Montse Gómez: We are more than just a phisical body.
Montse is passionate about life, understood as a whole with the inner and spiritual being that we all are.
Her studies in Spanish philology have instilled in her a care for depth and detail, which has led her to subtly but impactfully transcend a painful episode in her life that marked a before and after.
Author of the beautiful book "Te doy mis Alas" I Give You My Wings*, in Spanish and Dutch, she explains in this interview her way of understanding life and how she shares her wisdom with those who need it, as a medium and grief companion.
What do you think is important for people when they lose someone they love? What kind of support, based on your own experience, do they need?
M.G. When someone loses a person they love, I think the most important thing isn’t for someone to tell them how they should feel or to try to quickly ease their pain. What they need most is to feel truly understood. Grieving is a very personal experience. Everyone goes through it differently and needs to walk their own path, without comparisons and without rushing. Often, more than answers, they need a safe place where they can express everything they carry inside: sadness, anger, guilt, fear, confusion, or even the love they still feel for someone who is no longer physically present.
From my own experience, after my husband's death, I discovered that what helped the most wasn't someone trying to take away my pain, but having people who could stay by my side without wanting to change what I was going through. People who knew how to listen, hold the silence when needed, and respect my process. I think, as a society, we still have some work to do around grief. Often we don't know what to say, and with the best intentions, we resort to phrases like, 'Don't cry,' 'You have to be strong,' 'Life goes on,' or 'Time heals everything.' I understand they come from a desire to help, but the person who is suffering doesn't need their pain taken away or to be encouraged to move on quickly. They need to feel heard, understood, and respected in their process. Over time, I realized that accompanying someone in grief isn't about 'fixing' anyone. It's about offering presence, respect, and humanity.
In conveying, through our attitude, that there is nothing wrong with feeling what you feel.
And there’s another thing that, for me, is also very important. There comes a point when many people realize that, although death changes a lot of things, love doesn’t disappear, it doesn’t end the bond with the one you love. The relationship with that person is no longer the same, but the bond can stay alive in another way. Love doesn’t disappear with death. It can change form, it can learn a new language, but it’s still there. Understanding this has been a turning point for many of the people I’ve accompanied... and also for me.
That's why, if I had to sum up in a single sentence what I think a person going through grief needs, I would say this: they don't need to have their old life returned to them. They need someone to be with them, with respect and without rush, while they learn to live the new life that loss has left behind.
The workshops you run on introduction to and support for awakening mediumship, how did they come about, what inspired you to create them?
M.G. Actually, my workshops were born from the combination of two great passions that have shaped my life.
The first is teaching. For more than thirty years, I was a Language and Literature teacher in Secondary Education. Teaching was never just a job for me; I always felt it was a way to accompany people in their growth. I was passionate about passing on knowledge, sparking curiosity, motivating, inspiring, and seeing each student discover abilities they didn’t even know they had.
The second passion came in a completely unexpected way: mediumship.
When it started to become part of my life, I had to go through a long learning journey. It wasn’t a walk in the park. Like many people, I lived with doubts, fears, and the feeling that maybe this wasn’t for me, for a long time. On top of that, I believed that only those who had shown this ability since childhood could be mediums. That wasn’t my case.
Over time, I realized that my biggest obstacle wasn’t mediumship, but my own ego: that voice that constantly questioned, compared, and made me feel inadequate. Learning to trust the experience more than the judgment of my mind was one of the most important lessons of this whole process.
And precisely because I had walked that path, today I know that many of the people who come to my workshops feel exactly the same way I did. They doubt themselves, think they’re not capable, or believe that mediumship is a gift reserved for a few. My own experience has shown me that this is not the case.
It was then that I realized I could combine what I had always loved to teach with this new world that had transformed my life. I felt there was no point in keeping everything I had learned to myself. I wanted to share it, accompany other people, and help them discover that mediumship isn’t just about making contact with the spiritual world, but also about developing a deeper sensitivity to life, to oneself, and to the love that never disappears.
My workshops were born from that desire: to teach from experience, to support from humility, and to convey a message that I consider deeply hopeful: that the bond with those we love doesn't end with death, and that, to a greater or lesser extent, we can all learn to perceive that love that remains present.
