Susie Adcock - QHHT 2 Practitioner, Intuitive

09/06/2026

✨ 𝗧𝗥𝗨𝗦𝗧𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗬𝗢𝗨𝗥 𝗢𝗪𝗡 𝗞𝗡𝗢𝗪𝗜𝗡𝗚 ✨

Have you ever felt something was off—and then talked yourself out of it?

I have. More times than I’d like to admit.

I used to think discernment was about figuring other people out, but now I’m not so sure.

I think it’s really about learning to read my own signals—knowing which ones are mine and which ones were imprinted on me a long time ago.

Here’s what keeps happening:

I’ll feel something is off, and I’ll talk myself right out of it.

“You’re overthinking.”

“Give them room.”

“You don’t have all the facts.”

And sometimes that’s true.

But other times?

𝗜𝘁’𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗮𝘁 𝗮𝗹𝗹. 𝗜𝘁’𝘀 𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗿-𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗽𝗮𝘀𝘀𝗶𝗼𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴—giving so much room to others that I forget to trust myself.

💫 𝗖𝗼𝗺𝗽𝗮𝘀𝘀𝗶𝗼𝗻 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵𝗼𝘂𝘁 𝗱𝗶𝘀𝗰𝗲𝗿𝗻𝗺𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝗶𝘀 𝗷𝘂𝘀𝘁 𝗽𝗲𝗼𝗽𝗹𝗲-𝗽𝗹𝗲𝗮𝘀𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝗮 𝗵𝗮𝗹𝗼.

Not every pinch in my chest is wisdom. Sometimes it’s just an old bruise getting pressed.

Sometimes someone reminds me of a person from years back, and I’m not even responding to them anymore—I’m responding to a memory that hasn’t quite finished with me.

So I’m learning to slow down.

𝗡𝗼𝘁 𝘁𝗼 𝗷𝘂𝗱𝗴𝗲 𝗳𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿, 𝗯𝘂𝘁 𝘁𝗼 𝗴𝗲𝘁 𝗰𝘂𝗿𝗶𝗼𝘂𝘀.

Instead of asking, “Can I trust this?” I’ve started asking:

💭 “What is this feeling trying to show me?”

Sometimes it’s pointing at real behavior worth paying attention to.

Other times, it’s pointing at a fear I haven’t named or a story I haven’t closed.

𝗕𝗼𝘁𝗵 𝗺𝗮𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗿.

Here’s what I’ve come to hold as a ground rule:

𝗜𝗳 𝗶𝘁 𝘁𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗴𝗲𝗿𝘀 𝘆𝗼𝘂, 𝗶𝘁’𝘀 𝗽𝗼𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘁𝗼 𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗶𝗻 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁’𝘀 𝗮𝘀𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗵𝗲𝗮𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗴.

Not because the other person is blameless, and not because you’re making things up.

But because your reaction—the charge behind it—is yours to deal with.

And until you do, you’ll keep watching the same movie with different actors.

So when something hits hard, I don’t talk myself out of it anymore—and I don’t rush to figure out who’s right and who’s wrong.

I just pause.

And I practice.

For me, that practice has a name.

There’s an ancient Hawaiian practice called 𝗛𝗼’𝗼𝗽𝗼𝗻𝗼𝗽𝗼𝗻𝗼 that I keep coming back to.

Four little phrases:

🌿 𝗜’𝗠 𝗦𝗢𝗥𝗥𝗬.

🌿 𝗣𝗟𝗘𝗔𝗦𝗘 𝗙𝗢𝗥𝗚𝗜𝗩𝗘 𝗠𝗘.

🌿 𝗧𝗛𝗔𝗡𝗞 𝗬𝗢𝗨.

🌿 𝗜 𝗟𝗢𝗩𝗘 𝗬𝗢𝗨.

Not for them.

𝗙𝗼𝗿 𝗺𝗲.

For whatever got stirred up. For the part of me still hauling around something I didn’t even know was there.

