Spiritual Journey Stories

I don’t even know who I am. I’ve been broken. I’ve only ever wanted to be accepted. I’ve changed myself to fit in so many times but never feel comfortable in my own skin. Who am I? The trauma plays in my head over and over. Is that who I really am? Am I the weird girl who’s been abused and discarded? Does anyone even care about me or what I been through? When I speak about my trauma I get disregarded because “I put myself in that situation” but I was young and dum and naïve. No one tried to help no one pointed me in the right direction I was lost and still am. I should’ve let him kill me when I had the chance

At 26 years old, I find myself wandering through a labyrinth of ideologies that pit spirituality against organized religion; it’s as bewildering as trying to navigate a dense fog with no clear path ahead. A few weeks ago, I attended a church service that was supposed to be uplifting—the pastor eloquently spoke about love, grace, and the importance of community. I expected to feel enlightened, but instead, I dragged myself home feeling empty. I remember thinking, “Is this it? Is this what faith is supposed to feel like?” Similarly, on another day, I swayed to the rhythms of a local spiritual gathering that promised enlightenment through meditation and collective energy. People were chanting and holding hands, seeking connections beyond the physical. I wanted to feel that current of cosmic energy flowing through me, but instead, I was plagued by the nagging thought: “What if all of this is just a placebo effect?” It’s frustrating to oscillate between these two worlds—each with its proponents vigorously asserting their narratives while dismissing the other’s merit. A good friend once remarked, “Being religious means believing in something, whereas being spiritual means believing in everything,” which left me more puzzled than ever. Is it possible that these categories are merely constructs that serve to confine the vastness of human experience? Honestly, I don’t know; the ambiguity is suffocating. Just the other night, I sat cross-legged on my bedroom floor, surrounded by a hodgepodge of religious texts and spiritual books, feeling like I was compiling a thesis on a subject I barely understood. I skimmed some passages—Buddha’s teachings on mindfulness contrasted starkly with the heavy doctrines of the Catholic faith; one promised inner peace, the other eternal salvation. It's like choosing between two different types of refuge, both equally enticing yet fundamentally distinct. One may claim, “Follow your personal truth,” but what if your truth is yet to be discovered or, worse, fabricated? ✨

Why is it so difficult to harmonize these beliefs? In the pursuit of clarity, I’ve engaged in endless debates with friends who identify as yogis or fundamentalists; they each argue fiercely for their path, yet here I am, stuck in a perpetual limbo. One afternoon, I found myself in a particularly disconcerting conversation with a devout Muslim woman who discussed the beauty of prayer and community while I could not help but admire her dedication yet felt a pang of longing for the fluidity of spirituality that evades rigid structures. Is a structured belief system inherently restrictive? Or does it provide guidance where spirituality assumes an almost abstract, chaotic essence? I frequently ponder if these traditions are mere vessels of cultural heritage, and how absurd is it that instead of embracing the richness of diverse practices, I find myself shackled in indecision? I often wonder if faith is merely an escapade into the unknown, shrouded in the allure of transcendence but ultimately leading us back to the same existential questions: What is our purpose? What happens when we die?

As I exercise my cognitive faculties to decode the meanings of ‘spirituality’ versus ‘religion,' I can’t shake off the dire feeling that I’m constructing a metaphysical house of cards that could collapse with just the slightest breeze of doubt. “Why do I have to choose when possibly it’s all just an intricate tapestry of beliefs?” I silently scream to the universe, hoping for an answer that never comes. I turn to books, podcasts, and online courses—each touting formulas for a fulfilling spiritual life or an unwavering faith—but do they actually coalesce? Or am I just grasping at straws, hoping for a divine revelation that appears to allude me? I grapple with the paradox that my quest for truth grows heavier with the weight of expectation and self-imposed timelines; I find myself frantically circling back to my fundamental question: Do I desire the grounded morals of religion, or the expansive possibilities of spirituality? Each evening, I lay awake, hoping that someday both worlds can harmonize, creating a holistic framework that resonates with my soul rather than trapping it; Feeling lost has never felt more suffocating. It begs the question: Is anyone else out there wrestling with this dissonance? Does anyone grapple with whether to leap into the arms of tradition or float in the vast ocean of spirituality?

I feel like I don't like this new family I have. The term "family" and not being a family but rather a group of strangers, disconnected, are the same thing. It can't be that the term "family" meant the union of individuals where each one is in their own world and barely concerned about the other. It can't be that that was family for me. It can't be.