How do you think the world and society would change when humans understand that we are much more than a physical body?
M.G. I think it would change a lot.
For me, real change isn't just about thinking that life continues after death. Real change begins when a person opens up to the possibility that we are much more than a physical body. Because when that happens, they also start looking at life in a different way.
Many people are surprised that I talk so much about death. They think it must be a sad topic. However, my experience has been just the opposite. The closer I've gotten to death, the more I've learned to value life. Today, I enjoy simple things much more, I give less importance to worries that used to seem huge to me, and I try to spend more time with the people I love.
I also think we would live with less fear. Less fear of losing, of controlling everything that happens to us, or of constantly seeking others' approval. Maybe we would realize that what really matters is not what we have, but how we live, how we love, and how we treat the people who cross our path.
I also think we would become a more compassionate society. Understanding that we are all living a human experience, with our joys, our wounds, and our lessons, would help us judge less and support each other more.
There’s another reflection that has stayed with me for a long time. Sometimes I think that the biggest problem isn’t that people are afraid of death. Maybe the real problem is that many times we don’t truly know who we are.
If we lived with the certainty, or at least with the inner experience, that our essence goes far beyond the body, I believe the way we relate to one another would change profoundly.
There would be less need to compete, to prove ourselves, to control, or to live from fear. It would be much easier for us to act from love, compassion, and respect.
Obviously, I don’t think that would mean all difficulties would disappear. Life would still present us with challenges, losses, and dark moments. I myself think that light and shadow are part of the human experience and that both have a lot to teach us. But even so, I believe we would experience that darkness from a very different place if we didn’t forget who we are at our core.
I’m not looking to convince anyone to think like me. Each person has their own path and beliefs. The only thing I’d like is to invite everyone to keep their mind and heart open. Because an open mind isn’t about believing everything; it’s about not ruling out what we don’t yet understand.
In the end, maybe the biggest change wouldn’t be discovering that life goes on beyond death. The real change would be understanding that, precisely because we are much more than a physical body, we are here to learn to love. And when you understand that, you don’t just change the way you see death; above all, you change the way you live.
You always explain that before experiencing the loss of a loved one, you didn’t believe at all in life after the physical body is gone. Can you tell us how that transition happened?
M.G. Yes, for most of my life I was a deeply skeptical person. I wasn’t particularly interested in these topics, and if someone had told me back then that one day I would talk about mediumship, consciousness, or the continuity of life, I probably would have laughed. Everything changed with the suicide of my husband. His loss was, without a doubt, the most painful event of my life. The suffering was immense, but in a way I could never have imagined, that very pain also opened a door that had until then remained completely closed to me. Gradually, experiences started happening that I didn’t know how to explain. My first reaction was to doubt them. I was looking for rational explanations, thinking that maybe it was all a consequence of grief or my need to make sense of what I was going through.
But the experiences continued. There were many, very varied, and, above all, deeply transformative. Sometimes I joke that not even Steven Spielberg movies could compete with my husband's creativity and that of his 'spiritual team.' And, although I say it with a smile, the truth is that there were moments when I thought: 'There’s just no human way to explain this.'
I didn’t come to spirituality because I needed to believe. I came because the experiences I was having forced me to ask questions I had never considered before. They weren’t asking for an act of faith; they were inviting me to observe them honestly.
From there, a long path of searching began. I read, studied, researched, attended courses, met people who had been practicing mediumship for years, and gradually expanded my way of understanding reality.
However, the most important change wasn’t intellectual. It was internal.
I didn’t just go from not believing to believing. I went from living convinced that consciousness ended with death to experiencing that love and consciousness could continue expressing themselves in other ways. That difference completely transformed the way I understand existence.
Today I don’t try to convince anyone of anything. I completely understand skepticism because I experienced it too. My intention is never to ask people to believe in what I believe, but to invite them to explore, ask questions, and, if the time comes, allow themselves to have their own experiences.
Because, in the end, it was experiences, not beliefs, that transformed my life.
What relevant signs have you been able to observe from your own experience that come from the spiritual dimension?
M.G. I have lived through many phenomena that, from my experience, I couldn't explain solely from a rational perspective.