I’ve seen it work too many times to blow it off.

𝗜𝘁 𝗰𝗹𝗲𝗮𝗿𝘀 𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴.
𝗜𝘁 𝗾𝘂𝗶𝗲𝘁𝘀 𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴.

And from that quieter place, I can actually see—not what I’m scared of, not what I’m bracing for—but what’s actually in front of me.

Like when I catch myself overexplaining to someone who never asked.

𝗧𝗵𝗮𝘁’𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗶𝗻𝘁𝘂𝗶𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻. 𝗧𝗵𝗮𝘁’𝘀 𝗷𝘂𝘀𝘁 𝗮 𝗵𝗮𝗯𝗶𝘁.

I teach Ho’oponopono if you want to learn it. Reach out—let’s talk. You’ll thank me. 💜

But even just sitting with those four phrases on your own?

𝗧𝗵𝗮𝘁’𝘀 𝗮 𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗿𝘁.

This isn’t about putting up walls or expecting the worst.

It’s about getting honest enough with myself to tell intuition apart from fear—and what’s really happening from what I’ve been trained to expect.

Over time, relationships get less exhausting.

I stop decoding every text and replaying every conversation. I simply notice how I consistently feel around someone—not on their best day or their worst, but over time.

And honestly?

I’m still figuring it out.

𝗕𝘂𝘁 𝗜’𝗺 𝗴𝗲𝘁𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗯𝗲𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗮𝘁 𝗶𝘁.

Does any of this hit home?

Reply and tell me—I actually want to know.

Or, if you’re curious about Ho’oponopono and want to learn more, reach out. Let’s talk.

Love always,
Susie ❤️

www.susieadcock.com

09/05/2026

08/30/2026

WHEN WE THINK WE NEED MORE

I was sitting on my back porch last night, watching the light fade through the trees, and there was this moment—just a flash, really—where everything just felt… okay. Not perfect. Not solved. Just okay. Present. Like I was exactly where I was supposed to be.

And then my brain started narrating it.

"This is nice. I should feel this more often. How do I make this happen again?"

I caught myself doing it, and I just had to sit with that for a minute. Like, really? I can't even have a moment of peace without turning it into a project? Connection isn't something you manage or collect. But there I was, already figuring out how to bottle it.

That stung a little, I'm not going to lie.

I remember that beautiful feeling fading, and this tiny ripple of panic rising up. Wait—come back. Did I do something wrong? Was I not open enough? Did I miss something?

And that's when it hit me. I was treating connection like a test. Like the Divine was keeping score, and I needed to prove I was worthy of another visit.

The ego? It's sneakier than we think. It doesn't always show up as arrogance. Sometimes it shows up dressed in spiritual clothes, whispering, "You're not there yet. You need more."

Suddenly, the sacred becomes a goal. Presence becomes a prize. And I'm chasing something that was never actually lost.

Here's what I'm slowly learning—the ego chases, but the soul stays. The ego wants the experience; the soul wants the embodiment. The ego says, "I want to hear from my Higher Self more often." The soul says, "I want to live from my Higher Self—right here, in this messy, ordinary moment."

One is reaching. The other is resting. One is thirsty. The other is the water.

Maybe the goal was never to have endless conversations with something greater. Maybe the invitation is to become the conversation. To let that wisdom move through us—not just when we're quiet, but in traffic, in conflict, in laughter, in the mundane stuff we usually scroll past.

Because the ego will always find a reason to ask for more.

And honestly? That's part of the journey too.

So now, when I catch myself reaching for more, I pause. I put my hand on my heart. I smile a little, because I see what I'm doing. And I quietly ask: "Okay… but who's asking right now?"

Then I get still enough to really hear the answer.

And more often than not, I realize—I already have everything I'm looking for. I just forgot to notice.