I came to consider family a group of individuals who had a vaguely close connection with me and with each other, practically only organizationally and moderately. I feel like I called them family, and I find it shameful. If I had told them we were family, they would surely have called me insane or something like that or demanded that I report this to a psychiatrist in some way. It can't be.

What I considered "family" was the height of remoteness from what we could consider a union of loved ones. In what was my biological family, we established our family through violence; that was the denial of our distance. We were all complete strangers to each other. What the hell were we doing living among strangers? No wonder we knew how to navigate the streets so easily, because after all, we didn't differentiate between the street and our homes. The streets seemed simpler, and that's why we were somewhat more adept at socializing there. However, there was always a strange quality about us.

It can't be that my family was a gathering of complete strangers where there was no love, sex only served to speed things up. I mean, what kind of family do I come from, for God's sake? Anyone who knows me with this story runs away because of the consequences it might have on me—something that apparently surprises one of the doctors who examined me because I didn't react the same way. I feel like it can't be that I came from an environment where there was no affection, no evidence of organization, but quite the opposite, and that everything that contradicted us as a family was precisely what we considered family. But what kind of world did we live in, for God's sake?

Did no one notice the friction we had with everyone else? Why were we always ostracized? Did no one question why people treated us the way they did? What kind of world did we live in? We were completely isolated from others, at the mercy of our prejudices, with no one daring to go beyond them, except me. In fact, my psychotherapist saw me as the only opportunity to break out. No one questioned why people acted the way they did toward us, what it was about us that made that happen, why we treated other people the way we did, if it even existed. The theory that we had come to Earth to suffer seemed ridiculous to me and was implicit in the family narrative.

I insist: What kind of thing did we have at home, for God's sake? We had nothing healthy. We couldn't go outside. Prejudices blinded us at all costs. We lived to survive in society at the expense of irrational fears. Our anxieties isolated us, and we believed them to be true. In fact, no one noticed that even among ourselves, we acted out exaggerated dramas. It can't be that we can only be among ourselves and that the people who touch us are violent, humiliating people—in other words, family members of the same ilk as us, where emotion blinds, and there's no balance at all with reason.

How hard was it for me to see this reality? I realized this was happening five years ago, and precisely because I saw a pattern among the girls I was looking for that was repeated, and people said it was a matter of letting it go. Everyone told me I was exaggerating; however, I had managed to be precise; I had found the point that would help me escape such situations. How many of my family members are still trapped in a strange, out-of-this-world world? For God's sake, I prefer to be with lucid people, given that these blind, blind people purposefully run over others. I was simply overrun with them. And the worst part is that this gang of beings lived off wanting me to be like them at all costs. That was their philosophy, because that way I would be safe, better, under their support, as if they were the perpetual caretakers. These beings are very adept at taking advantage of others' prejudices and social profiles. However, I always knew there was a way to bring them down, as I did.

How far would I go with these beings, for God's sake, if I didn't realize things? What kind of partner would I get to put a stop to this? What escalations of violence would I go to? And my parents despised psychoanalysis, psychology, and all that. It's something that fills me, it angers me, because they wanted to serve as an obstacle to me going out into the world and seeing them from there. Even my mother, quite bluntly, expressed this to me. They tried to hide this truth from me for their own innocence Conscience, and that's something that bothers me a lot.

How much did I suffer being part of this? When did I suffer living within this family's standards? It was the worst thing that could have ever happened to me. Furthermore, outsiders took advantage of the weakness they had implicated me in thanks to my rebelliousness as a child, which always persisted given that it made my father realize several things, made me have values, a series of things that he later betrayed. But thanks to him betraying his spirit under the influence of my mother, I didn't want to end up like him. That's why I am where I am today; something I know thanks to this writing.

How many times did they not want to stop me from writing? Stop me from researching? Even my psychologist served as an obstacle. Why did my own psychologist serve as an obstacle? The same people, my friends, everyone. I discovered that they were all made up of dysfunctional families, and no one had even realized this. I was alone in such a situation. In such an endeavor. Who supported me? Not even the girl I identified with at the time wanted to support me. It was all about staying with the family when I was going in the opposite direction. It was pesos, after pesos, after pesos. Even at my workplace, they tried to exploit that story, even at a university, but frankly, I made them pay by making them see the reflection of their actions before the law, which was quick to issue its immediate protection. I don't understand how there can be people who believe I'm going to treat them as family or something like that, something I didn't do internally, with my real family members, when I'm not going to do it. In fact, given the simple fact of abusing it, it already implies acting with restraint but without harming, given that it would be an extra effort that will be costly for my family member.

