• In the darkest seasons of your life, you may have noticed something strange often happens.

    Your phone gets quiet.

    If you’ve ever gone through one of the darkest seasons of your life, you may have noticed something strange often happens. Your phone gets quiet. The people who were normally there suddenly seem busier, and conversations dry up. It’s confusing, because some of these people have shown up for you before. So why now, when you’re struggling the most, do you suddenly feel so alone?

    I have a theory.

    I think certain seasons, especially a dark night of the soul, are meant to bring a kind of isolation. Some transformations can only happen when the distractions are removed.

    There comes a moment where you have to sit with yourself honestly and ask:

    How did I contribute to where I am?

    What patterns have I ignored?

    What wounds have I refused to heal?

    Where am I still blaming everyone else instead of confronting myself?

    Not every painful situation is your fault. Some things happen to good people and some losses were truly unfair. But there are also moments where life forces us to stop running.

    And secondly, part of this isolation is spiritual. Sometimes the only way we truly meet God is when everything else falls away. When nobody answers the phone and nobody is there to rescue us. Because eventually you realize: people cannot be your savior.

    And if we’re being honest, sometimes we keep repeating the same cycles while asking different people to comfort us through the same lesson. At some point the lesson stops being who will save me? and becomes who do I become now?

    That’s the winter season. The season where your life gets quiet enough to finally hear your personal elephant in the room. Where you stop outsourcing your healing, build faith, and realize God just might be there in the silence with you.

    Another thought that came to me about all this.. What if we taught children about dark nights of the soul?

    We teach people how to chase happiness, achievement, productivity, success. But very few people are taught how to survive despair. So when a true winter season arrives, many interpret it as: my life is over. Something is wrong with me. This feeling is permanent and maybe there is no way out.

    But human life has always moved in seasons. Nature itself teaches this. There’s blooming, harvest, death, dormancy, waiting, rebuilding. Yet we expect ourselves to remain emotionally summer-like all the time. That’s impossible.

    If we were taught that you will have seasons where you feel lost, moments where life breaks your heart, periods where you cannot see meaning and may not even want to keep going… those experiences might feel less like personal failure and more like part of being human.

    Finding meaning in suffering is not the same thing as saying the suffering was good. Some losses are horrifying and some grief permanently alters the person. So the beauty is not I’m glad this happened. The beauty is:

    Something in me still chose to live.

    Something in me still found God.

    Something in me became deeper, softer, wiser, more compassionate, more awake.

    Suffering gifts you by stripping illusion. It reveals what is most important. It humbles the ego and opens compassion. Many people become more human through pain than they ever became through comfort. But the process can feel unbearable while you’re inside it.

    But, while you’re in it, use the suffering. Go within. Get curious about it. There are lessons and experiences that cannot be found anywhere else but in the dark. That is the light.

    This is a winter season, not the end. I promise you, spring arrives again.

    As a side, if you are deeply suffering please do not hesitate to reach out to someone and seek help. What I am speaking about in this post is the ‘doable’ suffering and pain. There are moments for some people that they need to reach out and gain perspective and support. That is the strongest and most important thing to do in those moments.

  • The Pluto Man.

    He was like a drug. And your anxiety goes through the roof trying to make sense of what just happened.

    He seemed to show up out of nowhere. There was an immediate spark between the two of you. It felt like fate. He went to depths with you that no one else ever had.

    The chemistry was off the charts. The sex was even more intense.

    He arrived late. He looked across the room and did not look away. He asked you a question no one had thought to ask, and you answered because something in you had been waiting for a conversation just like this.

    By the end of the night, you had told him things you had never said out loud to anyone. By the end of the week, you could not sleep.

    The Pluto Wound is a man you recognize instantly, even though you have never met him before. It feels like he came out of nowhere. There is a quality to him, a depth behind the eyes, that registers in your nervous system as: I have been here before.

    And maybe you have.

    Or maybe it is simply the realization of what you have been missing all along.. that spark, that chemistry, that intensity.

    He sees you. He sees the part of you that you hid so well you forgot it was there. The part of you that secretly hoped someone would one day unlock.

    He notices the things no one else notices. He pulls on a thread you did not know was loose, and suddenly the entire garment comes apart in his hands.

    It feels like love. Intense love. Romantic love. Passionate love. Seductive love.

    The sexual connection feels consuming. Transformative. Almost dangerous in its intensity. You feel desired in a way that bypasses logic and goes straight into the nervous system.

    He is the type of man you would elope with.

    You are not rational around him. You say “I love you” too quickly. The connection moves fast, but it does not feel manipulative. It feels sacred. It feels real. It feels like finally meeting someone who speaks the same emotional language you do.