I know I'm not the only one who wrestles with this. If you're reading this and you feel that tug—that quiet restlessness, that ache for more—you're not alone. I'd genuinely love to hear from you. Drop a comment, send me a message. Let me know what comes up when you ask yourself who's really asking. And if you want to talk it through, I'm here for that conversation. Truly.

Love Always,
Susie

www.susieadcock.com

08/27/2026

Have you figured this out yet?  If not, please contact me.  I would be honored to guide you on your journey of self discovery. 

08/23/2026

💜 𝐖𝐇𝐎 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐘? 💜

Let’s be honest—most of us have no idea who we actually are.

I know that sounds harsh. But think about it.

We walk around with all these labels:

Mother.
Partner.
Employee.
Friend.

We have roles we play, stories we tell ourselves, and a whole bunch of voices in our heads that we’ve picked up from other people.

Their opinions.
Their judgments.
Their fears—dressed up like they’re looking out for us.

And we let them write our story.

Why?

Because it’s easier than picking up the pen ourselves. Because sometimes we don’t even realize we’re living someone else’s version of us.

𝐇𝐞𝐫𝐞’𝐬 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐈’𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐰𝐚𝐲:

𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐨𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮.

I learned this one painfully.

When I was younger, my art teacher told me I really didn’t have a stitch of artistic talent in me.

Just like that.

A casual comment that probably meant nothing to him—and everything to me.

You know what I did?

I quit.

I put down my pencils. Stopped trying. Walked away from something that actually brought me joy because one person told me I wasn’t good enough.

And I carried that with me for years.

I’m not an artist.
I can’t draw.
I don’t have talent.

I made it part of my story. It wasn’t just something he said anymore—it became who I believed I was.

I didn’t even notice how much I’d closed myself off.

I’d see beautiful paintings or sketches and feel this ache in my chest, but I’d push it down.

That’s not for me.
That’s for people who can actually do it.

And honestly?

I look back at that girl who quit, and I don’t feel angry at her. I feel sad for her.

She was just trying to protect herself the only way she knew how. She didn’t know that one person’s words didn’t have to be her truth.

🎨 Then something shifted.

Years later, I wanted to try again.

I found a teacher. Actually, two teachers—both working in different mediums of paint.

And they didn’t tell me I had talent.

They simply taught me what I didn’t know.

Patiently.
Without judgment.

They showed me technique, encouraged my mistakes, and slowly—piece by piece—I started to believe I could.

I remember the first time I sat down to paint again.

My hands were shaking. I was so scared of being terrible that I almost didn’t start.

But I did.

And I made a mess.

And somehow, that was exactly what I needed.

𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞.
𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐞 𝐬𝐤𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐬.

And somehow, the confidence followed.

And you know what?

I surprised myself.

I’m actually pretty good. Not perfect. But I create things now that make me stop and think:

I made that.

I wish I could go back and show my old teacher what I’ve created.

Not out of spite—just to say:

“You were wrong. And I almost let that stop me.”

But what hurts most isn’t him.

It’s not the comment.

It’s all those years I lost.

All those years I believed I wasn’t capable. All those quiet evenings I could have been creating, exploring, and discovering—but instead, I was sitting in the corner of someone else’s story, shrinking to fit their version of me.

I kept waiting for someone to tell me I was good enough before I allowed myself to try.

But that permission never came—so I had to give it to myself.

That’s what we do.

We let other people hand us a script, and if we’re not paying attention, we spend years performing a role that was never meant for us.

Now, I’m not saying we should shut everyone out. That’s not it at all.

Some of the people who love us the most see things we can’t see in ourselves. And sometimes their words—even when they sting—are a gift.

So how do you tell the difference?

Because honestly?

That’s the part I still wrestle with.

Someone says something about me, and I feel that little twist in my gut. I have to pause and ask myself:

𝐈𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫 𝐈 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝?
𝐎𝐫 𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐚 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲’𝐫𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠?

I don’t always get it right.

Sometimes I still catch myself shrinking to fit someone else’s idea of who I should be.