This society almost buried me with my family! Almost! And my family and my surroundings support me! But I didn't allow it. For some time now, I've been looking for tools to support myself by any means necessary. I wasn't going to allow myself to go under the sad fate that awaited me, where I even saw my own death. I deserved to live, I deserved to live what I loved, not at the expense of weight, of a darkness imposed on me by my family, under a clear deception that was the murderer in my life. I deserved a better life. That's why I fought so hard.

For God's sake, how much abuse did I endure because of my family's imposed interests? How much rudeness? How much mistreatment for not being well-educated, and which people responded with simply hidden and undisputed retaliation? How many moments of horrific loneliness? How many times did I need someone to be with me? How many games did my mind not play to survive? How many mechanisms did my psyche not use to move forward? How much writing? How much speaking into a microphone? How many walks? How many strange exercises? How many eccentric creative endeavors? How many betrayals? How many disappointments? I just wanted to stop once and for all. I wanted this journey to finally end. Besides, nothing's worse than getting used to being with your family and then being without them and still having all that weight on your shoulders.

I don't feel good about what I've achieved. At the cost of scandals and failure, I've made friends, my father succumbed to giving me money, to having everyone under my thumb, and it's very unpleasant. I don't like being on top of the world. How can people find that funny? I don't find it funny at all.

They always make up any excuse to accept the fact. I mean, they do everything, they knock down expectations for whatever reason, and as a result, they fall flat. However, if it's someone who respects them, then no. They kick the guy, they do everything to him, they demean him. I was in this guy's shoes. Why? The world seems upside down.

I don't like the way things are. I went crazy with a girl, and now she's accepted me on Instagram. I was rude to a girl, and she reacted unconditionally. These are just some examples. I called my father shit, and now he's opened up. All of them in an effort to do things right, to avoid disappointing me.

Why should I make a fuss to gain respect? I don't think this is in any way a measure of self-respect; I don't like it this way. I feel like everything should have been carried out calmly, but I'm already worried that things aren't going to happen this way. On both sides, it's detrimental to my health, except that if I make a fuss, I get social approval. In other words, what I'm doing to myself becomes more unconscious.

I don't feel right. Frankly, I wasn't taught to put this into words. I was always taught to boast about it. I feel like I'm on a kind of throne from which I want to step down. I don't know how some people can tolerate being at such heights. Why do we fight to be there? It doesn't feel good at all. I feel like I'm a kind of tyrant, and justified, too. I don't know; it's a feeling that I'm being led to my own death.

When they were bad, at least they gave me the chance to escape from what was affecting my health. In this case, when they are good, the chance is smaller; I feel restrained, forced to comply, and to continue harming myself. I feel I was better off in the first case, where I saw how people, under their freedom, appreciated my respect. In this moment, when they are no longer under the same deception, I only see a downright lie, an even more selfish desire to please me. In the previous case, this is not the case.

How ironic the way things are. I, who deep down so much wanted to be one of those who had others at their feet, a whole world supporting me, find that no, that in the end, such a world is nothing more than a lie. And now that I think about it, I think it's crazy to think that there will be many who are good to you and few who aren't. I think this is a bad sign, but the opposite is true, when we act in the name of respect, justice, and also peace, which I believe not everyone knows how to navigate in such a terrain.

In short, if everyone likes us, then they're not seeing us because, in principle, not everyone has the time to see us in detail. It seems like those exceptions are miraculous because if they see us, even if it's in a detached way, in contrast to the others, it just allows them to visualize things. When a few people like us, then they do look at us, but at least they do so in profound detail, while the majority, it seems to me, usually don't see us and therefore act with a certain indifference. However, all of this is within limits; that is, I'm speaking of a good case, a case with details, of a majority that isn't violent and of a few who are so little fanatic; it can't be the other way around either. I feel that when we reach extremes, there's only so much trouble in our lives, regardless of the modus operandi of the majority and the minority.

I don't feel it's right—I'm thinking of some kids who remain distant when I greet them, and when I say goodbye, too, and I don't like that; I feel like I'm adapting to something I don't like. I feel like I'm abandoning that kid who felt others treated me unfairly. However, it seems to me to be the right thing to do because I rightly saw others' treatment as unfair when in fact it was the opposite. What else are people going to do? How many have had the opportunity to appreciate what respect is? I prefer to wander through life and find someone who, in fact, sowed such a question and reaped the same rewards. I think I should give myself the opportunity to find tremendous treasures and also give hope that it can be done to those who have been in my shoes.

