The stories of intuition and feeling that permeate social media aren’t just mind-blowing anecdotes; they often serve as a profound lesson in the importance of listening to our inner senses. These stories, shared by individuals from all walks of life, show how sudden instincts or inexplicable premonitions have diverted paths, changed decisions, and, in many cases, saved lives. Whether it’s the unsettling feeling that prompts a mother to check on her child in the nursery, or the unexpected hesitation at a green light to prevent a catastrophic accident, each account sheds light on the mysterious but powerful power of human intuition.
These stories do more than entertain; they challenge our perception of reality and the way we understand the signals our body and mind are sending us. These inner feelings often appear in moments of silence or in the midst of daily routine, yet they have powerful consequences and influence decisions in moments that seem insignificant but are anything but. They remind us that our instincts are honed over millennia of evolution, built for survival, and adapted to notice subtleties that the conscious mind might miss.
There are a lot of horror stories on social media of people whose intuition completely changed the course of events and possibly prevented a disaster. These cases demonstrate why we should never underestimate our feelings, no matter how strange or strange they may seem, whether it is a sense of impending danger or an unexpected desire to rearrange our plans.
My mother left my three-year-old brother at daycare so she could go to work in the morning. When she came to work, she had a terrible feeling that something was wrong with him.
Finally, after work, she took the car to the patrol. While the daycare kids—including my brother—were playing by the pool, she found the daycare provider napping inside.
My sibling never went back to that preschool.
Actually, it was my boss’s instinct rather than mine. I was exhausted, it was just another typical work day and the dinner rush was about to begin.
As usual, I headed to the dollar store to grab a Red Bull. They were two for $5 so I asked my manager if he wanted to share. When I got to the door he told me to wait but before he said no.
When I asked him what happened, he replied, “I should go later,” without giving me an explanation. Since we were already pretty comfortable I ordered him to stop and as soon as I opened the door I heard something I couldn’t even begin to explain. All I knew was that it was broken, whatever it was.
It turned out that the Red Bull fridge and the front door of the dollar store had been hit by an SUV. Even though my manager irritated me to no end, I will always remember the moment he saved my life.
It was my mother, not me, on Boxing Day 2004. About 20 family members, including all my father’s relatives and extended family, traveled to the southern coastal region of Sri Lanka for a holiday.
Excellent organized tour, even though my mother changed her mind at the last minute. Not a single explanation.
She refused to go and none of us could get her to explain why. So we made another trip, this time inland to visit more family.
By noon, the entire extended family—now on both sides—sat stunned in front of the television, witnessing the destruction of the same hotel we had booked in real-time by the tsunami.
She still can’t put into words how she felt.
I never got attached. That was before it became inconvenient to remove them. I once felt the instinct to put it on while riding in the passenger seat of a car.
A minute or two later someone hit us at about sixty miles an hour. If I hadn’t been strapped in, I would have smashed the windshield, according to police. Now I wear my seat belt all the time.
I just got back from a three-month solo tour of Latin America and I was in the Amazon. I walked down to a small river nearby around 8:00 am from my jungle lodge as I wanted to do one last jungle walk before I left.
The sounds of the jungle, including crickets, birds, insects, and other sounds, are so loud that I stop and close my eyes to hear them. Almost immediately I felt a bit uneasy, which was strange because I had felt content and at ease up until that point.
I opened my eyes to see that everything had gone quiet, which was definitely not normal and unlike anything I had encountered in previous rainforests.
It was strange. I knew right away that I had to leave quickly.
When I informed the guide what had happened after I dived and returned to the jungle lodge, he explained that the area normally only gets quiet when a large animal is around.
My parents divorced when I was eight or nine years old, so they took me and my younger brother to my paternal grandparents for the night. The place we wanted to stay was in a barn that was attached to their farm. The barn had hay, gas tanks, machinery, and furnished rooms on the upper floors.
As soon as we walked into the guest room I panicked and felt extremely dizzy.
I turned around and simply announced that we would not be spending the night in that room and would instead spend it on the couch in the living room.
Later that evening, a gas leak from the barn caught fire, causing nearly the entire structure to explode—including the upstairs guest rooms. I’m sure I’d be dead if I hadn’t recognized it, but no one else felt anything, so maybe that’s why I had a strange feeling – the gas had already penetrated the room.
I could have made it if I had run, but something told me to wait for the next bus instead of chasing the one about to leave the stop, so I did. thirty minutes later he caught another bus.
I sat where I often sit, which is the driver’s side of the bus.
We figured out the reason why the traffic slowed down a little way down the road. The bus I missed was hit by a truck that hit the driver’s side from behind. Not that I’d be here if I’d caught the bus. Six years later, it still gives me chills.
in the process.
I was lodging at the rural home of a friend. I was sleeping with his enormous pit bull, Izzy Bell, the wonderful girl, while he was asleep in another room. When I hear scratching outside in the middle of the night, Izzy jumps up too, stares at me, then turns to face the back door and growls. I instantly think of my buddy at the time, who had a little daughter, maybe 4 or 5.