    And you think this is love.

    But it is not.

    Because love does not make you stop eating. Love does not make you check your phone every nine minutes. Love does not feel like a wave you are willingly walking into simply because the alternative is returning to a shore that suddenly feels unbearably boring.

    This is a Pluto transit wearing a man’s face.

    And then, exactly when you have rearranged your entire inner world around his presence, he disappears.

    Not slowly. Not through a difficult conversation. He vanishes.

    The texts go cold. The energy retracts. You cannot reach him anymore. The man who once saw you completely now feels unreachable.

    He disappears into himself, which is where Pluto always goes, and he takes with him the part of you that learned to be emotionally naked in his presence.

    He was like a drug. And your anxiety goes through the roof trying to make sense of what just happened.

    What he leaves behind is not heartbreak. Heartbreak belongs to ordinary loss. This is something else.

    This is a rewiring.

    Every man after him is measured against the depth he reached. Every safe love feels boring. Every kind man feels too small.

    You sit across from someone perfectly good and realize you are still waiting for the question only he asked.

    You want to be looked at the way he looked at you. You want to be devoured the way he devoured you.

    There is something in your chart that called him in. Pluto touching your Venus. Your Moon. Your 8th house. Placements that were always going to attract this kind of initiation.

    Luck had nothing to do with it.

    You were marked.

    The Pluto Wound is one of the seven men I wrote about in a free ebook releasing soon: seven patterns that quietly run the love lives of smart, accomplished women who keep meeting the same man wearing a different face.

    If you saw yourself in any of this, my Ebook “Why Smart Women Keep Loving the Wrong Man: 7 Astrological powers that quietly run your love life.

    Join my Inner Circle to receive your free copy soon x 

  • The Eyes Always Say It

    I was watching the Kylie documentary tonight. When Michael Hutchence came on the screen, the lead singer of the nineties band INXS, I looked at him and thought, I am pretty sure that man is a Scorpio Moon. Because the eyes always say it. The eyes always show it. I am never wrong about this. I can pick up on Scorpio so easily, maybe because it lives in me, but I can spot it in someone else from across a room. I always know.

    Then all of a sudden I thought, you know who he reminds me of? Gavin Rossdale, the lead singer of Bush. Same era, similar face. They both have that sultry, sexy look. But with Gavin, I always remembered the energy that came off him. I used to say he was sex on legs, and I meant it. And there I was, looking at Michael Hutchence, thinking, there it is again.

    What is funny is that Hutchence had an almost feminine voice when he spoke. A softer energy than you would expect. But when he looked into the camera, when he performed, all you felt was that Scorpio current.

    So of course I pulled up both their charts. And there it was.

    Hutchence has his Moon in Scorpio, sitting right against his Neptune, with Pluto in his eighth house. Gavin has Scorpio rising, a Scorpio Sun, and Neptune sitting right on the edge of how he meets the world, with Jupiter in his eighth. Different wiring. The same current.

    The look

    When most people look at you, they are only half there. Half of them is already in another world, already deciding what they are going to say next.

    A Scorpio person, an eighth house person, does not look at you that way. They look at you like you are the only thing in the room. They look at you like they are already reading the sacred, private part of you. They are probing. They are investigating. They are feeling you. And your body has no clean place to file that, so it files it as desire. When someone is energetically probing you with the erotic current of the house of sex, the thought lands almost instantly: this is desire.

    If they look at you, you suddenly want to be looked at by them. You feel found and a little bit caught in the very same second. The door clicks shut behind you, and the strange, delicious thing is that you wanted it to. It feels as if they have taken you straight into their dark dungeon. That can unsettle a person. And yet they like it there.

    What you are actually reading

    We call it sex appeal because sex is the only word most people have for it.

    But the eighth house is not the playful banter of a first date. The eighth house is the eros of disappearing into another person. Bodies, money, secrets, shadow. Death and the bedroom in the same room. The old French called the orgasm the little death, and the eighth house lives right there, in the place where you lose yourself and come back changed.

    So when someone carries this in their chart, they cannot stay on the surface of anything. Not a conversation. Not a touch. Not even a glance. The depth leaks out of them whether they mean it to or not. The world feels it and calls it sexy, because depth pointed straight at you is the most magnetic thing there is.

    It comes through in a few different ways. Mars in Scorpio reads like being hunted by something in no hurry, because it already knows it will have you. Venus in Scorpio reads like love me all the way down or do not waste my time. A loaded eighth house reads like I can see straight through you, and getting close to me will cost you something. Moon in Scorpio reads like I want to probe every crack and crevice of who you are, and I want to own your soul. Same room. Different doors.