I don't know why I feel like I'm thinking in a haphazard way. I can't really organize my thoughts. It just happens that I feel like there can't be a precise rule or something like that. Maybe I'm looking for ways, references, to get to know people. I feel a bit confused. I was never taught to understand how to understand Including people in my life. It was all about working with what I'd already done, with what was already there, but never forging new relationships. My parents didn't have the capacity; they scared them away. In fact, they managed to scare me away. I think my parents succeeded, or the best they could do, was to distance themselves from me, as was the case with my family in general, because I felt they wouldn't appreciate me. I don't know, I don't feel healthy, or entirely sane with these words, but well, speaking at length is a start.

I insist, everything feels confusing. I feel like maybe I'm using those filters my parents taught me to have people by my side. I feel like everything I've said, as funny as it may seem, I don't like it, I don't feel it's appropriate, but maybe it is. I don't know how to go out into the world. The successful things I have as a reference for going out into the world are people who were like a kind of wolves, perfectly selfish people who achieved great success among the masses. I feel like maybe some of that has rubbed off on me, or maybe not. I don't know, but I don't feel like I know who I am, specifically, because I feel like I haven't fulfilled my role, either with my family or with those people, but with myself.

I'm noticing that when I don't fulfill my creative goals, I don't like it; people reject it fiercely. But when I do, I feel like I don't know who I am. I don't find myself in others, and I was taught to find myself through others. By the way, I don't know when to go to a psychiatric emergency room. The thing is, there are no emergency numbers in my country, and I think that's the first thing I want to discuss with my therapist. I can't always be perfect, and I feel like I sometimes fall apart. I don't have their number and no one else to turn to. I also don't know how to manage my current situation with what I have. I know what I have is useful, but I don't know how or what things. I feel like I'm really fading precisely because of this belief that I find myself through others. Also, I don't want to create a personality, an imposed concept, because I feel it's limiting, it doesn't allow me to broaden my horizons, or well, at least not in terms of what could describe a process, a continuity.

I don't know what's happening to me, honestly. I feel like I'm more processing who I am right now, ceasing to see myself in the past.

Where do I look? I don't know where to look. I confess that I have a hard time looking at myself much. I have so many things scattered throughout my life that I don't know. I confess, and I must be clear, that I've completely abandoned my life. It's true; I feel like I know nothing about myself, absolutely nothing. I don't know what conditions I live in. I feel like I'm constantly carrying all that weight. I have a hard time looking at myself. I feel like it's strange for me.

In principle, what does it mean to look at myself? I don't know. I haven't asked myself how I am for a while. I just follow a vague routine and that's it. I don't know about my life. I've never asked myself how I am with my relationships. I feel like I've neglected that because I don't nurture them; I think that's why I don't possess them, unless they really catch my attention. What is it like to look at yourself? How is everything structured? Where do I start? What does it mean to be with yourself?

I have a hard time looking inside myself because, even though I don't know, I don't know why there are so many things. I feel a sovereign distaste for such a depth. It bothers me that I can't tap into it immediately. What questions do I ask myself first? Am I good? Am I bad? Am I this or that? I have no reference to refer to myself. It's scarce. I've always been concerned with measuring myself through others, so that their comments, due to their very content, don't affect me, and that's precisely why I maintain a limiting dependence on them.

I feel like I've never reached myself. I have depth in my words, but I feel like I've never penetrated myself. I feel that, to begin with, it must be said, I'm disgusted by my life because I don't take care of my hygiene. I tend to be lazy with it because of the tiredness it causes me to go through the motions of maintaining it. I dislike it, but at the same time I like it because it allows me to live far from how I lived at home.

I feel like my life is precisely a radical escape from the life I had with my mother and father, especially during my upbringing. I had a very heavy life, and now I try to make it as light as possible, unfortunately, going to extremes, apparently. In fact, I don't even want to have clean clothes. I only live for the sake of no one noticing what's going on. Now that I think about it, the mere idea of ​​living with myself makes me hide.

Also, I feel like I wouldn't live with myself because I feel like I'd point out things about myself, highlight strange things that I don't want anyone else to see, including, apparently, me. I just let myself go and I'm not aware of what I'm doing. Deep down, I feel like I'm bathing in a deep sadness and I play with it. In a way, I feel like I'm overcoming it, challenging it, even though it's there. It's an attitude that wasn't allowed either.

I live to do what my system of rules, with which I was raised, breaks down completely. In fact, I feel like I'm still a teenager, I confess. I dislike it partly because I'm getting bored of being in constant conflict with it. I feel it's time to stop fighting that upbringing. I don't feel like it's doing me any good, and in fact, I feel like it's causing a lot of noise right now.

