Discovering My Gifts

It all started when I was about three or four years old.

I remember waking up one night with the feeling that someone was in my room. Even at that age, I was pretty aware of what was going on around me. When I opened my eyes, I saw a woman standing in front of me. I didn’t know who she was, but I wasn’t scared. She simply smiled at me and then sat on the edge of my bed.

She started talking about my future and told me that I would see, hear, and feel things that other people wouldn’t. She said that one day I would be helping people make important decisions in their lives. Now, if you’re expecting me to tell you that I immediately understood the importance of that moment, I didn’t. I was three or four years old. I was far more interested in the fact that I could put my hand right through her than I was in anything she was saying. I just kept moving my hand back and forth through her mid-section while she talked.

Looking back, I know that woman was my primary spirit guide, Sylvia. That’s what I’ve always called her. One of the funny conversations we’ve had over the years was when she told me I could call her whatever I wanted because she’d had many names through many lifetimes. Sylvia is the name that stuck. To this day, she’s still very much a part of my life, and she’s also the one who keeps me on track. I jokingly call her the whip-cracker because if I start ignoring something I’m supposed to be doing, I usually get an energetic reminder pretty quickly.

After that experience, I pretty much forgot about it and got on with life. Then things just started happening. I’d walk by the phone and tell my mom that Grandpa was going to call, and a few minutes later the phone would ring. Sometimes I’d tell her to set an extra place at the dinner table because someone was coming over for supper, and before long there’d be a knock at the door. Looking back, I can see those things weren’t exactly normal. At the time, they were normal to me. They were simply part of life.

By the time I was eight or nine years old, things started happening a little more often. One night, a bunch of us were outside playing kick-the-can when I suddenly stopped running and called my friend David over. I told him to put his ear next to mine because I could hear people talking. The voices were loud and clear to me. David listened for a few seconds, looked at me, told me I was weird, and ran off to continue the game. Looking back, I can’t really blame him for that response.

Around that same time, I was sitting with my mom watching television. There was a man on a variety show answering questions from people in the audience. I remember thinking how amazing it would be to do something like that. Without missing a beat, my mom looked at me and said, “You’re doing it.” I didn’t think much about it. I just carried on being a kid.

That was pretty much how I handled all of these experiences. I never fought them, and I never chased them. Things would happen, I’d accept them, and then I’d move on with life. That’s always been one of my strengths. Friends often tell me that I’m able to pivot, adapt, and keep moving forward. I don’t spend a lot of time wrestling with things I can’t change.

Looking back now, there was another clue showing up long before I ever did a professional reading. Even in public school, people trusted me. Kids would tell me what was happening at home. They’d share worries, problems, and situations they weren’t telling other people about. I wasn’t asking for their secrets. They simply seemed comfortable talking to me. At the time, I didn’t think much of it, but when I look back over my life, connection and trust have always been there.

When I was about sixteen or seventeen, I went through what I now call my chrysalis stage. For almost a month, I was exhausted. I could barely stay awake; I wasn’t eating much, and I had very little energy. Doctors ran tests, took bloodwork, and told me everything was perfectly normal. On paper, I was healthy, but I certainly didn’t feel healthy. Then one day it was gone, just like that.

Over the years, I’ve worked with many people who are learning to trust and develop their own abilities, and I’ve noticed something interesting. A lot of them go through a similar period where something shifts physically, emotionally, or energetically, and it doesn’t seem to make much sense at the time. I call it the chrysalis stage because it’s similar to a caterpillar preparing to become a butterfly. At the time, I had no idea what was happening. Looking back, I believe it was part of my own development.

One of the first experiences that really caught my attention happened in my early twenties. I worked with a woman named Jean who always wore her hair in a way that covered her ears. One day, I casually asked her why she was embarrassed about the scar behind her ear. She immediately reached up to make sure her hair was covering it and asked me how I knew it was there.

I told her the only way I could explain it. I could see it. I also described a procedure she’d undergone shortly after birth to relieve pressure around her brain. Jean just stared at me. Then she told me that nobody knew about that except her parents. After that conversation, she told me I should be doing this professionally. I laughed and moved on with my day. Becoming a psychic wasn’t exactly part of my career plan.

A few years later, life had another idea.

After moving to Kitchener, I asked a friend where he got his haircut. He recommended a hairstylist named Aaron. I booked an appointment, sat down in the chair, and within the first minute, Aaron looked at me and said, “So you’re a psychic. Tell me something.”

I was absolutely mortified.

Very few people knew about my abilities, and I certainly wasn’t introducing myself that way. After I shared a few things with him that I couldn’t have known, Aaron was blown away. Then he made a suggestion that would end up changing my life. He invited me to come into the salon on Saturdays and offer short readings to clients.

That’s how my professional career started.

Not through a business plan. Not through advertising. Not because I decided to build a psychic business. It started because I went for a haircut.

From there, word of mouth took over. Clients told friends. Friends told family. People handed out my business cards and recommended me to others. Because Kitchener-Waterloo has a large university population, students started booking readings. Those students would go home and tell their families and friends about me, and before long, I was doing readings for people far beyond my local area.

Eventually, I looked at the numbers and realized I was making more money doing readings than I was at my regular job. I’m a pretty practical person, so once that happened, the decision wasn’t difficult. If this work was supporting me better than my nine-to-five job, then this was clearly where I was supposed to be.

More than thirty-five years later, I’m still doing what I love.

I’ve had the privilege of meeting people from every walk of life. I’ve worked with students, parents, business owners, professionals, retirees, and people navigating some of the most important moments of their lives. What I’ve discovered is that no matter where people come from, we’re all looking for many of the same things. We want clarity. We want understanding. We want reassurance that we’re heading in the right direction.

What I love most about this work isn’t making predictions. It’s the connection. It’s the conversations. It’s watching people grow into who they’re meant to be. I believe this is my purpose because even after all these years, I still love showing up and helping people move forward.

Looking back, I think one of the reasons this career has felt so natural is that helping people had already shown up long before I ever did a reading. Even in public school, people trusted me with things they weren’t sharing with others. They’d tell me what was happening at home, what they were struggling with, or what was worrying them. I didn’t have to ask. They just seemed comfortable talking to me.

Over the years, that never really changed. The conversations became different, but the connection stayed the same. Whether it’s a student trying to figure out their future, a parent worried about their family, someone grieving a loss, or a business owner facing a difficult decision, I’ve always felt honoured when people trust me enough to share part of their story.

That’s why I think I became known as The People’s Psychic. Not because I think I’m special or because I have all the answers. I think it’s because people know I genuinely care. I enjoy hearing people’s stories, helping them see things from a different perspective, and supporting them through whatever chapter of life they’re experiencing.

And the learning never stops.

My guides still challenge me. They still surprise me. They still put me on the spot. Sometimes they’ll draw my attention to something that makes absolutely no sense to me—a glass of water, a random object, or a strange symbol—and it’s almost like they’re saying, “Okay, Lewis, talk about that.” Something comes out of my mouth that means nothing to me but everything to the person sitting across from me.

Spirit has a great sense of humour. At least they think they’re funny.

What I do know is that after all these years, I’m still learning, still growing, and still grateful for every person who trusts me enough to share part of their journey with me. Those conversations continue to teach me, inspire me, and remind me why I love this work.