Izzy appears to be prepared for a fight, so I grab the closest object to protect myself, a fire poker, and head to open the door. It didn’t feel right, though. Instead, I try my hardest to bar the entrance and hide near a window with a view. A large bear with several cubs in tow is outside. I watch it walk away.
I’m very sure Izzy and I wouldn’t be here today if I had charged out of that door like I had planned.
My pulse was beating and I had trouble breathing when I arrived at the hospital. A chest x-ray, a blood test for blood clots, an ECG, and a few other procedures were performed, but the results were all normal. Upon monitoring me over the course of the night, all appeared normal; my oxygen saturation was flawless, and although my heart rate remained slightly elevated, it wasn’t alarming. It appeared that the symptoms were probably from a severe illness that I had contracted about a week prior.
I really felt horrible about it all, and the ER doctor asked me how I would feel if they sent me home. As such, I informed him, adding that my only explanation was that I simply felt strange about it. He said, “Fair enough, let’s try one more test and if that comes back negative, then we’ll send you up to General Medicine and see if they can track something down.” I had a lot of blood clots in both lungs, even though all the other tests had revealed no blood clots. That test was a VQ scan. After all, I was diagnosed with spontaneous bilateral pulmonary embolisms and was put on lifelong blood thinners.
I am really appreciative of the negative emotion as well as the ER physician who was open to hearing about it!
When I was younger, my mother sensed that something wasn’t right. The doctors wanted to wait another two weeks to see me, but my mother lost it over the phone and said that she was taking me to be checked out regardless of their feelings.
When we arrived at the general practitioner, he smelled my breath and placed a stethoscope on my back. “We need to get him to the hospital NOW,” she continues.
I discovered that I have type 1 diabetes and that I would have died if I had waited one more day.
I was on my way to a friend’s apartment a few weeks ago, having just left my own complex. I halted when I reached the traffic light after pulling out of my driveway because it was red. There weren’t many people on the road because it was becoming late.
I observed as the traffic light changed from yellow to red for traffic. It’s my turn now! The light turns green, and an arrow blinking to the left signals me to turn left. I glanced both ways, but nobody was there, so I decided not to proceed.
I’m not sure what happened, other than the fact that I sat there staring at the green light because something inside of me told me to stay still. A few seconds afterward, a car sped through the junction and the red light, likely traveling at a speed of approximately 100 km/h, into the lane I was supposed to change into. Their car had a bounce to it because they were moving so quickly. Had I turned, I would have crashed my car and killed myself in the process.
After sitting there for the entire next light cycle, I turned, got in my car, and dialed my sister. There was an eerie sense. Being a light jumper, I always look both ways but I’m impatient, so even though I don’t know why I didn’t go when the light turned green, I’m glad I did.
As I breathed in, I felt anguish in my lungs. Although I’ve never been stabbed, I can’t imagine how painful it would be, the agony ought to have been at least as great.
It had previously occurred years ago. The soreness subsided after using some hot water in the shower.
My then-girlfriend, my wife, insisted on seeing the ER. I demanded hot water.
She had said, “I think we should go see a doctor.” My condition was determined to be bilateral pulmonary embolism. “One or two more hours, and you were gone,” the doctor declared. Okay, I’ll give my wife one.
Because of the strange situations that life can bring, we sometimes feel as though we are living in a movie. It could even be difficult to believe some people’s stories are real since they are so full of turns and turns. However, they did, and these people use social media to tell everyone who will listen about them.
These stories, drawn from the diverse and sometimes harrowing experiences shared across social media, serve as powerful reminders of the significance of listening to our instincts. Whether it’s a mother’s unsettling premonition, a last-minute decision not to proceed at a green traffic light, or an inexplicable urge to check a sleeping child, each account underscores a profound truth: our instincts can be lifesaving.
Such tales not only captivate us with their dramatic turns but also encourage us to trust our gut feelings more. They suggest that our subconscious minds may detect subtleties and dangers that our conscious awareness might overlook. In many instances, these gut reactions come without clear justification at the moment, yet lead to decisions that avert potential disasters.
Encouragingly, these narratives also highlight the importance of vigilance and the courage to act against the norm when something feels amiss. They remind us that sometimes, safety and survival might hinge not just on logical assessments or visible evidence but on those fleeting, inexplicable senses of danger that we might be tempted to dismiss.
In a world where rationality is prized and data is king, these personal stories invite us to consider the intuitive alongside the analytical. They validate the experiences of those who have acted on instinct and emerged safer for it, offering a compelling argument for why we should perhaps pay closer attention to the quiet whispers of our intuition. In essence, they teach us that sometimes, the best action is informed by a blend of mind, gut, and heart, helping us navigate through life’s unpredictable challenges with a little more faith in our own internal compass.