To kick off the start of Mercury Retrograde, I thought I’d talk about one of my favourite things: tarot.

Now, I can already hear your eyes rolling behind the screen. ‘Oh, she’s one of those people.’

And I can answer – yes, yes I am.

As I come in defence of tarot readings, I enter this conversation with an understanding that it carries large amounts of scepticism from the general public – which I ask you to kindly put aside for this article and continue with an open mind.

All done? Great. Let’s continue.

Tarot is often dismissed as ‘woo-woo’, and if you indulge in it you’re seen as a little kooky, which is not necessarily a bad thing. However, if I’m being honest, most of my breakthroughs – particularly this year, have come from tarot. I had a great therapist for a few years, but these tarot readings opened up my mind and made me realise things I may have never discovered in my therapy sessions. If done well, it may not tell you the future (depending on your views), but it will help you understand yourself and your emotions better.

It’s important to discern which readings will be helpful – I don’t just watch any old reading I see on my TikTok page. But I do have a favourite tarot reader, who is actually on Substack (SpiritOfTali). I have learned so much about myself through his readings – every time they come up, I am locked in. Even if it’s not about my situation, there’s always a gem of knowledge I can still take away from them.

As someone who overthinks and over-stresses, I can find it hard to look at things from a different perspective, especially if I’m in the midst of what I believe to be a crisis. You can turn to friends and family, but honestly sometimes it’s tiring hearing the same advice which you already know and doesn’t really help anyway (sorry guys, I still love you).

Through tarot, I can analyse my situation as it stands, understand the emotions that are coming up for me, and learn how to overcome it, or at least how to help myself in the best way possible in that moment. It’s been the best tool of looking inwards and finding out what’s going on beneath the surface.

Earlier this year, for example, I was constantly stressing about the future. Stressing to the point I would spiral for hours over what was going to happen not even days ahead, but years and years ahead. I knew I had to take it one day at a time to stop these little spirals, but I didn’t exactly know what that meant. It turns out, I had an issue with control and needing to know every outcome to every situation, which is not possible, and if it was, would be heavily boring. Instead, through these cards, I was able to change the way I looked at things, and embrace the exciting possibilities of the unknown and everything to come. As long as I don’t think too deeply about it – then we’re back to square one.

It’s basically another form of therapy.

Even the ‘bad’ cards are helpful. I can’t say I don’t have a little intake of breath when I get The Tower – but at least I know that changes are coming that will probably work out for the best. After a *small* period of discomfort. 

I find it hard to explain to people due to all the cynicism around it, but I wonder how many more people would be able to understand their emotions and express themselves fully if they were more open to things like this. Whether you believe it’s witchcraft and tells your future or not, the cards offer a wealth of knowledge, and if you’re ready for it, an opportunity to look deeper within. Especially if you’re unsure of where to start.

P.S. I’ve also never had a reading that’s not been accurate, so take from that what you will.

A reckoning with solitude, self-protection, and learning to be seen.

Lately, I’ve been thinking about what makes me feel safe.

When I think of safety, the obvious things spring to mind: money, food, shelter. But I can have all of those, and still feel unsafe. Is it love that brings me safety? Relationships? Friendships? They contribute to that feeling, but again, even with all that present, I can feel unsafe.

Throughout the years, I’ve found my sense of safety to be unstable. When it came to expressing myself to others, I preferred to stay hidden. When it came to letting others in, I was anxious that they would leave me. Still, I searched for the safety I craved in other people. I hoped they would be able to bring me that sense of inner safety I was unable to provide for myself. Unsurprisingly, they couldn’t.

It won’t come as a shock that the more I looked for safety in others, the less I found it in myself – in fact I kept myself hidden and accepted from others what I shouldn’t.

I didn’t understand that the thing I was looking for in other people had to first be created within myself. I didn’t realise it was something I could cultivate, nurture. Instead, I chased it everywhere, and naturally, it repelled the other way.

I wanted others to trust in me, to believe in me, to be there for me, to fix things for me, to validate me, when I was unable to myself. It’s not that I shouldn’t receive those things from other people, but more it shouldn’t be my sole source of those emotions.

Now, it’s like the pendulum has swung the other way. If you were to ask me where I feel safe, I’d say I feel safe in isolation. I feel safe when I’m alone, and I’m free to be myself, without judgement from others. When I’m in my bubble, safe from external factors.

But is that safety? Or is that fear? It feels safe, as I’m protecting myself from being vulnerable. I’m ‘safe’ from rejection, opinions, judgement. But it’s also hindering me from growing.

I say I feel safe when I’m alone. But I want to be seen. I want to be heard. I want to be understood. So, what if I place my sense of safety elsewhere? Because what if the things that make me feel ‘safe’ are actually holding me back?

I wonder what my sense of safety actually is, and how much of it is really fear.

I say safety must first be cultivated within myself. But what does that mean? Is it trust, is it confidence? Is it acceptance? I try to place where I can feel safe for myself, and I come up empty. Maybe it’s a combination of things.

Maybe it’s knowing that when things get tough, I’ll be able to handle it. When I start to doubt myself, I can bring myself back up. When I look for someone to believe in me, I can turn to myself. I can allow myself to fail and keep trying. I can allow myself to push the boundaries of what feels ‘safe’ and comfortable and be kind to myself when it takes time to adjust.

In the absence of material things, the only thing I have to come back to is myself. It’s both comforting and terrifying. But that’s the complexity of being human.