Becoming a Shaman

People often ask me, “When did you know you were a shaman?”

The truth is… I didn’t.

It was never part of the plan. I never said, “When I grow up, I want to be a shaman.” It was a slow, quiet awakening — one that unfolded over time, wrapped in mystery and pain, spirit and memory.

I never studied shamanism in a formal way. I wasn’t initiated by a guru or trained in a known lineage. I didn’t even know what to call what I was experiencing. But the signs started early.

As a child, I saw things others didn’t.

There were four beings always near me. They laughed with me, protected me, and comforted me through my fear — and there was plenty of fear. My childhood was filled with trauma, and they were my silent companions. Though they looked human, I knew deep down… they weren’t.

I once told my grand-mère. She didn’t say much — probably thought I was imagining things. At a Catholic youth gathering, I told a nun I could see spirits. She said it was “from the devil.” That scared me enough to go silent. I shut down. I stopped speaking to the beings. Eventually, I stopped seeing them.

But something else awakened.

My dreams became a portal.

I dreamt of future events — and sometimes of things that had happened long before I was born. I’d meet people and just know things about them, things I had no way of knowing. But I was afraid to admit it. I’d cover it up with, “I must’ve read it somewhere,” or “Didn’t you say that before?”

I didn’t want anyone to know that the knowing came from within.

People with gifts like these were often labeled crazy. Or worse.That disconnect — between what I knew and what I let myself show — slowly chipped away at my confidence. I stopped trusting myself. I even began to resent the very gifts that made me who I was.

I searched for answers through religion.

Some paths welcomed mystery more than others, but none explained what I was going through. Eventually, I turned to more fluid forms of spirituality. That helped — but the openness also made things murky. The deeper I looked, the clearer one truth became:

The answers I sought were already inside me.

My gifts weren’t broken — they were buried beneath trauma. And trauma confuses the spirit. Yet, oddly enough, it’s in the depth of pain that many gifts awaken. Because when the mind and body are overwhelmed, only the spirit remains. That’s where sometimes the truth lives.

I had to heal — physically, emotionally, ancestrally. I had to give myself permission to remember what my spirit already knew. And release the fear that kept me blind.

When I began trusting the whispers, when I listened to the voices from the other side, when I allowed myself to see again… the knowing returned. What once felt like guessing became certainty.

Then came the three deaths that changed everything:

My cousin.

My grandmother.

My sister.

I saw each one’s death before it happened —40k up in the skywhile travelling, in a dream and in signs. One died by suicide. One in an accident. One after a prolonged illness. I tried to intervene. I prayed. I warned. I hoped. But I could not stop it.

And yet… after they passed, they came to me.

We spoke. They shared what happened. Why. Where they were now.

Their deaths shattered me — and yet gave me clarity:

Death is not the end.

There is more.

And circumstances of the death we shape what becomes of our spirit.

My visions returned. Ancestors began visiting my dreams. I started sensing illness in people, receiving messages from those who had crossed. I did not say, “I’m a medium, clairvoyant “or “I see spirits.” But I was living it.

Then came the dream that made it all real.

It was 2023. I stood on a mountain at the entrance of a cave. The land felt ancient… familiar. A elderly man stood next to me, holding a staff. His presence was powered with wisdom. He looked at me and asked,

“Are you ready?”

I hesitated. It felt like a contract.

Can I read the fine print first? I thought.

He smiled — as if he heard me — and asked,

“Do you want it ?” Speaking of the staff.

I looked into his eyes, endless and eternal, and all my being said,

“Yes.”

When I woke, I could still feel the sun on my skin. The smell of the land. The weight of the staff in my hand.

That was the moment.

That’s when I officially, consciously, whiningly, accept my calling as a shaman.

Not by chasing a title.

Not by seeking power.

But by accepting the called — and choosing to remember… all.

And the path continues.

Every day, more gifts reveal themselves. Some I’ve always had, others awaken when I meet those I’m meant to help. Every soul is a mirror. Every encounter, an initiation.

That’s why I created V.A.L Coaching — to offer a sacred space for others to remember, awaken, and heal. To reconnect with the gifts we’ve been taught to hide. To remind you:

You are not broken.

You are ancient.

You are powerful.

You are sacred.

And if something stirs within you as you read this…

Maybe you’re starting to remember, too.