And I have to stop and remind myself:

That’s their story—not mine.

I won’t lie—sometimes that old voice still creeps in. The one that says I’m not a real artist.

But now I know how to talk back to it.

I tell it:

That’s not my voice. That’s his.

But here’s what I’m learning—and this is the part I wish I could tell my younger self:

𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮.

The right ones will water what’s growing in you—not trample it.

They won’t hand you your worth, but they’ll reflect it back until you can see it for yourself.

And the ones who don’t?

They’re just walking around with their own filters, their own pain, and their own stories that have nothing to do with you.

So if you’re sitting there right now carrying someone else’s words like a weight, I want you to hear this:

𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐩𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧.

✍️ You get to pick the pen back up.

Even if it’s been years.
Even if you’re rusty.
Even if you’ve told yourself it’s too late.

I picked mine up after decades.

And the only thing I regret is not doing it sooner.

✨ 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄’𝐒 𝐌𝐘 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐄:

Right now—before you scroll past this—take thirty seconds.

Write down three words that describe who you really are.

Not who you’re supposed to be.
Not who you’re trying to become.

Just you—right now, in this messy, beautiful season.

Sit with those words.

Then ask yourself:

𝐀𝐦 𝐈 𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭’𝐬 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐞?

If the answer is no, that’s okay.

That’s just information.
That’s just a starting point.

I’m still figuring it out too.

Some days I feel like I’m starting over from scratch. But I think that’s the point.

Not arriving.
Just keeping the conversation going.

So who are you really—beyond the labels, beyond the voices, and beyond the stories you’ve been handed?

What would it look like to give yourself permission to become that person?

Drop your three words in the comments or send me a message. ❤️

Love always,
Susie

www.susieadcock.com

08/19/2026

💜 Kind Words from a Grateful Client 💜

I had the absolute pleasure of meeting with Susie, and the experience was truly something special. She is a gifted psychic, among so many other talents, and her knowledge, intuition, and connection to spirit genuinely amazed me.

From the moment I met her, Susie was incredibly welcoming. She has the true heart of a mother—warm, nurturing, comforting, and genuine. She made the entire experience feel less like an appointment and more like sitting down with someone I had known for years. I felt completely at home with her.

Her connection to spirit was incredibly on point, and so much of what she shared resonated deeply with me. But what stood out just as much as her gifts was the person behind them. She doesn’t just share what she knows; she teaches, explains, listens, and creates a space where you feel comfortable learning and opening your heart and mind.

My experience with Susie was beyond reproach. I walked away feeling grateful not only for the experience and what she shared with me, but for simply having met her. She is a wonderful teacher, a beautiful soul, and someone I sincerely hope becomes a lifelong friend.

I would wholeheartedly recommend Susie to anyone looking for genuine guidance, spiritual connection, knowledge, and a truly welcoming experience. ❤️

08/16/2026

✨ 𝑨 𝑳𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒐𝒏 𝑰 𝑲𝒆𝒆𝒑 𝑳𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 ✨

A lesson I keep learning:

The people who can easily anger me are usually showing me where I still have work to do within myself.

If someone can say a few words and steal my peace, ruin my day, or send me into a tailspin, then in that moment, I’ve handed them a piece of my power.

They may not intend to control me, but my reaction is no longer my own.

Mindfulness teaches us to notice that space between what happens and how we respond.

Most people live in reaction:

A hurtful word — reaction.
A disagreement — reaction.
A disappointment — reaction.

But mindfulness invites us to 𝒑𝒂𝒖𝒔𝒆.

To observe.

To notice what’s happening inside of us before we speak or act. 🌿

We can’t control what other people do, say, think, or believe. We can’t control their choices, their opinions, or their behavior.

The only thing we truly have authority over is ourselves:

Our thoughts.
Our actions.
Our responses.

That doesn’t mean we never feel anger—we will. It means we become conscious enough to choose what we do with it instead of letting it choose for us.

