What Was Said in Greenwich

I’d joined Greenwich Market in London right around Brexit, when tourism took a hit. It wasn’t the vibrant market I remembered growing up — not with the phased renovations, the scaffolding, and the constant building works. Probably not the best time to set up a stall… but despite all that, I managed to show up and secure a regular space.

And the truth is, it wasn’t even guaranteed. You’d turn up with no certainty you’d be selected for a pitch that day — but somehow, I was never turned away.

And slowly, something real formed.

A few clients would come daily. Some weekly. Some fortnightly. Over a couple of years it was enough to build rapport — the kind that turns “customer” into familiar face, and familiar face into me knowing their life story… or what they’d say before they’d say it. Friends told their friends. And before I knew it, this little circle of intimates formed around me — not huge, not loud, just consistent.

A select few started inviting me out socially — drinks, sometimes even a spiritual festival.

There was one occasion I’ll never forget.

They’d talk openly about matters that would frequently come up in sessions with me. I kept confidentiality — always. But I couldn’t help noticing the difference between what people say out loud to friends… versus what they say in a more authentic setting with me, where vulnerability is allowed and the truth doesn’t have to look pretty.

It’s funny, isn’t it? The faces we show depending on what company we keep.

This particular evening it was three of us — two women, both my clients, both older than me. Most of my clients were women between 35 and 60, though not limited to that, and these two fell somewhere in the middle. They’d known each other a while.

I’ve changed their names, but I’ll try to recreate what was happening around that table.

I remember the table was round. A bar/lounge in Greenwich. Dim lights. That bustling London hum — glasses clinking, people leaning in close, music low enough that you could still hear a confession if someone dared to make one.

Their names, for this story, are Ana and Alexandra.

And what happened that night still makes me smile — because it was one of the clearest moments I’ve ever had where the conversation was happening in two places at once. Out loud, like normal. And underneath it… like a second channel had opened up.

It wasn’t announced. It was organic. It just… happened.

Ana takes a sip, adjusts her hair like she’s trying to act casual, and says:

“So… I’ve met a new guy.”

Alexandra looks at me — the kind of look that says have you heard about this one?

I look back with a clean no.

Ana smiles like she’s been holding it in for days.

“I’ve been waiting to tell you both.”

And I swear Alexandra and I didn’t even speak, but the same thought landed in both our minds at the exact same time.

Is he any good? Better than you-know-who?

Our eyes flick to each other — not dramatic, just quick — like a silent agreement.

Alexandra says out loud, polite and encouraging:

“Tell us more.”

Ana launches into the story: where they met, what he does, how he made her laugh, how he looked at her like she was the only person in the room… all the usual details you give when you want the room to approve before you fully let yourself feel excited.

And while she’s talking, Alexandra and I are having a whole other conversation — silently — that neither of us planned.

How long do you think it’ll take before she brings up Mr No Good?

And in my head, I’m counting down like it’s a game.

Five… four… three…

Ana’s face is smitten, glowing, the way it does when someone’s trying to convince themselves this time is different.

Two… one…

Ana leans forward slightly, like she’s about to drop the plot twist.

“So guess who texted me last night.”

The three of us look at each other. Not surprised. Not shocked. Just… knowingly.

And this is the part I’ll never forget: without saying it out loud, Ana acknowledged it. Like she could feel the undercurrent between Alexandra and me — and even if she wasn’t fully confident with her own light, something in her still picked up what was happening.

The message was basically: I know what you two are doing.

Out loud, full volume now:

“Matthew texted me too!”

Ana turns her eyes to me, like: I don’t like Matthew.

The out-loud conversation continues — all three of us fully engaged — but underneath, the telepathic channel is still running.

Why don’t you like him, Ana?

And the answer comes in a feeling more than a sentence: because he’s not good enough for her.

Then Alexandra’s energy fires back: you deserve better too.

And Ana’s energy pushes right back: so do you.

It’s like they’re both protecting each other while still chasing the same patterns. Like they can see the truth… and still can’t always choose it.

And then I say it — out loud — because someone had to bring the moment back down to earth.

“Are you guys happy?”

Alexandra goes quiet for a second, then shrugs with this softness in her eyes.

“I’d love to grow old with someone.”

Ana, on the other hand, breaks the tension with a grin and says:

“The Kama Sutra positions are amazing,”

We all laugh — that real laugh where you can’t tell if you’re laughing because it’s funny, or because it’s too true.

And I just sat there smiling.

Because part of me thought: is this what it’s like to be around other people who are tuned in?

And then the deeper truth came:

They weren’t “like me”.

They were them.

They had their own gifts — or their own sensitivity — or maybe they were simply close enough

to their own truth to hear it sometimes.

But I could also feel how they admired the light in others while hesitating to accept their own.

And that, right there, was the most human part of the whole surreal night.