    Here is the part everyone gets wrong

    This is not the kind of sexuality that is about a high body count. The energy is not necessarily promiscuous. The energy is the capacity to go all the way down with another human being, to soul merge.

    Most people have only ever felt that depth during sex, so their nervous system files the whole thing under one word and never questions it. They are projecting their own idea of someone else’s sexual energy, even when that energy is sacred energy.

    And that is exactly why these people are so often the most selective ones in the room. If every encounter is a merging, two souls coming together and transcending space and time through a sacred act, seeing God in the other while their bodies exchange, if every time you let someone in it costs you a piece of your essence and rearranges your insides, then you simply cannot afford to be casual.

    A person can be a virgin and carry this. A person can be deeply private, celibate for years, and carry this. The world still feels it on them, and the world still calls it sex.

    The thing it really is

    When it is right, sex is not recreation for these souls. It is a doorway. It is communion. It is how they reach the infinite through another body.

    This is the secret the old traditions have always known. The same wiring that does mystical union, that raises kundalini, that dissolves the ego and touches God, is the wiring that does eros at its very highest form. The bedroom and the altar run on one circuit.

    So when an eighth house person turns their full presence on you, you are not picking up I want to sleep with you. What you are picking up is someone for whom merging is holy. It is sacred. That is a thousand times more potent than ordinary wanting, and it is precisely why it gets mistaken for something less than holy. People can feel the sex. They just do not realize they are feeling sacred sex coming off that person, and they do not know what to do with it.

    Here is the part that gets these people wrong, again and again.

    They get sexualized constantly while often being the most reverent ones in the room about the act itself. The world hands them a reputation built entirely out of other people’s unmet hunger. So many people carry a quiet distaste for Scorpio, and often it is the ones who were scorned by some of the best sex they ever had. They walk in carrying something sacred, and they walk out wearing everyone else’s projection of the profane.

    So the next time

    The eyes stopped me on the screen tonight because I was picking up that broodiness, that layer underneath, the thing that speaks to me as pure depth. Yes, it is sexy. Yes, it is mysterious. Yes, there is something there. You know there is substance. And it goes deeper than even that.

    So the next time someone stops you in your tracks and you think, my God, the sex appeal, do not project onto them. Do not assume they are sexual with everybody. You may be standing in front of someone who treats the whole thing as holy ground.

    You were reading their depth, and when pointed straight at you, that pull may be the awakening of your own sexual energy, lit up and moving through their current. 

    If this stirred something, that may be your own chart talking. The eighth house touches every one of us somewhere. If you’re curious about your own chart, start Here

  • Understanding the Saturn Lover: Patterns in Relationships

    He looks like the answer. He feels like a closed door.

    The Saturn Lover

    He showed up on time.

    He paid for dinner.

    He texted when he said he would.

    He was the man your mother always wanted you to find.

    And yet, being with him felt like a room with no windows.

    You couldn’t understand at first why you kept looking out the window.

    Why you would lie in bed next to him and feel completely, devastatingly alone. He was kind. He was steady. He was building something. He was good for you on paper, the kind of paper you had been told for years was the only kind that mattered.

    But your body was tired in a way that had nothing to do with the day. There was a heaviness that lived in your chest whenever he walked through the door. You called it stress. You called it work. You called it your fault, because what woman complains about a man who shows up?

    A woman meeting her Saturn lover, that is who.

    The Saturn lover is, in many cases, a very good man.

    Responsible, mature, often carrying the weight of an early-formed seriousness. He loves you the way he loves his work, the way he loves his obligations: with consistency, with duty, with quiet pride. He does not light you up. He does not have to. Lighting you up was never in the contract.

    And here is where you have to be honest with yourself. There is a part of you that chose him because the Saturn lover does not threaten the woman you have spent years becoming. He does not pull at the soft parts. He does not require you to feel too much. He is the relationship version of a sensible coat. Warm. Functional and Beige.

    The cost of the sensible coat is that you stop being able to feel the weather.

    There is something in your chart that drew him in, that made him recognizable, that whispered “this is what love looks like”.

    You were born into this pattern. Which is exactly why it has been so hard to see.

    I wrote about him, and the six men who come in beside him, in a free ebook releasing soon.

    Seven patterns that quietly run the love lives of smart, accomplished women who cannot understand why they keep meeting the same man wearing a different face.

    If you saw yourself in any of this, the ebook is for you.

    Join my innercircle to be the first to receive your free copy