𝑭𝒓𝒆𝒆𝒅𝒐𝒎 isn’t getting others to behave the way we want.

Freedom is reaching a place where their behavior no longer dictates our inner state.

When someone can no longer push your buttons, it’s not because they’ve changed.

𝑰𝒕’𝒔 𝒃𝒆𝒄𝒂𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆.

That is real power—not controlling others, but controlling yourself.

This is the kind of work I teach, especially through Ho’oponopono, an ancient Hawaiian practice that has been a compass for my own inner clearing.

I don’t teach it because I’ve mastered it.

I teach it because I need it—daily, sometimes hourly.

At its heart, Ho’oponopono is about cleaning. It’s taking full responsibility for what shows up in your life—not as blame, but as ownership.

When something triggers you, instead of asking:

“Why are they doing this to me?”

You ask:

“What is this showing me about what I need to heal?”

You repeat four phrases:

💜 I’m sorry.
💜 Please forgive me.
💜 Thank you.
💜 I love you.

Not for them, but to clear the charge inside you.

It’s a way of coming back home to yourself—one breath, one word, one release at a time.

Maybe you’re tired of carrying what isn’t yours.

Maybe you’re ready to stop rehearsing conversations in your head.

Or maybe you just want to feel lighter.

If any of that lands—or even if you’re simply curious—come talk to me. Even if you’re not sure this is for you.

I teach these classes because this work matters to me.

Send me a message. Ask me anything—about the class, about Ho’oponopono, or about whether this is right for you.

No pressure. Just a conversation. 🪻

If these reflections resonate, please share them with someone who may need the reminder.

And if you’d like to receive more, let me know in the comments. It helps these reflections find their way to more people who might need them.

Love always,
Susie 💜

www.susieadcock.com

08/09/2026

Has time felt... off to you lately?

When you're sick in bed, minutes feel like hours. When you're visiting an amusement park, hours disappear like minutes.

Same clock. Same 24 hours. Completely different experience.

I've started calling days like that "Blur Day". Some days I feel like I'm in suspended animation. Others, I'm walking two steps behind time itself. I'm not quite sure how to explain it—I just feel off. Out of sync. And I find myself wondering: is time actually moving differently, or is it just where we are and how we're showing up that changes everything?

This reminded me of something the ancient Greeks understood. They had two words for time. Chronos is clock-time—the schedule, the alarm, the 9-to-5. Kairos is qualitative time—the right moment, the deep breath, the unmeasured pause. Lately, I feel like I've slipped into Kairos. But the world still runs on Chronos, so eventually, reality pulls you back in.

I've also noticed my hunger and sleep don't match the clock anymore. I eat when I'm hungry, not when it's noon. I get tired when the sun goes down, not when my bedtime alarm goes off. My phone says 2pm. My stomach says 6pm. My eyes say nap time.

It makes me wonder if we've let our phones run our rhythm for so long that our bodies are finally pushing back.

I've heard people in spiritual circles talk about this. Being less attached to the clock. More present. Almost like life stops being measured in hours and starts being measured in awareness.

Now, I'm not suggesting this is some big spiritual shift we're all going through. There are plenty of ordinary reasons we lose track of time. Stress. Fatigue. Changes in routine. And honestly? Sometimes I just need more sleep.

But still... I keep thinking about it.

Maybe "Blur Day" isn't a glitch. Maybe it's a nudge.

So I have to ask—and I mean this genuinely:

What's time doing in your world right now? Racing? Crawling? Playing tricks? Does it make you uncomfortable?

Or does it make you stop and wonder what's actually worth your time?

I'd genuinely love to know. Drop your answer in the comments.
If any of this resonates with you, feel free to share it with someone who might need to hear it. And if you do, the algorithm might help others find it too. Either way, I appreciate you being here.

Love always,
Susie
www.susieadcock.com

08/02/2026

The full article is in the first comment..