The first ones started shortly after my husband's death. I felt his presence so intensely that, at times, I even felt the touch of his lips on mine or the contact of his hands. These were deeply real experiences for me and marked the beginning of a path I never would have imagined walking.
They were physical and perceptual experiences that didn't fit into my rational view. My first reaction wasn't 'how spiritual.' It was: 'I'm going crazy.'
I have never believed in life after death; in fact, I couldn't understand people who did.
My husband had to try really hard to make me believe that he was still with me and that he wasn’t dead. I guess for him it was just as hard to believe as it was for me since neither of us has ever believed in any of this, you know, these “paranormal nonsense” as we used to call it.
I could name hundreds and hundreds of experiences, but that would take us hours and hours. I’ll explain just six to illustrate the great work my husband and “his team” did from beyond.
The light that enters the body
At night, lying in bed, with my eyes wide open, I saw and felt an incredibly intense, crystalline white sphere of light that entered directly into my body, around my stomach. It wasn’t imagination: it was a physical experience. I clearly felt it penetrate and exert pressure from within.
In an instant, that light “burst” and spread throughout my body, from my feet to my head. The sensation was indescribable: a wave of deep peace, absolute calm, a tranquility that didn’t come from me. It left me in a state of serenity that was a radical contrast to the pain I was experiencing.
The light that transforms fear into happiness
Thirteen days later, the experience repeated, but this time the light entered through my throat. For a few seconds, I felt I couldn’t breathe, as if something immense was passing through me. Again, the white sphere of light exploded inside me and traveled throughout my body.
And something happened that threw me off completely: what I felt wasn't fear, but immense happiness. Pure, inexplicable happiness, which had nothing to do with emotional euphoria. It was serene, expansive happiness, as if something was showing me that death was not the end.
The Train Ticket
Exactly three months after my husband’s death, my son found a train ticket in the attic of our house, resting on a piece of exercise equipment. He ran downstairs, very shaken, asking me to look at the date and time. The ticket showed December 8 at 1:20 PM. It was exactly the day and time his father had passed away. No one had been in the attic. It wasn’t our ticket. We never traveled by train. There was no logical explanation for it being there.
But the most important thing wasn’t the ticket. It was my son’s words:
“Now I really believe that Dad is still with us.”
The night before, we had talked about death and whether energy continues or not. He didn’t believe in anything beyond memory. The next day, something in him changed.
For me, beyond trying to understand the “how,” the essential thing was the effect: my son stopped feeling alone. He felt that his father was still with him.
And that transformed something deep in both of us.
I can’t explain how that bill appeared. But I can explain what it did: relief, comfort, and the feeling that the bond hadn’t been broken.
The Book
One Sunday, while looking for my husband's gray hat in a basket in the entryway closet, I emptied it completely. Twice. The hat wasn’t there. I was overwhelmed with pain, anger, and confusion. I went up to the attic to cry; at that moment, I just wanted to die and be reunited with him.
When I came back down, I went back to the same closet without knowing why. And then something impossible happened: in the same basket I had emptied minutes before, there appeared an old book I had never seen. It wasn’t ours.
The first thing I thought was, “I’m losing my mind. I need help.”
The book was *Atlas Shrugged* by Ayn Rand. I opened it to make sure it was real, physical. I open the book and was surprised when I read the following on the first page:
<< […] It is a mystery story, not about the murder of a man’s body, but about the murder -and rebirth- of a man’s spirit>>
A shiver ran through my body. In the midst of the most devastating grief, those words didn’t speak to me of destruction, but of continuity.
And although at that moment I thought I was going crazy, that experience ended up being one of the turning points that forced me to rethink everything I thought I knew about death.
The Phone Call
One day, months after my husband’s death, the landline at home rang. I didn’t answer the first two times. The third time I was late, but there was a voicemail.
When I listened to it, I felt my body freeze. The voice said: “Honey, I see you, I see your face.”
It was his voice.
I didn’t say anything to my family. I simply asked them to listen to the message and tell me what they heard. My mother said, “It’s Carlo.” My father confirmed the same. And when my son heard it, without me suggesting anything, he shouted, “Dad.”