That is to say, I feel like I have a life, or I've reached a structure, with which I like and dislike. Again, on the terrain of rebellion. I feel like I don't know, I must say, what I really want with my life. I've reached a deep stagnation. When will I get out? I don't know, in principle, what my tastes are. I feel like I haven't fully emerged.

Nothing has come out of that struggle with my belief system yet. It used to be that it brought me tremendous benefit, however, I've reached a point where it's no longer necessary. In fact, in the environments I frequent, it's no longer necessary; rather, it's superfluous. It's become dispensable. I need to know what can emerge from this struggle, a dialectic, as they would say in philosophy.

I've reached the point of reflecting on: Who am I? I swore I had that answer a long time ago, however, I've only explored what I had to say about the things I experience, which has given me the ability to be at this point where I ask myself that question: Who am I? What do I do in this world? What purpose can I serve society? Why do I exist? Why do I spend time with the people I spend time with? Why am I alone and not accompanied? Would I be better off being accompanied than alone? Why is it worth continuing to live? I feel like I have so many questions to answer; I'd never asked myself them, and during my upbringing, they were truly unthinkable.

The one that stands out most to me now is: Why don't I pursue what I love? Right now, I see myself in the worst voices, but they come from voices that aren't mine, but rather my parents', so they aren't guiding. Why do I do what I do? I feel that, essentially, I don't have a reason for what I do, something that gives it meaning. I feel like I live without knowing why I act, what drives me, and I confess, I'm totally unaware of that. I see myself acting, simply, based on maintaining the organic relationship between things without actually going anywhere beyond that.

I think the question that plagues me right now is, and I think it encompasses everything: Where do I have to go? What is that place? What do I have to follow? I find myself without that reference. Why have I allowed myself to go so long without that reference? I don't understand. How have I been able to live without one? Now the question is: Is it a reference? Or is it admitting that no such reference exists? Personally, I think the most important thing is to unburden this area, which, in effect, I think we can talk about as an existential crisis.

i had this weird dream back a month ago and a week or two ago i got another dream with them but for some reason i felt safe in a sense. to give background info, i participate in orchestra, and while i do love it, i genuinely do think singing is a better place for me, and something i can do 90% effortlessly despite being self-taught. the first dream, i was dreaming about my orchestra teacher and apparently in the dream, i was breaking into his home with my best friend for some reason. the house was supposedly greek-themed (keep in mind, i have no idea what the house looks like nor do i want to know), and it was nighttime. i don't know nor remember why i was "breaking into" his house during the dream, but all i remember was towards the end of the dream, i believe i was harshly scolded (or somewhat beaten) while they told my friend to just leave. i feel like some other background information i could give regarding them is that they're actually a very kind person, but they're also strict on proficiency as well, for good intent. however, i get constantly embarrassed to practice at home due to my sister's criticism (i feel like it was a bit harsh, but i got tired of it to the point i would start crying) so i just stopped and tried to squish in before being tested on it. they're always available to help, but i feel quite scared doing so in case i feel i may get scolded (in the unlikely event that that happens). i just want to know what that means because a week ago or two, i had another dream with them but their orchestra room looked a lot more different, mainly that the walls were a different color but i felt like i trusted them. it's not that i don't, but i feel scared to do so. but after that, i was driving this car that i couldn't stop the pedal on nor hit the brake and ended up having to stop it somehow at a dentist's office. but they were no longer there, just this random family where i was doing this trend and somehow the son of the family got the credit for it. i wasn't upset, but i wasn't particularly happy.

i also looked on reddit and quora for some advice to see what it could mean and one user said it means that i could be looking for answers. as much as i agree with it, i feel based off myself and my orchestra teacher, i feel i'm not really seeking answers more than i'm seeking trust from who i can and can't trust to avoid putting my deepest vulnerable life stories into the wrong hands who doesn't trust me (or vice versa) nor have any care for the confidentiality of the story. i can't bring myself to see my teachers as people who do care very much outside of teaching more than i just see them as a teacher because i was afraid to get close to anyone.

so what does my follow-up dream have to do with this?

what does this truly mean then, given the background info and my hurt?

[Translated from Spanish. Reminder: IIWIARS is English only]

I feel terrified of going outside and being completely judged for it. I don’t like talking, I don’t like expressing myself. I don’t even feel capable of being with a girl. I don’t want to be with one. I feel like I’ve become a mess of ideas—so many ideas. Like I’m shedding layers of myself.

I feel like I’m not okay—but also that I am. I feel like I’ve been in a transformation process for a long time now. Like I’m moving toward my true self, peeling off old layers of experiences. I used to think I had matured, but really, I had just kept layering one cover over another. I don’t know how else to explain it.

