Becoming a professional psychic isn’t a straight path—it’s a deeply personal, often risky journey that brings every crack in your emotional armor to the surface. For me, the biggest hurdle wasn’t the work itself—it was being seen.
In the beginning, I was content to stay in my small, converted from a barn home, giving private readings. It started in 1975 when my title insurance agent—who was also into astrology and aspiring to be a psychic—began bringing people to me. One day, a client looked around and said, “What a sweet home.” I smiled. It felt good to be seen kindly.
But a few months later, another woman came in and said, “This is all you have? I’m surprised—you’re such a great psychic.” A little piece of Brooklyn rose up in me. “Who are you to judge?” I thought. But deeper than that, her comment triggered a flood of old wounds and traumas. I didn’t understand it at the time, but it was a message: stay neutral. No judgment—either way. My home was still mine, whether people liked it or not. That was a powerful lesson.
Parallel to that, I was being asked to speak in public more and more. I hated it. The word “hate” doesn’t even cut it—it was terror. The first time I agreed was because a student of mine, who was also a high school teacher, invited me to speak to his class. I couldn’t say no to him—he was genuine, thoughtful, and striving to know himself better.
To cope, I did what I was most comfortable with: I demonstrated energy fields using applied kinesiology, something I had learned from Dr.George Goodheart—an incredibly kind man who even gave me space to share my essential oils at his workshops. I didn’t do readings in public. I believed it was unfair; something private might be revealed, and I respected people’s privacy too much for that.
But then came the test. Before I left, the teacher handed me an envelope and asked, “Can you guess what’s in here?” I froze. I just wanted to leave. But then I heard Ezekiel’s voice in my mind—the spiritual guide I often spoke to—reminding me: “Everything matters.”
So I opened up. I said whatever came believing it was simply my thought, “Get me out of here” and he laughed. “Those are the exact words that I said when they tried to draft me.” Inside the envelope was his draft card.
Moments like this taught me that being a psychic in public meant releasing my need for approval. I used music and visualization to retrain my brain, using early “super learning” techniques that helped integrate both hemispheres of my brain. I didn’t know it at the time, but all of it was helping me get clearer, sharper—more in tune.
It also brought up old pain—wounds, anger, and grief—but those emotions pushed me forward. They got me writing. They helped me differentiate fear from truth, imagination from intuition. What we now call “remote viewing” was something I had experienced since childhood. Many of us have—it’s not just the gifted few. Babies, animals, we all feel that connection.
Working as a professional psychic shifted me into a space where people project expectations and judgments. To truly do this work, I had to let go of all concern about how I was seen—whether praised or rejected. I had to feel at home in myself.
This path isn’t for the faint of heart, but it is for the brave-hearted. Not because you have to be fearless—because you’re willing to face fear, release the need for approval, and live your truth anyway.
On any path of personal growth, we’re invited to embrace vulnerability. We don’t have to wait until we feel “ready” to step into our gifts. Our worth isn’t measured by someone else’s reaction. And fear can be a guide. Sometimes it’s the doorway to the breakthrough you’ve been asking for.
There are both inner and outer tools that can support you, and they’re easier to access than you might think. You can use visualization with music to drop into a deeper state of focus and clarity. You can explore how your energy interacts with others, and what changes when you soften, strengthen, or simply get still. Daily grounding practices help you stay connected to your inner home. Writing and drawing your emotional reactions can also be surprisingly powerful, especially when you give yourself space to notice the pattern or thread it’s trying to reveal.
A few tools I personally use include binaural beats (I use the Moongate app), and frequency support like a Schumann resonance machine. The Royal Rife Frequency Machine can cost several thousand dollars, but a simple sine wave machine is less exacting, often around $30, and it’s plenty for most concerns. I also love toning bowls, dancing, singing, and learning anything I’m genuinely curious about—because curiosity has a way of opening doors that effort alone can’t.
And the most important tools are the inner ones. I share those in a detailed, step-by-step way in my books, with exercises pulled directly from my own experience of learning how to stand in public, in my truth, without apology.
In the light of loving life,
Nancy
