Born for the Deep End - why I was made for this work

- Some people are built for the shallows. I was born for the depths. And if you are drowning in yours right now, that is exactly why I am here.

There is a card in the Tarot that stops most people in their tracks the moment it appears.

The Death card.

Even the most open-minded, spiritually curious person will feel something catch in their chest when it turns face up on the table. And I understand why. We have been conditioned to receive that word — death — as the worst possible outcome. As an ending with no other side.

But in Tarot, the Death card is one of the most profound and hopeful cards in the entire deck. It rarely, speaks of physical death. What it speaks of is transformation. The death of a thought pattern that no longer serves you. The ending of a relationship, a chapter, a version of yourself that you have outgrown. The necessary dissolution of something old so that something new has room to emerge.

It is the card of rebirth. And it is the card I feel most deeply aligned with — in my work, and in my life.

The Death card and the sign of Scorpio

In Tarot, the Death card is associated with the sign of Scorpio — one of the most complex, most misunderstood, and most emotionally powerful signs of the zodiac.

Scorpio energy, in its highest expression, is capable of going where others cannot. It is drawn to what lies beneath the surface — the unspoken, the hidden, the emotionally complex. It does not flinch at depth. It does not look away from darkness. In fact, it is in the darkness that Scorpio feels most at home — not because it is morbid, but because it understands that the most profound healing always happens in the places we are most afraid to look.

In its shadow expression, Scorpio can do the opposite. It can shut down when conversations become too emotionally complex. It can deflect, withdraw, or close off entirely when depth feels threatening. The shadow of Scorpio runs not toward the deep water but away from it.

The gift of Scorpio — its true, elevated gift — is the willingness to dive. To go all the way down. To sit with another person in the darkest part of the ocean and not be frightened by what swims there.

Born under a full moon in Scorpio

I was born under the sun sign of Taurus. Grounded, patient, steady — the earth beneath your feet. But the moon I was born under was a full moon in Scorpio. And to further align with this poetry of energy, I am writing this post when the sun is again in Taurus, under another full moon in Scorpio.

In astrology, the moon governs the subconscious. It represents emotion, depth, mystery — everything that lives beneath the surface of the life we show the world. And a full moon, in the language of lunar cycles, is the energy of releasing. Of letting go. Of bringing what is hidden into the light so that it can be acknowledged, honoured and set free.

I believe we choose the astrology we are born under. That before we arrive on this earth, our soul selects the conditions — the chart, and the lessons that lead to growth — that will best equip us for the work we came here to do. Being born under a full moon in Scorpio means I arrived in this life intrinsically wired for emotional depth. Not immune to it — I feel it as deeply as anyone. But unafraid of it. Able to sit in it, move through it, and hold space within it for others.

It took me many years to understand this about myself as a gift rather than a burden. From a young age I was drawn to the darker, more complex emotional landscape that most people preferred to avoid. I wrote poems about it. I thought about it. I tried to have many conversations about it. I was fascinated by the places in human experience that others found uncomfortable to visit. And for a long time I wondered — quietly, privately — whether there was something wrong with me. Whether I was too much. Whether I needed to make myself smaller, lighter, easier for people to be around.

It has taken time, lived experience, and a great deal of my own inner work to arrive at this understanding — I was never too much. I was always exactly enough. I was simply built for a depth that not everyone around me was equipped to swim in.

What this means for you in a session

When you sit with me — whether online or in person — you will not be met with discomfort when things get deep. You will not sense me pulling back when you arrive at the part of your story that you have been most afraid to say out loud. You will not feel the need to soften or edit or make your experience more palatable for the person holding space for you.

I have been in the deep water. I know what it feels like to be suddenly plunged into a depth you did not choose — where the bottom is nowhere in sight and the surface feels impossibly far away. I know the exhaustion of fighting it. Of trying to swim when every stroke costs more than you have to give.

And I know what it feels like to finally stop struggling. To let your body rise. To float.

Because the deep water, as terrifying as it feels, is not trying to take you under. It is holding you — if you will let it. The ocean is not a storm. It is simply vast. And vast does not mean dangerous. It means there is more here than you have yet discovered.

My role is not to pull you out before you are ready. It is to be beside you in the water — steady, unafraid, certain of the shoreline even when you cannot yet see it.

The shore is there. It always is. And you will reach it.

If you are ready to stop swimming alone, I would be honoured to float alongside you for a while.