At that moment I didn’t think about anything paranormal. I thought that maybe he wasn’t dead, that he could be lost, that he needed help. I called the police demanding proof that it was really him who was buried.
Days later, they showed me the photos that confirmed his death. It was devastating. But the call had happened.
One thing is to feel lights or energies. A very different thing is to hear the voice of the person you love on your home answering machine.
For a long time I tried to find logical explanations for everything I went through. I doubted myself. I constantly questioned myself.
But there came a point when I could no longer deny my direct experience.
These experiences didn’t make me spiritual. They broke me inside and forced me to rebuild my way of understanding life and death. What started as the most devastating grief ended up opening me to the intimate certainty that consciousness doesn’t disappear.
Light show
For a long time, I tried to find logical explanations for everything I experienced. I doubted myself. I constantly questioned myself. But there came a point when I could no longer deny my direct experience. These experiences didn't make me spiritual. They broke me inside and forced me to rebuild my way of understanding life and death. What started as the most devastating grief ended up opening me to the intimate certainty that consciousness does not disappear. Light Show In March 2012, a light show began to take place in our bedroom, happening almost every night when I was lying down, with the bedside lamp on and, of course, me fully awake. They were orange and white lights that formed geometric figures and seemed to dance around the room. The first time, I didn't even dare to move, until I felt and knew that it was my husband accompanied by his ‘team.’
Nights were the most wonderful part of the day. Knowing that I could feel him, that I could see his light, was the best gift my great love, my husband, could give me.
Over time, many other things began to happen. I had extraordinarily vivid dreams, very meaningful synchronicities appeared, and I received information that could later be verified. I especially remember two messages related to my son. In one of them, I perceived with absolute clarity that he would be selected for an important project at Delft University, even though at that time it seemed very unlikely. Some time later, it happened exactly that way. Later on, I received another piece of information: that he would travel to Japan to develop another project. That also ended up happening.
However, over time I came to understand something very important: the true value of these experiences isn’t in how extraordinary the phenomenon was. What was truly transformative was realizing that, behind all of them, I always sensed the same message: love hadn’t disappeared.
That’s why today I no longer talk about these experiences to impress anyone. I share them because they were what helped me lose my fear of death and understand that the bond with those we love can continue in a different way.
What courses and workshops are you currently preparing? Can you explain them to invite readers who want to know more?
M.G. The truth is, I am a person who loves to learn, but also to create. I'm always imagining new projects, new spaces, and new ways to support people. When an idea connects with my heart, I feel the need to shape it and share it. If I had to summarize my current work, I would say it revolves around four main pillars.
The first is mediumship. Through my Conscious Mediumship Workshop, I help people discover and develop their mediumistic sensitivity from an ethical, approachable, and very practical perspective. More than teaching a technique, my desire is to help them trust their intuition, understand better how mediumship works, and discover that we all have a sensitivity that can be cultivated.
The second pillar is support in grieving processes, both individually and in small groups.
These are spaces where people can freely express their pain, feel understood, and realize that, although loss profoundly changes life, it can also, over time, become a path to growth and a new way of loving.
The third pillar is a very special project for me: Accompanying to the end. This course came from my experience as a volunteer in a hospice and from my training as a death doula. It is aimed at family members, caregivers, and anyone who wants to accompany a loved one in the final stage of their life with more calm, understanding, and confidence. I deeply believe that no one teaches us how to live through that moment, and yet, few experiences can be as profound and transformative as accompanying someone to their last breath.
And the fourth pillar is the spaces for meeting and conversation, like Death Cafés and the more recent Dream Café, both of which are free to attend. These are open gatherings where we share experiences and reflections on death, dreams, consciousness, and other great mysteries of existence. I like to create places where people can talk freely about topics that are still, many times, considered taboo in our society. My wish is that anyone who feels this concern can find a space for listening, respect, and dialogue, without economic aspects being an obstacle.
If there is something that unites all these projects, it is the same desire: to offer safe spaces where people can ask questions, grow, share, and discover that talking about death can also teach us to live with more awareness, less fear, and much more love.
And for those who are curious about any of these proposals, I invite you to visit my website, www.montsegomez.es, where you will find all the information about upcoming courses, workshops, and meetings. It will be a pleasure to welcome you.
