The Vision That Returned to Save Me

This visions came during one of the lowest chapters of my life.

I was closing out a year where I had been reported for neglecting my children — not because they were neglected, but because I was asking for help and no one was listening. My eldest was constantly unwell, missing school, and I kept telling doctors that something was being missed. No one believed me.

I was right.

He was later diagnosed with two blood disorders, internally fighting each other, leaving him profoundly sick. What looked like failure from the outside was instinct from the inside. A reminder I carry still: a mother’s knowing should never be dismissed.

Less than a year after that experience, in 2012, something shifted.

It was a Wednesday when my third eye activated — not metaphorically, but visibly. Before me appeared Mother Mary, alongside a fae presence resembling Tinkerbell. They came not to frighten me, but to heal. To soothe the pain I was carrying and to open a door I didn’t yet know I would walk through.

That moment — combined with a deep, urgent pull to leave the city and start again in Victoria — set the stage for what came next.

I thought I was being called forward.

I didn’t yet realize I was being warned.

The vision came again, this time vividly.

I was in Victoria, attending an event in Geelong for a friend — the lead singer of a semi-famous band from the 90s. The gig was a success. Afterwards, we went to sit by the nearby beach, relaxed and happy.

Then a man I had met years earlier in Melbourne appeared unexpectedly. It felt strange but welcome. We joined together near the water’s edge, laughing, enjoying the night — until the sea began to behave unnaturally.

The waves receded.

The water pulled back from the shore, leaving exposed sand where it shouldn’t have been. We stared out, confused, until panic rippled through the group as we saw it: a massive wave rising in the distance, rushing toward us.

I ran.

I ran toward the car park behind the venue — until I heard screaming.

My children.

Their grandmother.

They were suddenly on the sand, calling out to me — though they had not been there before. They hadn’t attended the gig. They hadn’t been part of the moment.

But they were there now.

I ran back, gathered them, and fled again. The only place my mind could think to go was inside a car. I found one unlocked. We climbed in, shut the door, huddled together, praying as the wave bore down upon us.

That’s when it happened.

A massive angel — easily twelve feet tall — descended. Winged, radiant, and unmistakably present. I couldn’t tell if they were male or female. They lifted the car above their shoulders, holding us safely as the wave tore through the area below.

We were untouched.

When the water receded, the angel gently lowered us back to the ground. I thanked them — overwhelmed with gratitude. They nodded, as though protecting us was simply their duty.

We sat there afterward, stunned, relieved, alive.

Then I woke.

I had this vision twice.

The second time, because I had dismissed the first as just a dream.

Only later did understanding settle in.

We never moved to Victoria.

And in the years since, watching the chaos that unfolded there, I understand what I was shown. It wasn’t a promise of escape. It was protection through restraint.

My angelic team — my family on the other side — were guiding me even then. Protecting not just my body, but my path.

This vision taught me something I still live by:

to trust my subconscious,

to listen when I’m dream-walking,

and to honour what returns more than once.

Some messages don’t shout.

They repeat — until we listen.