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What's wrong? And more importantly, why was I crying?

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The tears that well up in my eyes are a surprise. I didn't expect to cry when my aura was first read, nor did I expect to feel… seen?

Spiritual readings are not completely foreign to me. In 2022, I connected virtually with Tyler Henry, a medium whose talents have inspired two television series. But during this reading, I was able to verify his premonitions. (He seemed to know a lot about my family, but not every instinct felt right.) But how could I verify an interpretation of my aura, the most important of all color analyses?

Elizabeth April – who was introduced to me as a “spiritual wellness influencer, psychic, intuitive medium and best-selling author” – says she has “extrasensory abilities.” At age 2, she says, her parents noticed she was “seeing things. Probably energies and auras and spirits and ghosts.” I'm Catholic. I believe in an afterlife, which I believe includes spirits. I'm not so familiar with auras.

It's a person's energy field, April says. Each color has an association, “usually different emotions or scenario situations.” She also gathers information from the size of a person's aura.

Everyone is possessed with the sex lives of the Olympians. Why?

An editor encouraged me before reading it: “Just have fun with it.” Cut to me crying. Here's what happened:

'What does the future hold?'

The first colors April sees when assessing my aura are pink, orange and yellow, a color scheme that I think my nieces (7 and 4) will like.

Pink represents my divine feminine energy and my compassion and empathy, says April. Orange touches on these qualities and points to my “observing, feeling” side. Yellow represents my confidence.

“You're definitely someone who just knows what you want and goes after it,” April says. And then things start to get more concrete.

Forest green represents “that deep question within you: ‘What does the future hold? Where am I going?'” says April. Bingo!

At the time of our reading, it is 10 days until my birthday, an occasion that usually causes excitement. I am not in a relationship, so I do not celebrate Valentine's Day or an anniversary. There is no Auntie's Day yet, so I have one day off a year and usually enjoy it.

But this year I'm panicking. I'm turning 37, I want a husband and children, but I don't even have the prospect of a nice date.

April asks about my relationship status.

“Single and searching, single and hopeful,” I tell her.

“Interesting,” April replies.

“Why? What do you see?” I ask.

Do I have a “past life”?

I have purple energy at the back of my body, which means I'm dealing with “past life stuff,” April says. It's blocking my romantic relationships. Well, at least there is a diagnosis.

The pattern that needs to be broken is “not being fully seen in relationships,” April says. “You tend to hide parts of yourself from men.”

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“I'm afraid that men will be intimidated because I'm a strong, ambitious woman,” April says. “And she's right. I am too.”

“But as we know, it's usually men who are not confident, authentic and strong who feel intimidated by such a woman, who is not the type of man they want to date anyway,” she says.

In the last year, “I've done a lot of work on myself,” April says, and now I feel comfortable “being myself without regrets.” That's true. That's the yellow, the confidence, she says.

By talking about this pattern, it will be dissolved, says April. She predicts that my soulmate will enter my life in one to two years. Now we talk!

“This is your person for the rest of your life,” she says. That fills me with lightness, like balm for the wound that hurts the most. He'll be an “old soul” who's a good communicator and empathetic. “That's why he's not intimidated when you step up and take charge. So there'll be a really good balance, rather than (someone) who's narcissistic and really doesn't see who you are.”

Being seen is the most frightening prospect for me, and the thing I crave the most. Every time I struggle to make small talk while others are conversing fluently, or when I unsuccessfully try to connect with my friends, I feel “weird,” as a sixth-grade classmate once put it—an insult that hurt.

And if I showed this queer me to a romantic partner, I'm sure they wouldn't stick around. Just like no one has in all the years I've been dating. That's why the tears are flowing. Without saying much, April has recognized the parts of me I'm most proud of and given me full permission to be my unique self.

“Ooh, I'm getting goosebumps,” April says. I do, too. “You have so much to say. You are such a force to be reckoned with, and I feel like you've made yourself small, both in romantic relationships and in your career, and now your time has come. Now is your time to be seen.”

Sniffling, I tell April how lost I am because I have neither a husband nor children.

“Whatever you have always wanted will come to you,” she says. “So don't worry. Everything comes in due time.”

When I meet my soul mate, we will fit together like puzzle pieces, says April.

Do I have a starry aura? Will I meet my “puzzle piece” husband by 2026? Will April's predictions for my life come true, or is it simply knowing what a single woman in her late 30s, lamenting her loneliness, wants to hear? For me, the answer to these questions is not what I think about after the reading. I think about how much brighter my future can be if I am brave enough to show the world who I am.

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