Diana Page Jordan | Book Reviews and Inspiration

You Know Your Way Home

By Suzanne Jauchius

Published August 10, 2009  (Paperback) Bree Noa Publishing

More Info: Suzanne Jauchius

I’ve heard of Suzanne Jauchius for years, but we’ve never met.  Which is odd, because doing what I do — interviews — you’d think we would have met that way.  I have interviewed just about every intuitive in the area, not to mention across the country…Sylvia Browne, Laura Day, Sue Storm, probably a dozen more.  Around August, I saw Suzanne’s name posted in connection with a local bookstore, and I sensed the desire to meet her, whisper through me.

I did not know she had a new book. Out of the blue, about a week ago, Suzanne’s publicist sent me the review copy of You Know Your Way Home. I read it in one gulp just now, stunned, mostly, for how similar our paths have been.  Abusive childhoods. “Seeing” things. Codependency.  Multiple relationships with abusive men. The sad circle of sensitive females. Claiming our power.

Her autobiography rings as a declaration of  freedom.  It’s a story about clearing out the unhealthy crap, boldly striking out independently, declaring to the world that you are on your path.  And, drawing irrefutable boundaries.

I celebrate her take on the old saw “when the student is ready, the teacher appears.”  That, actually, is how I feel about all the authors who came to town at the right time, exactly at the time I had been dealing with their unique topic.  My conversations with Melody Beattie (codependency), Debbie Ford (shadow work), and even Nancy Cartwright – the voice of Bart Simpson (freeing up to play), among others – chiseled me from the frozen place where I was riveted.

Suzanne wrote, referring to that old saw — and she should be saluted for her words:

It should say “When the student’s awake, she sees the teacher everywhere.

That’s wisdom.

I was struck again when Suzanne mentioned her friendship with Jeanne Boylan.  I adored Jeanne.  I met her nine years ago when her book Portraits of Guilt came out, and she was on book tour.  Jeanne’s heart-stopping talent lies in drawing police sketches of violent criminals — without the “pick-a-nose” feature.  She simply has a conversation with witnesses, and draws what she sees.  We connected deeply during the interview – she felt like an old friend whom I wanted to never leave.

Suzanne’s stories of her psychic hits are stunning.  Because she lives not far from me in the Portland, Oregon area, and I have been a news reporter and anchor for all my life spent here, I felt struck hard by her roles in finding at least two serial killers who preyed on children and women.  I sat in the courtroom, hearing grisly testimony about the Wesley Alan Dodd case.  Suzanne “saw” Dodd’s car, and predicted he would be caught trying to abduct another child.  I remember all too clearly interviewing police about the attempted abduction of a kid in a Vancouver movie theatre.  The very one that led to Dodd’s arrest.

I’ve noticed that the more healing work I do, the more clearly I can “see” or “hear.”  Some people tell me I’m intuitive, and they ask me to read for them, so I tell them what I hear, for free, and I couch my answers with a request to not bet on what I say.  We all are at least somewhat intuitive.  Suzanne’s gift is great.

Just now, I’m reminded of her mention that we should know our family history, to understand our unique talents.  At that, my maternal grandmother — the top RN in the ER of a top New York City hospital — comes to mind.  She was born in Peru, and traced our lineage back to the Inca tribe, including, she said, to a princess.  She made predictions, read cards, read palms — secretly, so my mother wouldn’t know.

That thing about betting…?  I just remembered a time when I was a young teenager down the shore in New Jersey, and only a few people milled about.  One of the carnival barkers called me over, badgering me to put my quarter down on his wheel.  He pissed me off, he was so insistent.  A rare moment, I felt defiant.  I pulled out a quarter, and slapped it down onto a number, then watched him spin the wheel, just for me.

My number came up.  He swore.  And he pulled down a stuffed animal the size of a baby, which I curled into my chest.  I walked away.  Thanking him.