictate what she says. "No more wasting OUR TIME with people who just use us. I want to forget about all of it!" She didn't even like thinking about it. It felt wrong not to tell people what she knew but it was so frustrating, and no one understood what it was like to be her and the other kids didn't get it, and it made life hard. Harder than it had to be. Eventually her mother didn't talk about how that one woman went through all of that trouble, or how everyone was so disappointed and how embarrassed she was, she just stopped and people just stopped asking.
And she even REALLY forgot how Angels talked to her and gave her messages for other people. And that entire time period of her life for a very long time.
But she always knew she was different...
Even if she wasn't in a room full of adults, and forgot all about that for a long time, it always felt like she was always out of place, and always half here and half somewhere else she couldn't identify but wasn't connected except for in different ways here and there. She visited her mother's family in Colombia when she was 9, a couple of years after she stopped giving messages, and that part of her felt far away but her Grandfather was a Parapsychologist.
She worked with him with different methods of psychic abilities. It was the first time she worked with a Pendulum,
being Hypnotized, Channeling and Remote Viewing & Astral Projection. Unfortunately, she wasn't able to work with him very much, but he did teach her that she was definitely a different little girl...
And that stayed with her always.