I forget where I am - but Spirit still walks with me

There are days when I forget I’m a psychic.
When I forget that I’m a medium, a healer, a guide.
And strangely?
Sometimes, I don’t mind forgetting.

In this quiet, human reflection, I share what it means to step outside the role — to just be. 
​Spirit doesn’t disappear in these moments; it simply waits, gently, until I return.



​There are days when I just want to move through the world without thinking about where I’ve been, where I’m going, or what’s waiting around the bend.
Days when I want to quiet the channel, ignore the signals, and just breathe like a “normal” person might.
Sometimes, forgetting feels peaceful.
​
But Spirit never forgets.

And neither do the souls—living and passed—who find their way to my door.

Before the world changed, I had a lifelong dream come true.
I opened my own metaphysical shop.
It was more than a place of business—it was a sacred, welcoming space where people gathered to browse tarot decks and crystals, sit quietly with a book, ask deep questions, and explore the unseen. It was a place of connection, conversation, and quiet discovery.
I did readings there, yes, but my heart was in the whole of it—the atmosphere, the energy, the community.

My beloved Olde English Bulldogge, Roy, was my steady companion through all of it.
He was there as I unpacked boxes, painted walls, set up shelves, and welcomed my first customers. He was the heart of the shop—the soul who kept me grounded and smiling through every long day and every magical conversation.
Roy was a bigger part of that dream than most people ever knew.
My chats with Roy came from my core.
They were my meditations come alive.
I would talk to him, and shortly after, I would hear “his” guidance.
We built a dream together.

Then came COVID.

The pandemic took my shop.

I had to close its doors—temporarily, I told myself at first, and then, finally, completely.
It broke my heart in ways I’m still healing from.
But through it all—every tear, every box packed, every last goodbye—Roy was there.
Right by my side, loyal and watchful, just like always.

It wasn’t much later that my beloved Mr. Roy left me.
He passed about a year and a half ago, from a heart condition he was born with.
Even though I had known our time was limited, nothing prepared me for the silence he left behind.
Losing him was like losing a piece of myself.
He had been with me through everything—the creation of my dream, and the loss of it.
And when he passed, it was as if that chapter of my life truly came to a close.

But then, without fanfare, Spirit sent me Astrid.

A mix of Boston Terrier, English Bulldogge, and French Bulldogge, Astrid arrived in my life like a tiny beam of light wrapped in fur.
I hadn’t planned to get another dog.
I honestly didn’t think I could—not after Roy. My heart didn’t feel ready.

But Spirit knew better.

Astrid came into my life as a gift—a message, really.
A living reminder that while I spend my life offering healing, hope, and messages to others,
Spirit still sees me, too.
Still knows what I need.
Still remembers that I, too, am human. I, too, grieve. I, too, long for signs.

Astrid is one of those signs.

She reminds me that I am loved.
That joy returns.
That Spirit never leaves us empty.
She is not Roy, but she walks beside him in a way I cannot explain—two spirits, one following the other, guiding me on.

Today, I no longer have a shop.
What I have now is a deeply personal practice.
One-on-one sessions where I sit with people—sometimes strangers, sometimes kindred souls—and listen for what Spirit wants them to know.
And over these past years, something beautiful has become more and more clear:
Spirit doesn’t just use my “clairs.”
Spirit uses everything.
Images.
Feelings.
Cards.
Animals.
Conversations.
Signs.

There are signs that continue to push me forward—through the rolling fog that sometimes clouds my trust in my own purpose.

Messages that draw me inward even as they open me to the outer worlds.

Lately, I’ve found myself reflecting—not on what I can’t do, but on what I’ve simply stopped doing.
I wasn’t sitting in meditation as often.
I wasn’t talking to Roy anymore.
I wasn’t listening for the answers, or trying to follow the path.
At least, not in the way I once had.

And here’s the truth:
​
I can’t always explain what I see without my voice trembling.
I can’t stop my heart from racing before each session begins.
I can’t hold back tears when a loved one says, “Tell them I’m still with them.”
I can’t stop the ache when Spirit shows me how someone passed.
If they smoked, I cough.
If they suffered, I feel it—just for a moment.
If it mattered to them, it matters to me.
I can’t always turn it off—but I’m learning how to gently dim the light when I need to rest.
I can’t always find the perfect words—but the cards and the signs always seem to speak when I cannot.
I can’t stop yearning to be better—but I’m learning that being honest and present is often more powerful than being “right.”
And I can’t stop dreaming of reopening my shop someday.
Even though I’ve grown, changed, and evolved, that space still lives inside me--
and maybe, one day, it will live again.

This path is not the one I planned.
But it’s the one I belong to.
And when I forget who I am, Spirit gently reminds me--
Through a card.
Through a sign.
Through a stranger.
Through a session.
Through a dog.

If you feel called to reconnect with your own path, receive messages from those who love you, or find healing in the spaces between what’s seen and unseen, I invite you to sit with me.
Sometimes we forget where we are.
But Spirit never forgets.
With love and light,
Jennifer Belanger
Intuitive Practitioner
www.energytouchintuition.com

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