About Camille Jacobs

I never expected my life to look like this. Honestly, I am still a little amazed that it does.

My story does not have a gentle beginning.

I grew up navigating abandonment, abuse, and at times homelessness. I was a child learning to survive in circumstances no child should ever have to face, building walls and strategies and a toughness that kept me standing when the ground kept shifting underneath me.

Faith was something I came to as a teenager, reaching for something solid in the middle of all of that instability.

Christianity gave me a framework, a language, a place to put my belief in something greater than what I could see. But even then, sitting in that faith, there was always a quiet knowing underneath it that something more was waiting. That the story was bigger than what I was being told. I could not have named it then. I just knew that what I had found, as comforting as it was, was not quite the whole truth.

I built a life anyway. I started a career in IT, found my footing, and began to discover what it felt like to stand on solid ground. And then I found him. The moment I met my husband I knew. Not in a dramatic movie way but in a quiet, certain, soul-deep way that I now understand far better than I did then. We were meant to find each other. Of that I have no doubt.

We built our life together inside our faith community, volunteering in the church side by side, raising two children, creating the kind of home I had always dreamed of but never quite believed was possible for someone with my beginning. We were a family. A real, full, beautiful family.

And then illness found me.
Not long into the life we were building together, a debilitating disease took hold and did not let go for over twenty years. Twenty years of watching the life I had worked so hard to build continue around me while I fought just to get through the day. Twenty years of trying to show up as a mother, a wife, a partner, a person, while my body had other plans. The demands of raising a family, maintaining a career, and simply existing while chronically ill pushed me to limits I did not know I had.

He never left. Not for a single day.

My husband stood beside me through all of it, showing up on the hard days and the harder ones, carrying what I could not carry, and loving me in the way I had always hoped someone would but never quite trusted would last. He is the love of my life, and our beautiful family is the greatest evidence I have that even the most broken beginnings can lead somewhere beautiful.
 

I had no interest in spirituality through any of this. No curiosity about spirit guides or channeling or anything beyond what I had been taught in the church. I was a practical woman with a career in IT and a family to raise. I was just trying to survive, and live a life that had all the blessings even with all of its challenges.

And then I lost my son Cameron.
Cameron’s passing broke me in ways I did not know a person could be broken. The grief was unlike anything I had ever carried, and I had carried a lot. He was not just my son. He was his sister’s best friend, the joy at the center of our family’s world, and a presence so alive and so vivid that the silence he left behind was deafening. But in the depths of that loss something happened that I could not explain, could not fit into anything I had been taught, and could not deny no matter how hard I tried.

 

Five days after Cameron passed, on his birthday, I had a near death experience.

What I was shown in that experience shattered everything I thought I knew and rebuilt it into something I could finally stand on. Jesus was there. And what he showed me, what he told me, was nothing like what I had been taught to expect. It was bigger. It was more loving. It was more expansive than any box I had ever been handed. I came back with gifts I had never asked for and did not know what to do with, a knowing so deep and certain it could not be argued away, and a message I was told I would return to deliver.
I was told I would come back and bring messages to people. That this was my purpose.

That the loss, the illness, the pain, all of it had been preparing me for exactly this.

What I did not anticipate was how hard it would be to bring that home.
My husband had just lost his son. We both had. And now the woman he had built his life with was telling him she had been to the other side and come back able to channel messages from spirit guides. He loved me completely and he was terrified for me.

Was this grief? Was this the mind’s way of protecting itself from pain too big to hold? Was it something that needed medical attention?

 

He asked the questions any loving partner would ask, and I could not blame him for a single one of them.
It was witnessing things he could not explain that slowly, steadily changed everything for him. Not arguments or explanations or anything I could say with words. Just the undeniable evidence of what he saw happening in front of him. Today he is my greatest supporter, my biggest believer, and the man who stands beside this work with his whole heart. Our story is its own kind of testimony.
 

I wrestled with reconciling my faith for a long time too.

I had spent years in a tradition that did not have a framework for what I had experienced. Reconciling what Jesus showed me with what I had been taught about what was possible took time, prayer, and a willingness to let my understanding of God grow bigger than the walls I had built around it. What I came to understand is that the two are not in conflict. They never were. The love at the center of everything I experienced was the same love I had always known. It had just never been that close before. And that quiet knowing I had always carried underneath my faith, that feeling that the story was bigger than what I was being told, turned out not to be doubt at all. It was preparation.

Cameron’s absence left a hole in our family that nothing will ever fill.

Grief changes people. It changed all of us. But what this journey has given our family, in the middle of that grief, is the unshakeable knowing that he did not simply disappear. He is still here. Still present. Still woven into the fabric of who we are and how we love each other. Death is not the end. I know that now not just because of what I was shown, but because I have watched my family begin to heal around that truth.

Healing with Cam carries both of our names.

Cam is for Cameron, my son on the other side who walks beside me in every reading, every session, every word on this page.

And Cam is for Camille, the version of me that Cameron’s love helped call forward. This is not just my work. It is ours. He is as present in everything I do here as I am.

I am not someone who grew up knowing they were gifted.

I am not someone who always felt connected to spirit or drawn to this path.

I am someone who was broken open by life, by loss, by two decades of illness and a lifetime of pain, and discovered on the other side of all of it that none of it was an accident. Every single piece of it was preparing me to sit across from someone like you and say: I see you. I understand what it is to suffer. And I know, because I have lived it, that there is a bigger story underneath all of it.

Your guides hold that story. My job is to help you hear it.

With love,

Camille