It feels like I’ve been unfolding my form. This has been happening for quite some time. I think it’s because I finally feel whole in a new group. Yes, I feel like I belong—with a girl, specifically—and I love that feeling. It’s been going on for a while now, I repeat. She’s not physically present, but the way we are keeps the group alive. I don’t feel the need to be with anyone else. Being distant from her makes me feel her presence even more. I feel like I can be alone—but still in her company—and it’s truly amazing.

My parents didn’t understand this, but personally, I don’t care. The process is happening either way. These are the catharses I’m experiencing. I don’t feel like there’s anyone else out there waiting for me—and I don’t need them. I feel like my life is on track, and I can live the way I like. In this group, I feel that’s respected—and it’s fantastic. I’ve committed to pursuing a career, and I rely only on the approval of the principles this group shares.

Looking back, all that time I supposedly "got sick" or "went through somatic suffering"—I think I was really just trying to re-locate myself within this group and within the system that surrounds us. It’s like saying: I’m done with the old societal structure, with the weight of those layers. Here, in this group, we are free. Again, I don’t feel I need anyone else.

These catharses—what I say—are just to release things. I speak things about myself, but they’re temporary. It’s like I’m passing through them. I think I’m heading toward something, but I realize I only needed to shed that layer—to see that I never really wanted that thing. I don’t know, but I feel like this process I’m going through isn’t something many people experience—maybe no one. It’s about leaving behind all the groups you once belonged to. You feel like you belong to just one now, and all the others are just places you visit occasionally.

I feel like I’ve always been okay. I was never truly unwell. I just needed—without realizing it and even fooling myself—to reposition myself within society. Now I understand all the disappointment I’ve felt. I thought I wanted to be with a girl—and it turns out I don’t. Especially not one outside my group. I feel more distant from her. I don’t know what to do with those feelings I had for her. Whether she’s around or not makes no difference—same goes for her mother.

Life is happening. Nothing feels the same anymore. No one believed me—and I didn’t even need them to. I thought I had forgotten about this group. Maybe I did. But I now realize it was a version of it where she, the girl from my group, was someone who abandoned me and hurt me. And now she’s not. Being in this group makes her devoted and respectful—and I love that. Before, I felt like she was spiraling toward a nightmare that could’ve even ended her life—God forbid—with something as terrible as a knife. I hope I was wrong.

I don’t know what comes next for my life. I’ve never faced something like this. It’s all been about letting myself be carried by the current—and that’s it. Like I entered a kind of crisis only to come out the other side, finally shining. I don’t know if I wish things had been different. Probably not. I feel like I’m in a much better place now, where I’m allowed to bloom on my own terms. I didn’t feel that before. This group is about feelings, not about upholding painful old paradigms—a bitter photo album that, in my opinion, is always ugly.

It’s amazing how that other girl—the different one—has become almost a ghost to me. Hearing her mother’s distant voice, feeling how, as I got closer to them, they faded further away… it was indescribable. Psychologically, despite the distance, I feel closer to the girl in my group. And I think that’s the whole point. Because with her, I sense a real structure—something genuine. Not like in my family, where all they focused on was finding flaws. That was bitter through and through.

I feel like I’m in paradise—even though I’m still in the same house, in the same place. The people around me might be nearby physically, but they can’t really reach me. I’m a stranger to them now. Just like she, the girl in my group, is a stranger to her environment. In fact, she was already acting that way the last time I saw her in person. It’s clear now: her spirit was already with me—expressed in the way I feel so deeply supported by her.

Ever since I was younger, my ears have been... weird. I'll hear someone call my name out of nowhere, and it won't be someone I recognize. In the middle of the quiet, like at night or in the middle of class, my ear will start ringing. It only lasts a second or two but I can definitely hear it. Once I was facing a tough decision, and I had a podcast playing, and I wasn't paying too much attention to it. Then, randomly, as I was agonising over this decision, my ears focused on the podcast at the perfect time, and I got the perfect solution. Once I was down in the woods, just chilling, when a voice whispered in my ear, "Go home." I ignored it, but it came again and the third time it came I went home, and that's when I found out that there had been coyote sightings in the area if the woods I was in.

These memories are, yes, a bit fuzzy because that's the way my memory is, but I clearly remember the voices. The one that told me to go home was definitely female, and I think I actually recognised it: My great grandma, who had died a few years before. That specific voice hasn't come back, but I remember it with such clarity.

When I meditate, sometimes, and it's rare, the ringing will come back in the quiet. I'll hear the voices saying my name. But as soon as I stop meditating, it's back to almost normal, with the occasional ringing and maybe a whisper of my name every now and then.

