That Gut Feeling is Real.

My teacher - Fanny Benton used the word discernment, and to mask my perceived ignorance (well I was 8) I had to go to the local library and look up what it meant. It means not just intuition or a hunch, but a deeper knowing of a quiet truth that settles in the body.

Even as a child, I couldn’t lie without feeling or showing it - my face beamed crimson red. My gut had a built-in compass.

That inner voice made rebellion difficult. I couldn’t talk myself into staying in bad situations. I was a pro at getting knee-deep in devilment, but the knowing always rose up, steady and insistent.

As I got older, it softened into something clearer. I couldn’t lie to myself. I couldn’t not know what I knew.

But that sensitivity became both a compass and burden because sometimes, we don’t want to know.

In my twenties, life looked ideal, my husband and I ran a successful hair salon and had a young child but something felt off. I remember standing alone one evening in my salon feeling both fear and clarity, “ If we root deeper into this life, I will lose myself, and we will lose each other.” Saying it aloud changed everything. We sold the house, divorced and for the next ten years we both wandered, healed, and grew into new versions of ourselves, albeit not together.

That’s when I learned the difference between impulse and instinct. Impulse is loud. Instinct is quiet, patient, and sure, even when it’s scary.

Sometimes we have no choice but to ignore the deep knowing and become a shadow for a short time, whilst we survive, like clinging onto a life raft, and learn who we really are.

Life can be complicated, chaotic and unsafe and we get through it the only way we know how at the time. Hindsight is a marvellous thing.

Later, during infertility and IVF, that same voice returned. Our first round failed, as did our second.

Apart from the financial burden, there were health implications also. The doctor said to try again, but something in me resisted. It was only years later that I realised that having another child at that point was for all the wrong reasons.

Instinct doesn’t come with guarantees. Sometimes it’s just a flicker of clarity. But I’ve learned it matters to honour it.

There were times I didn’t listen. I stayed too long and said yes too fast. That’s part of the process. But the voice never left. It was hiding somewhere, soft, dark and steady.

Now, I make space to hear it, long walks, open water and quiet forests, asking, Does this feel like peace? Does this feel like you?

This discernment doesn’t need to be earned. It lives in my body. It always has.

It sounds like my teacher's voice.
It sounds like mine.
And it feels like home.

Trust your instincts - they are a gift.