How I Became a Gypsy Fortune-Teller

I believe that doing what it is you are meant to be doing in life gets the best results. Find your calling, follow the signs and do what makes you happy. My story of how I found my destiny as a Gypsy fortune teller started years ago. 

I was raised in a Romany Gypsy household. I obviously, therefore, had professional psychics in my family and many of my ancestors are famous readers and witches. In our culture, it is not automatically assumed that every Gypsy child has the ability be a psychic. However, my mum says she knew pretty much as soon as I was born that I would have the ability to ‘read’ people.

I think many people have a distorted view of what it means to be a Gypsy fortune teller. I didn't become a professional psychic, Tarot reader and crystal ball reader by accident. In fact, I didn't think I would grow up to work as a medium or even be in the spirituality industry at all. However, the spirits work in mysterious ways and had their own ideas.

My mum never usually dreams but one night she had a nightmare. In the dream, my twin sister and I were in the bathroom getting our hair brushed. I had a third eye on the back of my head which would close and 'hide' as she touched my head. 

In waking life, my family also noticed that I appeared to talk to spirits. Having imaginary friends coupled with the dream was taken as a sign that I would become a reader. Long story short, I started using Tarot cards which were in my house when I was around the age of 7 and the prophecy was fulfilled. 

Psychics usually have stories which incorporate some revelation of how and when they discovered they were different from other people. To be honest, I always knew; I think probably because I had a twin to compare myself to, unlike most people. The only apathy I had was when I realized there were other people out there who had similar abilities to my own. 

I had a great aunt called Catleen. My aunt was my grandad's sister who worked as a professional psychic. My grandad's other sisters were readers, but Catleen was said by the locals to be amazing. She was much younger than the rest of her siblings so was still alive when I was younger up until only several years ago. 

Around the time I began using cards (when I was 7 or 8) my aunt Catleen came to my house. She sat on the couch in the living room. Silently I stood next to the radiator, and I began to feel her looking at me. Suddenly, I had this awful cold feeling come over me; I became aware that she was reading my mind. It was much more than a general childhood fear; I could feel her look deep inside of me. The weird thing about it was that it was as though she communicated with me; I am 100% certain that at this moment, she was aware that I knew that she was reading me. I can remember how it felt; she was just so powerful. She both scared and excited me. I thought, “my god she can read people as well, just like I can. This ability is actually a thing”! 

When she finished, I just stood there. To my absolute surprise she then turned around to my mum and said totally out of the context of their conversation “Do you know that if you ever think that someone is reading you, you can just imagine a brick wall, this will stop them.” This statement did nothing but confirm to me that for that moment my soul shared space with my aunt's.

For those of you who don’t know, when you read someone it’s as though you look inside of them. You read all of your seeker's hopes, fears, and anxieties. It plays out like a dream, and you gain information rather quickly. The information appears not as it is in your brain but somewhere else; you can think and read someone at the same time. It is like you use a sense which you cannot explain to someone who doesn’t have it. It is using this sense that you also communicate with spirits. Using this sense is what allows you to know what Tarot card interpretation to use for each person. Some people use the word intuition, but it is much more than that. It is more than sensing something. It is like an experience. You truly experience things others don’t. Now back to the story.

When I was about 10, my mum gifted me my first deck of my own; The Jonathan Dee Tarot. I then started daily going to people’s houses and reading them all day in some cases and always without pay. Other children were playing on the slides at parks; I was under them for protection from the wind so my cards wouldn’t blow away while I was reading for people. Around this time I also learned to interpret dreams. I’m proud to say the first person other than myself who’s dream I interpreted was my granny’s, and I can still remember it like it was yesterday.

I wasn’t interested in school and was constantly in trouble; I would read people instead of doing homework and was disruptive and aggressive in class. Outside of school, I was also constantly in bother; joining my local Young Team (Young Team is the name of a Scottish gang). 

The only thing I was really committed to was reading people; I carried my cards everywhere. In my early teens (about 12 and 13) I bought several books on esoteric subjects: astrology, dreams,  Witchcraft, ancient civilizations and things of that nature. That was all I was into reading about, not textbooks the school supplied. Also around this time I was gifted my first crystal ball by my mum on my 14th birthday.

 Me with my daughter after I had her at 15. 

Me with my daughter after I had her at 15. 

After several rough years of my life (which I will not go into in detail) I had my daughter Candyce at the young age of 15 with an older boyfriend. I had hid my pregnancy from my family until I was around 7 months gone. After I had got rid of the boyfriend, I decided to go back to school to have a somewhat normal life. 

I decided to try to get a real job and let go of my professional fortune-telling ambitions. To be honest, I was tired of being afraid of spirits every time I went to my bed at night. Around this period I had an awful experience which was the stuff of nightmares; one night there was something in my room. It wasn’t the spirit of a human or an animal, but I could feel and hear it was there. It made this horrible scratching noise. I had had similar experiences before but this time was different; from this moment on I actively blocked anything I picked up on unless I was reading cards for myself or close family members. I began getting vivid dreams, premonitions and terrible migraines. 

I went to school then college and got some good qualifications; I chose to do my HNC in social sciences because those subjects interested me. At this point, I decided not to plan a career as a reader but something relatively ordinary such as a psychologist or anthropologist.

I was going to go to university, but the thought of taking out a huge student loan scared me.  I made the decision not to go straight to university after I had dreamed I was in a hallway which looked like the halls of a university. I opened a door which led outside. There was torrential rain. There were all of these cows dying of some horrible disease and struggling to get up this grassy, muddy hill. I knew this dream was a sign not to go to university. 