I'm not a medium, so I don't know if I'm being haunted or what...

I don’t know, but even I’m confused about what’s happening. I hope... I really hope my suspicion isn’t true...

That I have a third eye. I don’t want to tell my family because I’m afraid of what they’ll say or that they won’t believe me. Even I can’t believe it myself...

It happened when my family and I attended the funeral of my dad’s friend. His daughter had died by suicide. I remember it was nighttime, and everyone there was busy playing card games and talking. I was sitting alone, using my phone, when I glanced at the coffin. I saw the girl's hand hitting the glass part of the coffin. I didn’t know if I was just seeing things, but after a few seconds, it disappeared like nothing happened.

Sometimes, on my way home from school, I see one or two kids asking for money. They look normal. I was about to give them some coins, but I was shocked when the coin passed right through the child's hand. Right after that, a classmate who was also heading home asked me who I was talking to and who I was giving money to. I told them it was the kid begging for money, but when I turned back, the child was gone. My classmate was even surprised and said they never saw any kid come near me.

I'm a Respawner, and I've been planning on leaving this world via respawning and then leaving a stand-in behind. It sounds like a pretty cool and nice idea, but the thing is, the decision is quite permanent and could be risky if not handled carefully (imo). Respawning in general is pretty safe though, and Id be more than happy to respawn to my desired reality. But the struggles in my current reality are really holding me back and I barely have any motivation to respawn or shift realities. I barely feel any love for my desired reality and it's people and I'm wondering why I should continue.

1. I've been trying to shift for a year and a half. I've been trying to respawn for 2 months. I've spent and dedicated a lot of time to this lovely life-altering passion and hobby, and I'd be sad to leave it behind after all the efforts I've made.

2. I'm emotionally attached to my desired reality, to shifting and respawning and to all the people I've made connections with via channeling.

3. This life is shit and I honestly need better. Why not when I literally have the ability to make my life better.

I'm just unmotivated and angry and I feel like not fulfilling my dreams out of pure spite for the universe. But I've tried so hard and fought so much and loved a lot so I'm staying and I'm respawning this December. My plan is to shift to a waiting room and then respawn to my desired reality. I'm taking a calm, directed response to this and I'm trying to manage this at once. I hope my time comes on time and I get to be happy at home. See ya never!!!

that feeling of burnout. have you ever felt that? that state wherein you are constantly being pushed and pulled away by sadness and happiness. it’s weighing up on me. i don’t think i can make it in the long run :)

Yesterday marked the birthday of my wife's longest-standing friend, and to celebrate, a dinner was organized at a local restaurant by her circle of friends. I was invited as a guest by my partner. To be completely honest, I've never really been keen on this friend, as she tends to be quite the drama queen, with a penchant for attributing every behavior and occurrence to her astrological sign. If I were to describe her in one word, it would probably be 'exasperating.'

Despite my feelings, I usually just keep to myself and let her do her thing during our encounters. However, during the birthday gathering, she started making a significant fuss about an error with her dessert order. To be fair, we had been waiting around 45 minutes for the desserts, so I understood her initial frustration, but she persisted in her complaints to an excessive degree. She then paused, declaring she was about to have a "Virgo moment," whatever that's supposed to mean. Under my breath, but unfortunately audible enough for others to hear, I muttered "you mean a tantrum." When she pressed me to repeat myself, I did, and explained that there's no such thing as a "Virgo moment" but simply an adult having a tantrum, leading to a brief argument and souring the mood for everyone.

Reflecting on it, I don't believe I was wrong to describe her actions as a tantrum—it was one—but voicing that opinion during her birthday celebration might not have been my finest moment. The conversation quickly became tense without any possibility of a positive resolution. I remained composed and did not escalate the confrontation, yet in hindsight, it might have been better left unsaid as it clearly had no constructive outcome. This incident made us leave earlier than planned.

To put things into context, I attended the dinner at the request of my wife. It was an event where partners were invited, and the meal was covered by her group of friends. While she wasn't excessively disruptive, such as screaming or throwing things around, her continuous complaints and attempts to confront the kitchen staff, despite their apologies, were enough to unnerve everyone.

If this squabble were part of a reality TV show, editors would likely play up the drama with tense music and close-ups, turning an annoying yet relatively mundane incident into a major clash for viewers. It's curious to ponder how the audience would react to such a scene—whether they’d sympathize with her feelings of disappointment over the birthday mishap, or side with me seeing her reaction as undue.

Was I too harsh during the birthday dinner squabble?

