Do you know that feeling when you sense something just isn’t right? Since childhood, I’ve been able to read people, to feel the subtle energy shift in a room when someone walks in, or the silent tension that surrounds them before a single word is said.
When I meet someone, I usually feel something right away. Sometimes comfort, sometimes unease. More often than not, that feeling turns out to be right. There have been moments when I sensed pain before it was spoken, lies before they unraveled, or sadness before the person could name it themselves. Some didn’t even realize they felt that way until I asked.
My intuition became a silent compass. It guided me through friendships and relationships throughout my childhood and adult life. It was never wrong.
Until it was…
Recently, I shared my story about uncovering the truth about my father. Five years ago, my mother and I discovered that my grandparents had forbidden him from being part of our lives, and had lied to us about it for 38 years. He hadn’t walked away, he had been pushed out.
So much for reading people, huh?
A few months ago, my mom encouraged me to write about it. I decided to give it a try. At first, it was only for me - to piece together what had been broken and see the truth for what it was. But then it became more than writing. It became digging. Publishing it, even in a fictionalized form, made it real.
As I traced my grandparents’ histories, I noticed how my intuition guided me. It wasn’t just about facts or timelines anymore - it was about feeling the emotions that ran quietly underneath everything, connecting their pasts to their choices, and imagining what might have driven them. Writing became a form of listening, an instinctive tracing of invisible lines between hurt and the ways we learn to survive.
Writing allowed me to step into their minds. I imagined my grandmother, afraid of my grandfather and the violence he brought into their lives. My grandfather as a boy in an orphanage, abandoned by his parents. My father as a teenager, forced out of his child’s life.
When I step into someone’s mind and write from their perspective, I never know exactly what will come out. I simply begin, letting the story unfold. By the end, I often find myself stunned by the connections I’ve made. I can sense their suffering, feel their pain. Seeing through their eyes doesn’t excuse their choices, but it helps me understand the chain of fear, shame, and survival that has run through generations.
I don’t claim to know the absolute truth of what happened, but I feel I’m coming close, guided by both empathy and instinct. And while writing, I realize I’m slowly beginning to heal, to forgive what they have done.
Lately, I’ve wondered where this instinct comes from. Was I born with it - this gift, this sixth sense? I don’t think so. The more I write about my grandparents’ lives, my mom’s life, my own, the more I realize it’s something else. It’s the curse of growing up with domestic violence - something that’s been part of my story since before I was born.
My grandfather was violent and controlling. My father was kept away, leaving me with a constant sense that a part of me was missing. My mother fell into abusive relationships, carrying her own childhood trauma. Everywhere I looked, conflict and chaos surrounded me. It’s what I inherited.
Understanding this, I believe what I went through only made my intuition stronger. What feels like a sixth sense is really my nervous system paying attention - trained by trauma and sharpened by empathy.
And yet, I never sensed my grandmother’s betrayal. I’ve realized that’s because love and loyalty can cloud our vision. My intuition didn’t fail, it simply wasn’t turned in her direction.
Both my mother and I still live with the trauma of our childhoods, and it has shaped our decisions and behavior toward others, for sure. Knowing all she endured is heartbreaking. She could have easily become a version of her parents - but she didn’t. She never was.
She has always put her children’s needs before her own. She is the most loving, caring, empathetic, and forgiving woman I know. She’s the one person I know would never lie to me. She never has, and she never will, no matter how painful the truth is. There’s no question I can trust her. I don’t need intuition for that.
Knowing my instincts failed with my grandmother won’t change how I walk into a room next time. I will still trust them. Even if they were shaped by childhood trauma, they are part of me, and they have helped shape who I am today. So in the end, to me, it’s not a curse - it’s a gift.
Also read this wonderful essay by Marie A. Rebelle
I love the way you've framed this. Thank you for sharing.
Great essay Noor. Where my adoption is concerned, I too have stepped into various shoes to see things from different perspectives - it's important and allows us to view the wider picture and as u mentioned helps start the healing process.