I Cried Out to the Name Demons Fear Most

I grew up on Long Island, New York, as part of an Italian and culturally Catholic family. Christmas for me was mainly about Santa Claus, antipasto, and pretty lights on houses. I had no faith in Jesus Christ whatsoever, and attending church wasn’t usually on the agenda.

Even at a very young age, I was aware of the spiritual realm. At home, there was lots of conversation about ghosts—how they would play with the lights and knock things off the shelves. My sister told me about the time her pals got together and used an Ouija board, assuming it was an innocent game. The girls asked the board who among them would die first, and they got an answer. Not long after, the girl in question died of suicide.

I was only 12 when I started receiving what felt like psychic attacks. I had two dreams that included predictions about events that ended up happening. These premonitions were nothing profound, but they were certainly very creepy.

The door to demons was thrown wide open when, at age 13, I had my first experience with tarot cards: a private 15-minute session with an (allegedly) expert reader and her cardboard cards, full of weird pictures. The reading left me intrigued. I didn’t understand how a perfect stranger could know so much about me. I began seeking out more readings and eventually getting my own tarot cards.

My sister and I started performing tarot readings for each other. It was so addictive, like eating potato chips. Throughout my teens, I delved into other divination tools like numerology charts, astrology charts, angel cards, and runes.

But the further I went down that road, the more it seemed demons were surrounding me. At the time, I wouldn’t have known to call them demons, but I experienced so many moments of fear. I felt them touching me, and I could see them manifesting as shadowy figures, animals, and what looked like human beings.

One day, I was sitting at my kitchen table with my head resting down on my arms. I looked up, and standing in the entrance to my bedroom was a demon masquerading as a man, tall and lean. He stood there briefly, giving a dauntingly cold stare, and then he was gone. Another day I was thrown off a chair while sitting in my family’s computer room. My dad was in the next room, and he heard the thump.

At this point, I was getting and giving tarot readings on a regular basis. Often, when I encountered people, I would just receive information about them (from nowhere in particular) and then ask to share it. They were amazed at what I knew, and I was amazed at my “power.”

In my early 20s, I had my first apparent communication with a dead person. In a dream one night, a young man with blond hair let me know that he died in a car accident. At the time, I was a single mother, and my daughter’s dad would visit her twice a week. Somehow, I knew that the man from the dream was connected with my ex’s new girlfriend in some way.

When I told my ex about this dream, he was equally perplexed and decided to mention it to his girlfriend. A week later, he told me that she understood the dream perfectly; she knew the young man and could verify all the details I had given. He then asked if I knew the young man’s name, and we were both floored when I stated it right away.

After this, I went to visit a psychic medium. She told me that I too was a medium and that my gifts came from God for the purpose of helping people connect with departed loved ones. I left the office with a business card of a divination group leader, and I called as soon as I arrived home. The group exposed me to guided meditations and false tools of protection against darkness, like burning white sage and imagining white light around myself.

Meanwhile, my own tarot readings were gaining popularity. I gave them at local coffee shops or at home in the basement. I also started doing group readings at other people’s homes, either collectively or through a series of private 15-minute sessions.

Often, while driving home from psychic readings, I would see familiar spirits in my rearview mirror and on the highway. One night, while doing an individual reading, I had an alarming experience. I started “channeling” for information about the woman before me, and the demon I channeled was pretending to be her uncle who had shot her and her brother when they were kids. I felt sick, and this woman looked at me with daggers in her eyes, as if I were the uncle myself.

Eventually, I started my own divination group. I taught a variety of New Age techniques like chakra balancing, tarot reading, psychic mediumship, meditation, smudging, and past-life automatic writings. I had my students make vision boards to visualize what they were manifesting.

I loved the thought of helping clients attain the desires of their heart and communicate with their loved ones. But I lived in constant fear of bad spirits and what they would do to me. In my mid-30s, at a moment of especially intense fear, I suddenly cried out the name of Jesus Christ. Not my spirit guide or a deceased person or an angel—Jesus!

I didn’t know why this name came to my lips. But almost immediately, to use biblical language, I felt a peace that surpasses all understanding (Phil. 4:7). This began my journey to full Christian faith. I didn’t know I was a sinner in need of a Savior. And I had no idea what the gospel was. But I knew I didn’t want to be a psychic anymore.

Image: Rodrigo Cid

I stopped giving psychic medium readings for a while but then started again. Things really changed ten months after the moment I cried out to Jesus, when I invited a good friend over for dinner. We had met years prior in a divination group and grown close. But I hadn’t seen her in a while, and I was shocked when she started talking about Jesus and a church she was attending. She invited me to come, but I politely declined.

Four weeks later, on a Sunday morning, I woke up with a strong desire to go to that church. So I went, curious to know what a Bible-based church was actually like.

I was singing along with the worship music when the lyrics Jesus saved me flashed on the screen, instantly transporting me back to the moment I had cried out to Jesus Christ. I started crying with joy, because I knew in my heart that he saved me.

When I got home, the Holy Spirit immediately called my attention to the Word of God. I needed to know what the Bible said about my profession.

I didn’t have a Bible on hand, so I asked Google, “What does the Bible say about psychic mediums?” And I was shocked to find verses answering this question throughout God’s Word—verses like Deuteronomy 18:9–13, which condemn anyone who “practices divination or sorcery, interprets omens, engages in witchcraft, or casts spells, or … consults the dead.” Since Jesus had saved me, I would have to pick up my cross and follow him, even at the cost of quitting my job.

In the ten years since, Jesus has changed my heart and my life as only he can. I am no longer caught in the hamster wheel of New Age techniques, endlessly seeking peace, joy, and fulfillment without finding them.

Today, I continue to share the gospel whenever I can, in part by devoting myself to exposing the demonic darkness I served for many years and warning others against following the same path. Through God’s grace, those years are not wasted, and I can use my cautionary tale to serve him and his kingdom.

Jennifer Nizza is a speaker and Christian content creator living on Long Island, New York. She is the author of From Psychic to Saved.

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