03/03/2026
I just happened to be going through some old archive footage and I saw this picture that reminded me of so many moments that happened in this particular café. Then this one night really stands out. So, if you have the time you might just find something in this for you too.
I remember that night clearly back in 2014, my early days of working with larger crowds of people. The smell of coffee was strong. The sound of conversations before we started. Around sixty people gathered into a small room, curious, open, and some sceptical. I was speaking about the Spirit world, sharing an idea that even now can cause a stir for some people. The idea that sometimes, on a soul level, we choose our parents. Not from a human perspective, but from a wider arc of growth that we cannot always see when we are inside the pain.
Halfway through speaking on this topic, a woman in the middle of the room yelled out and told me to f**k off! It cut straight through the space and the room fell eerily silent. Filled with raw emotion. She demanded to know why anyone would ever choose abusive parents. Then she told us why she was asking.
She spoke about she had suffered in regard to both verbal abuse and physical abuse. And then she showed everyone in the room the scars on her body from cigarette burns. The atmosphere changed instantly. You could feel the room contract. Sixty people sitting in silence with something very real sitting in front of us.
There are moments when time slows right down and stretches. This was one of them.
I felt the pressure of it. The weight of needing to respond without bypassing her pain or turning it into a neat spiritual explanation. Nothing about that moment was neat. Thankfully, I felt a beautiful and clam energy wash over me before responding.
I asked her something simple.
“Do you have children?”
She said yes.
I asked if they had experienced anything like what she had lived through. Her answer came fast and fierce.
“Of course f**king not.”
And in that sentence was everything. Her parents had known abuse. She had known abuse. But it stopped with her.
The pattern that had travelled through generations ended in her hands. She absorbed what was given to her and made a different choice for her children. She chose to love differently. To parent differently. To become the turning point instead of the continuation. You could see the realisation move through her face. The anger that had entered the room began to shift. Not into weakness, but into recognition.
She started to cry as that recognition landed. That despite everything she had endured, she had broken the cycle.
The room, which had been holding its breath, began to applaud her. Not out of pity, but out of respect.
That night shaped me and stays with me.
At the time, I thought my role was to explain the Spirit world. To offer insight into something unseen. What I began to understand more deeply is that this work is rarely about explanation. It is about awareness. It is about helping someone see what their life is already proving.
Emotions are the language of the soul. Her anger was not an attack. It was protection. Pain asking to be acknowledged. And beneath it was strength waiting to be seen.
We spend a lot of time talking about what hurt us. The wounds. The unfairness. The trauma that marked our story. What we do not always pause to recognise is the cycles we end. The patterns we refuse to pass on. The quiet decisions that change the direction of a family line.
If you have chosen differently than what you were shown, that matters.
If you have taken pain and turned it into protection for someone else, that matters.
Some cycles end loudly. Some end in tears in a small café in 2014.
Either way, they end because someone decided they would.
Maybe today is a day to acknowledge the cycles you have broken.
Or to become aware of the ones you are strong enough to end.
That is where real change begins.