Not long after I finished college my daughter was diagnosed with high functioning autism so I decided I would just get a job and take care of her. Straight after collage, in my quest for a job, the first thing I did was make an appointment with a career advisor. The consultant was impressed with my qualifications and assured me I could apply for all of these fantastic jobs. I left the place full of enthusiasm.

Searching for a job was anything, but lollipops and unicorns and the hunt lasted several years. There was a meat factory in my town which was known as an easy way to get a job as they had temporary contracts several times a year and they didn’t require experience or qualifications. It was an awful place with terrible working conditions. Those in charge rightly assumed you were there because you were desperate and treated you like crap. I worked there for several times for only a month or two at a time in 5 years.

When I wasn’t working at the factory I volunteered for charities because I needed work experience and didn’t want to look like a bum; I was severely ashamed of the fact that I didn’t have a job. I live close to Scotland’s capital, so there was constantly jobs available. Sometimes I could apply for 30 jobs a day. I would just apply for everything going from the worst jobs to the best jobs and not hear a peep.

In those five years, I only had about three interviews. My predicament made me extremely depressed and bitter. There were people who I had went to school with who I knew didn’t sit their standard grades (basic qualifications), but if we applied for the same job, they would get it. To make matters even worst, people who done the same courses as me was earning double the minimum wage and now living in foreign countries with good jobs. One girl lived in Dubai and had a swimming pool in her garden. People around me would apply for jobs and would just get them without a problem.

Other than the embarrassment of not having a job probably the worst part about the situation was that life stayed still. People on Facebook and around me my age and sometimes younger were working away, buying houses, driving cars, getting married, starting families, going on holiday and living life. It was like other people just went out and created their lives, and I just couldn’t move forward. I didn’t understand why and what I was doing wrong it was like there was some force in the universe holding me back and I would cry about it all the time.

This sounds paranoid, but there seemed to be something working against me. I would go to print off applications, and suddenly the printer would break, the computer would shut itself down, something would always go wrong: it was like there was a struggle for such little things which just seemed to fall into other people’s laps. The advisors at the job center just couldn’t explain it either. I had experience, qualifications, training, had volunteered for charities, had a professional CV created, went to open days and still got nowhere. I was a stereotypical young single mother without a job and people whom I used to be close with in my younger years would look down their nose at me as I walked passed them in the street. It was humiliating when people asked me what I did for a living.

The job center was my weekly haunt, and I could tell my advisors felt sorry for me. Intuitively, I felt their pity. However, things were about to work in my favor. 

One night, in 2013 I, got desperate. I sensed a spirit in my room watching me, so I spoke to it and asked it for a sign, "I just need a sign as to what to do" I said. I rolled over and went to sleep. 

The next day I was on my way to the job center, and I realized I was early for my appointment. I decided to go to the library; a decision which I’ll never forget because changed my life.

I walked into my local library and browsed the books. One caught my eye: “An Angel Called My Name” by Theresa Cheung. Usually, I don’t read books by other psychics because I prefer reference books to ‘story’ books. However, I said to myself the hell with it and got that book along with about six history books. I then went to my appointment at the job center and went home.

That night, I sat in my daughter's room and decided to read the book which, at the start, tells Theresa’s story of how she became an author on supernatural subjects. I became entranced in the book because her story was just so much like mine. In some ways, her life was even more depressing.

Like me, Theresa was a psychic. Also like me, her gifts were encouraged by her family, and she too had readers as relatives. Unlike me, Theresa took the plunge and decided to go to university. She went to Cambridge (one of the top universities in the world) and got a degree in Theology and English. Theresa then landed in the same predicament I was in; struggling to get a job. 

After a strange course of events, Theresa found employment. She had applied for a position at a mind body spirit magazine: a post which she only came across by a chance encounter. The lesson in the story was that she couldn’t get any job which she applied for because she wasn’t doing what it was she truly was meant to be doing. The job was her destiny.

Theresa’s story moved me so much. After reading it, I realized that the signs were there that I was meant to be a reader. I thought back to all the psychics who had predicted it, my mums dream, my aunt Cathleen, my interests, my cards being my only faithful companion, just everything. I set up business as a fortune teller and to my delight, everything just fell into place. 

I started getting booked all of the time, and everything just got better and better: other parts of my life also began to improve. I started dating my soul mate and my daughter's health improved. It is as though the barriers I had in life are now gone, and I can make plans for the future. I don’t feel that it is a struggle obtaining the most basic things which other people take for granted.

I did this blogpost because I know that even if by chance there is someone out there who is in the position Theresa and I was once in, and they will read this and make necessary changes for a better life. The hard part of life is discovering what your calling is, but once you do, things just happen for you. Destiny is the real reason why it is ethical for people to charge money for readings: because it is their destiny to make a living this way, just as it is the destiny of a doctor who saves lives and the destiny of a teacher who will teach our children.

After I had set up professionally I emailed Theresa and informed her how much her story inspired me; I truly owe my everything to her and that chance meeting of her book at the library. I can honestly say she changed my life, and I will be forever grateful; I am happier now than I have ever been. I am also thankful to God that I am not trapped miserable in one of the thousands of jobs I applied for all of those years ago. The lessons here is never to run from what it is you have a God given talent for and never give up hope. In the end what is for you never passes you.

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