I had about five minutes of training before I had business cards printed.
A website followed. Then readings. Then public demonstrations. Fairs. Facebook posts. The whole box and dice.
At the time, I was thrilled. I’d had an experience in my first introduction to psychic and mediumship that felt like everything suddenly clicked into place. I thought, “Oh my goodness. I can do this.”
And I genuinely believed I was doing a good job.
That is the uncomfortable part of this story. My intentions were good. I wanted to help people. I wanted to understand this thing that had made so many strange experiences from my childhood seem to make sense.
But good intentions aren’t the same as competence.
Looking back, I didn’t know what I didn’t know.
I was measuring myself against what I had seen on television, what the person who first introduced me to the work was doing, and the polite responses of people who came for a reading. Some readings landed. Some didn’t. Most people were kind enough not to tell me exactly what they thought.
So I assumed I was on the right track.
I had no real standard to measure against.
The room you’re in shapes what you think is normal
There is a phrase I heard recently that has stayed with me: you are the average of the rooms you are in.
That was certainly true for me in those early days.
If everyone around you treats a small amount of experience as enough to start teaching, reading publicly or running events, it can feel normal. If the work you see is vague, dramatic or heavily reliant on personality, you can start to believe that is simply how mediumship works.
I was copying what I had seen. I thought confidence meant quality. I thought a strong reaction from a recipient meant I must be doing something right.
I didn’t understand the difference between a strong personality, psychic sensitivity and sustained evidential mediumship.
Then I saw a standard I had never seen before.
A medium from the United Kingdom came to Canberra to demonstrate. I remember sitting in the audience with my jaw on the floor.
The work was detailed. Specific. Calm. There was no theatrical fuss around it. The evidence built in a way that allowed the recipient to understand who the communicator was and why that person mattered.
It was not about making the medium look special.
It was about doing the work properly.
That night changed my measure of what was possible. More importantly, it changed my measure of what was acceptable.
I remember going up afterwards and asking how I could learn to work like that. The answer led me into formal development and, eventually, to training with Paul Jacobs.
I expected encouragement.
Instead, I received a very frank assessment.
The message was essentially this: there may be potential here, but potential is not the same as ability. You are not yet in the power. You are not yet blending properly. You do not yet understand the discipline the work requires.
It was not comfortable to hear.
It was also exactly what I needed.
The work is bigger than a good first experience
A good first experience can be exciting. It can open a door. It can make you curious. It can even make you feel as though you have found something you were always meant to do.
But it isn’t a qualification.
I had mistaken an opening experience for readiness.
I had mistaken encouragement for training.
I had mistaken public activity for development.
Proper development asked far more of me. It involved sitting in the stillness. Learning what it felt like to work with sensitivity without rushing to explain every thought, feeling or sensation. Learning to recognise the difference between my own mind, psychic awareness and mediumistic awareness.
It also involved boundaries.
I had to learn not to attune to people without their consent. I had to learn that being sensitive did not give me permission to start reading the people around me, including colleagues at work.
No wonder some people felt uncomfortable around me in those early days.
I was doing the very thing I would now consider inappropriate.
Training gave me a different framework. Consent matters. Boundaries matter. Not being “on” all the time matters. The person in front of you is not there to prove that you are gifted. They are a human being, and the work has consequences.
That was a major shift for me.
I took myself out of circulation
At one point, I took myself out of circulation for two years.
I stopped trying to prove myself publicly and focused on development.
That was not a glamorous decision. There were no big announcements. No shiny new website. No business cards.
Just work.
Over time, I returned to the tutors and circles connected to the training philosophy that made sense to me. I kept going back. I kept practising. I kept being corrected.
That is not because I think there is only one path or one teacher. There are many excellent teachers and development groups.
But I do believe a person teaching mediumship should be able to explain how they were trained, who trained them, what ongoing development they undertake and how they approach consent, boundaries and evidence.
A person’s charisma is not the same as their capability.
A dramatic story is not the same as evidence.
A website, a title or ten years of public activity is not automatically a measure of quality either.
The standard is in the work.
Can they sustain a contact? Can they present information clearly? Can they handle a “no” without guessing, pushing or making excuses? Can they say, “I’ve got nothing”, rather than filling the space with vague statements?
Can they treat the recipient with respect?
Those questions matter.
Development is not a fast track
People understandably want quick results.
They want to attend a weekend workshop and come away feeling confident. They want to know whether they have ability. They want something practical to happen.
I understand that. I was exactly the same.
But development is not a fast track to becoming a public medium.
It takes time to develop your sensitivity. It takes time to understand your own mind. It takes time to learn how to work ethically. It takes time to become steady enough to recognise when you do not have enough information and not make something up to fill the gap.
I started learning properly in 2016. I have continued to train across Australia, the United Kingdom and Germany. It has involved years of returning to the basics, sitting in development, receiving feedback and being willing to start again.
That is not a criticism of beginners.
Beginners should be welcomed. Curiosity should be welcomed. Learning should be encouraged.
But a beginner deserves honest guidance. They deserve a teacher who does not inflate their ego, rush them into public work or tell them that a single workshop has made them ready to teach others.
I wish someone had slowed me down earlier.
What to ask before you choose a teacher
If you are looking for a circle, workshop or mentor, use your discretion.
Ask who trained them.
Ask how long they have been developing, not just how long they have been publicly active.
Ask whether they still receive supervision, tuition or feedback.
Ask how they approach consent and boundaries.
Ask what happens when they have nothing.
Watch how they work. Are they trying to be a version of someone they saw on television? Are they relying on broad statements and charm? Or are they focused on clear evidence, respect and the recipient’s experience?
You do not need to become cynical.
You do need to become discerning.
There are wonderful teachers in this field. Many of them are not the loudest people in the room. They are the people quietly doing the work, correcting themselves, supporting their students and maintaining standards.
I am grateful for my beginning because it led me here.
But I am also grateful that I was shown a higher standard.
The business cards came far too early.
The real learning took years.