The Truth About My Grandmother: A Traditional Healer With Dark Secrets
Growing up, I always thought my grandmother was special.
She was known in our village as a traditional healer. People came to her from far and wide. Some wanted healing, others wanted help with their businesses, some just wanted their lives to be better. They believed in her. They trusted her. And she always had this calm, gentle smile on her face, like she truly cared.
But behind that smile was a secret.
My grandmother wasn't helping people. She was taking from them. Not money — although she took that too — but something deeper. Their luck. Their blessings. Their good energy.
She used to do rituals and prayers, pretending she was removing bad luck. But what we didn’t know back then was that she was actually stealing the good luck they already had. She took the blessings people had worked for and transferred them to her own family — to us, her grandchildren.
I didn’t know this when I was young. All I knew was that somehow, things always worked out for me and my cousins. Even when we didn’t work too hard, doors opened for us. We were lucky. We had opportunities fall into our laps. And people would say, “Wow, you’re so blessed!” But deep down, something always felt off.
When I got older, I started to put the pieces together. Some people who came to my grandmother for help ended up worse than before. Their businesses failed. Their relationships crumbled. They would come again, more desperate. And still, my grandmother smiled.
She passed away years ago. But sometimes I think about the kind of power she had — and how she used it. Not for healing. Not for love. But for control, and for keeping all the blessings in our family.
Now that I know the truth, I don’t feel proud of the luck I have. I carry it with a little guilt. Because maybe it wasn’t meant for me. Maybe it was meant for someone who truly needed help.
I still believe in healing, and in energy. But I also believe in doing things the right way — with kindness and honesty. If I ever choose to pass on anything to the next generation, I want it to be something pure.
Not stolen.
Consequences
These days, my cousins and I are not enjoying life like we used to. Everything feels heavy now. We sometimes see strange shadows moving in the corners. We hear voices in foreign languages whispering near us — but when we turn around, there’s no one there.
It’s hard to explain, but it feels like something is watching us.
Sometimes we just sit in silence, disconnected from everything. We’ve stopped caring about things we used to love. It’s like life is slowly draining out of us. And there are days — many days — when we think about ending it all. We don’t talk about it much, but we all feel it. This deep sadness that doesn't go away.
We believe the ancestors of those people — the ones our grandmother stole from — are now dealing with us. Maybe this is the price we are paying for blessings that were never truly ours.
I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t know if we ever can.
But I do know one thing: not all “gifts” are good. And not all “healers” heal.
If you're ever tempted to use someone else’s light to brighten your path, don’t. Because one day, that light might turn on you.
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