There's a loneliness that has nothing to do with being alone. You can stand in a full room, with family who love you and colleagues who like you, and still feel it — because the part of you that senses more than it can explain stays outside the conversation. If you've felt things your whole life and learned early to keep quiet about them, you know this loneliness by heart. So does Mia. After thirty-plus years as a working medium, she's blunt about it:

We are the loneliest people in the world when we are working as a medium.

Nobody puts that on the poster. Let's talk about it honestly — and about the other thing nobody mentions: where the loneliness ends.

Why does the spiritual path feel so lonely?

Because sensitivity separates before it connects. Long before anyone calls themselves a medium, there are years of noticing things — moods, atmospheres, knowings — that the people around you don't seem to register. Mention them and you get the look. So you stop mentioning them, and a gap opens between the self you show and the self you are. That gap is the loneliness. It isn't a shortage of people; it's a shortage of people you can be whole with.

Mia carried it for decades, and not just in childhood. Even inside the spiritual world, surrounded by like-minded colleagues:

It doesn't matter what category of people I'm joining, I feel like I'm misfitted.

If that sentence stings with recognition — keep reading. It turns out the misfits are a category of their own, and it's a big one.

Is it lonely working as a professional medium?

Yes — and it's worth saying plainly, because the fantasy version of this work is all stages and connection. The reality Mia describes to her students: you can travel all over the world and not see the world — you see your workroom most of the time. And the work itself, for all its intimacy, is one-directional: you hold space for everyone, and almost no one holds it for you. As she put it in one session, "sometimes being a medium is a very lonely journey. We meet a lot of people, but we are still lonely."

That's not a reason to turn back. It's a reason to do the one thing lonely sensitive people are worst at: deliberately finding your own kind.

Where do you find your spiritual family?

Mia built her community because she needed it herself and it didn't exist:

I always missed a community where I was accepted for who I am.

What she discovered along the way is the quiet, reliable miracle of this path: walk it long enough and you start meeting people wired like you. You meet people that becomes your spiritual family, she says — some for a lifetime, some for a season, some for a few months. Each one shrinks the gap between the self you show and the self you are, because with them there is no gap. There's nothing to explain. You say what you sensed, and the answer isn't the look — it's "yes, me too."

That's why her circle isn't really a course with a community attached. It's the other way round. The mediumship, the healing, the trance evenings — they're what the family does together. The belonging is the point:

Our misfits can come together and feel that we belong.

You don't have to be lonely to be sensitive

The loneliness was never evidence that something is wrong with you. It was evidence that you hadn't found your people yet — a room where the thing you spent your life hiding is simply the thing everyone has in common. Those rooms exist. Mia ends her sessions on it more often than on anything else, and it's the best last word this article could have:

More than anything, I want you to realise that you're not alone.