Facing Your Deepest Fears

I was never afraid of dying but I was always terrified by the idea of being arrested.

In February of this year I wrote a post on

Substack

sharing what I thought could be my final words in the case that my life would meet an untimely end.

I had been “suffering in silence” for as long as I could possibly manage.

My body was painfully and rapidly wasting away due to a long undiagnosed medical condition called Hypercalcemia, which in my case wound up being caused by a Parathyroid Adenoma “the size of a walnut” that wrecked havoc on my bones, brain, and internal organs.

By the end of 2022 all I could think of was finding a way to get myself into hospice care in order to more peacefully ease my transition back into nonphysical, after being given a diagnosis of Hypercalcemia and a Parathyroid Tumor in September.

I was sent to a specialist in Boston for the matter who told me that without surgery I would most certainly die and that she could not do the surgery without prepayment or health insurance — neither of which I had access to at the time.

After research and reflection I came to accept that not only was it improbable that I’d be able to receive the life saving operation but also that nobody I’d come to know and love throughout my 46+ years of life was going to “be there” with or for me at the end.

While an incredibly difficult pill to swallow, these realizations moved me to publicly share the essence of who I am and what I stand for in the aforementioned post — with the intention of leaving behind some final words to soothe those who might one day wonder “What ever happened to Nicole?”

Luckily, in the weeks after penning it I was able to find the support necessary to turn my lifeboat around.

A few days ago I briefly spoke with my friend Megan Hall of The Inspired Women Podcast live on Fireside Chat when we discussed my recent arrest.

Thanks to a government funded program in Pinellas County, Florida called Health Care for the Homeless as well as the compassionate care of a handful of private individuals and agencies, I made it through.

On April 3, 2023 the deadly tumor was removed by a surgeon I know as an angel on earth, Dr. Andrew Mallon.

While convalescing post-surgery I found myself quickly able to support others once again in deep and meaningful ways — helping them release long-held painful stories that had been negatively limiting their ability to fully manifest their individual desires for their lives, respectively.

It was wild and wonderful!

It was as if by magic my own lifelong “superpowers” were all of a sudden amplified and I no longer felt the fears I’d previously felt around being fully recognized and “exposed” for my innate abilities.

At once I wanted to spread the wealth and test limits of abundance!

I gifted my time, attention, and this “channeled” wisdom to everyone and anyone who was interested in receiving it and did so at rapid speed!

24-hours a day, 7-days a week I found myself able to allow “truth” or “higher consciousness” to flow through me on behalf of any Growth Seeker willing to engage.

It was so intense and exciting and immediate that I attempted to connect all of these people together…

I had the idea that as each of them was receiving so much clarity from me individually, if I could connect them together they would all collectively benefit.

At the same time I was seeking to understand how I was able to so seamlessly stream all this information — without knowing the circumstances and details of their individual lives — and confided in each of them in an attempt to put language and explanation to my gift.

I recognized that some understood through their own faith and personal belief-systems what was transpiring with me more than others, and imagined that together they’d be better able to explain the phenomenon amongst them, and help me be able to better articulate it myself.

Unfortunately fear permeated the experience for most of them.

Instead of clarity what occurred from my experiment was greater confusion, and the person who’d provided a sanctuary for my recovery became hostile.

She busted into the studio that she’d invited me to stay at on the day I was moving out, yelling at and threatening me.

She demanded that I leave at once while refusing to excuse herself to allow me the privacy to collect my terrified cat who went into hiding, and my few personal items remaining in the space.

I attempted to deescalate the situation with her on my own…

Then by contacting others not present for their support.

Finally I called 911 and requested a police presence on speakerphone — as she’d been threatening to do — along with mental health support, assuring the operator that everything would be fine but that the kind woman confronting me was in fear.

According to stories she’d previously told me, some months back she had gone through a similar situation of having the police attend this studio after inviting a longtime friend who was “like a brother” to her and his life-partner to stay.

It was clear to me in the moment that she was reliving this traumatic experience.

She had previously told me that the partner of her friend had “a dark energy” and put her friend “under his spell”.

While on the phone with the police this woman asserted that I was “having a manic episode”.

She spoke with the police officer upon his arrival who stepped out with her to allow me privacy to collect myself and pack up my cat and personal items.

I was stressed! In a BIG way.

He came back into the room about 60-seconds later as I was pulling myself and my stuff together — instigatingly asserting that I wasn’t moving but “just sitting there”.

I was alone. Not properly dressed and my heart pounding as I attempted to coax my cat out of hiding while an audience began building outside, being told that I was manic and a threat — I quickly became a target.

In dialogue with the officer outside the door, my expressive arm flung backwards as the woman unbeknownst to me walked towards me from behind and my hand struck her face.

Suffice to say that I found myself face to face with my greatest fear.

Contorted in the backseat of a police car in 90-degree weather — my shoulders, elbows, and wrists all overextended as I struggled to breathe as the cold metal handcuffs pressed against my fragile bones, I squinted to see what was going on outside as my glasses fell from my face, and to capture the attention of the officers asking that they mindfully reposition me.

Instead I was laughed at, told it was supposed to hurt, and didn’t deserve to get air because they didn’t want to hear me.

Custody of my cat was given to the woman and her friends — the alternative being that he’d be sent to an animal shelter and I may not be able to get him back.

The keys to my vehicle, my phone, my glasses, and my wallet were confiscated.

I was taken away in the cruiser which stopped in a breezeway where I was escorted out of the car to have my feet and hands shackled, then put into a van of sorts for a drive to places unknown.

I arrived at the county jail where I was processed with little information and treated like a monster.

I adapted to my environment.

Despite multiple requests for my glasses — informing the personnel that I was unable to see, and asking about what was to occur — I struggled to make sense of the process.

Having been a Correctional Officer at multiple facilities in Canada, as well as a front line staff member in privately owned facilities for youth in the US, I attempted to make sense of and articulate my experience as it was unfolding.

It was worse than any nightmare I’d ever had.

Alone, scared, injured, blind, and confused things went from bad to worse.

I won’t bore you with all the details of being lifted up from behind and dragged by my breasts across the room, being thrown into a cell and observing my injuries asking for documentation and a nurse, or being strapped into a wheelchair and having my head slammed down against a flat surface by a guard before being transported to another building and left in a cold cell overnight — barefoot and bleeding without anything to cover up or clean with.

My experience at the Pinellas County jail and the occurrences between then and arriving at safety will have to wait for another time, as will the outcome of my impending trial.

For now — I am safe.

I am sane.

My body is healing.

What happens next?

Stay tuned.