I consider myself a practical person — I'm someone who constantly doubts and is highly unlikely to believe in anything too unconventional, like a psychic. However, that scepticism was tested the day my husband, Matt, and I were told by doctors we might never have a child. It was a Wednesday; by Friday, I ordered several self-help books [1] and broke down and asked my mom to talk to her psychic, a future-teller who "just knew these things."
Although I would have preferred torture over telling my mom her desire to be like her friends with grandchildren might be doomed, I was burning to consult her medium. "Your daughter will have a baby for sure," the psychic said by phone, with a confidence-building laugh. But she had a note of caution: the baby might not happen right away. There was a specific spiritual lesson for me to learn in order to be the best mom. What's more, the psychic concluded, "Your daughter will undergo a journey in the next year, and the baby will eventually have a story attached to how they came by their name. Don't worry, I know these things."
The part about some life lesson? This sounded like something in a bad movie. A difficult year of fertility treatment followed. Matt and I fought constantly, and when I saw heavily expectant women, I honestly thought that odd way they walk was to show off their status to women less fortunate, like my tragic self. (I may have been feeling just a little self-pitying.)
One day, tests showed that my hormone levels had drastically improved. Doctors thought if someone with as crappy a reproductive system as mine had any shot, it was with IVF. I had better get going, the nurse said. Also, IVF might not even work, at many thousands in cost. No pressure, she added — but it was now or never.
I chose never. In a blinding flash of clarity, I saw that I hadn't been mature enough before to be a parent. I had wanted it my way, as in only a genetic child. But if I really dreamed of being a mom (not just of the baby shower I would have), then down the line, when we weren't feeling like we'd thrown away our life savings on doctors and badly needed therapy, we could adopt.
And while I once ridiculed "chick-flick" moments, I walked away from that clinic like I was in a Reese Witherspoon [3] movie, purse and empowerment swinging in the breeze. I decided then and there never to give up on being a mom — or on anything. I'd let life determine the hows and whens. I knew this was the right choice deep in my bones, like the psychic herself said.
Well, you know the rest: I had a kid. Her name is Faith — what I needed to have back then. And with my kids getting bigger and my pregnancies over [4], I haven't needed a so-called "psychic totline." Now, I'm readily willing to consider that there are things beyond normal comprehension. To me, there's no doubt life can't always be explained — and that the psychic's predictions came from a realm that's not entirely our own.