A few years back, my best friend, who I was really close to, tragically passed away. It was a tough period that I'm still getting over. Recently, a girl in some of my classes started saying to some people I hang out with that she’s been in contact with him. Now, considering he’s not amongst the living, her assertion took me aback, especially since she claimed she was channeling him through the worship of Greek gods and the lighting of candles. What struck me most was that she had never met him - so this revelation didn't sit right with me.

One day, while sitting near her in class, I decided to quiz her a bit about her beliefs in Greek mythology, not with any malicious intent, but just out of curiosity. She seemed quite passionate about it and eventually shared that she could communicate with spirits during her sessions with these ancient deities. She even claimed that my late friend was one of the spirits reaching out to her. She described how a flicker of a candle would signify his responses to her queries. Although a part of me found this absurd, it was also somewhat upsetting.

Attempting to lighten the mood, I made a light-hearted comment about spirits wandering into teenage bedrooms, which seemed to annoy her a bit. However, things escalated when she solemnly mentioned that my friend was sorry for the way he died and missed me greatly. This struck a nerve, and I couldn’t help but respond harshly, dismissing her claims as fantastical and insensitive, given she had never known him personally.

Her response was defensive, asserting that her beliefs were valid. The conversation ended with both of us feeling misunderstood and frustrated. Reflecting on this, I think about how such a scenario would unfold in the glare of a reality show. The intensity of emotions and the clash of beliefs could certainly hook the audience. Would viewers sympathize with my feelings of protective anger, or would they find my response too harsh towards someone's deeply held spiritual views? The dynamics could definitely stir up a lot of discussions and perhaps even bring to light the diverse ways in which people handle grief and belief.

Growing up, our family strongly believed in the spiritual and clairvoyant gifts of my mother. Despite everyone’s unwavering faith in her abilities—including my father and my two sisters—I’ve always found myself on the outskirts of this belief system, questioning its validity at every turn.

Whenever I’ve tried sharing my doubts with my parents, I’d argue, "Mom, I tried to believe, but it just doesn’t click for me. You can’t even explain how your visions work; how am I supposed to take that as truth?" My father, on the other hand, staunchly defends her, often citing examples where her predictions about his future have materialized precisely as she foretold. Furthermore, she has a clientele who not only return for her services but also provide compensation, which makes it clear to him that her abilities are genuine.

My inner turmoil intensified recently when my mother foresaw me being involved in a car accident, a prediction that materialized about a week later. Thankfully, it was a minor incident, with me being the obvious culprit due to a lapse in concentration. The situation has now turned into ammunition for my mother, reinforcing her claim to foresee future events, which only fuels my frustration. To me, this could have just been a coincidence, yet she presents it as indisputable proof of her powers.

Recently, we had a heated discussion where she took it upon herself to instruct me on my driving habits, all based on her visions. She imposed rules that I should not drive and must call her every time I’m about to ride in a vehicle, which feels overly controlling. Keep in mind I’m 24 years old, and this overreach makes me feel like I’m losing autonomy over my own life. Her prophetic insights now not only disrupt my independence but also strain my relationship with her as they overshadow our interactions.

I earnestly desire nothing more than a simple, loving relationship with my mother—one that isn’t overshadowed by the constant cloud of her prophetic claims.

Imagine if this situation unfolded on a reality show—cameras rolling as family dynamics clash over clairvoyant claims. Viewers would likely be split; some might applaud my mother’s concern for my safety, interpreting her actions as protective and loving. Others might sympathize with my plight, viewing her preventive measures as excessive and suffocating, stifling my independence under the guise of care. The drama would certainly draw attention and provoke discussions about the balance between parental guidance and personal freedom.

What does everyone else think? Would you feel constricted if your life was influenced by someone else's visions?

I was visiting my family for the weekend, and my great aunt was there too. It's been a while since I was last home, so everyone came to see me.

Aunt Molly said she had a special spiritual dream where a guardian angel told her about an old neighbor from her childhood. She checked with a few people and found out there really was such a neighbor back in the day. She claimed this was some sort of miracle.

I was smiling the whole time. She asked why I seemed skeptical. I told her I believed she dreamed it, but it was probably because the old memory was in her subconscious and resurfaced in her dream. It wasn't a supernatural miracle, just her brain doing its thing.

She got mad and told me I needed to repent and find God in my heart again. I didn’t respond to that. Later, my mother said I caused a stir in the family and that my comment hurt Aunt Molly. Now everyone is upset with me. Did I do something wrong?

Imagine if this happened on a reality show. The drama would be off the charts! People would be taking sides, and there'd be endless discussions about faith, dreams, and subconscious memories. How do you think the viewers would react to my comment?