april 2026: four of cups // channels & canals

hello, friends. our year-long journey through the suit of cups continues with today's essay — and as a reminder, if you're longing to go deeper in your tarot studies, i not only have a huge archive of original essays and spreads exploring the tarot (including the major arcana, the transition between astrological seasons, moon phases, the wands suit, and the pentacles suit) but i also have a bunch of different courses, resources, and workshops that can help you level up your tarot practice. additionally, i'm working on a refresh of my signature conservatory program, so be on the lookout for an upcoming announcement!

today, we're going to be talking about a tricky card from the minor arcana — the four of cups. take a few deep breaths and let them out slowly, shake out any stiffness or tension in your muscles, and take a sip of water.

let's get into it.

so far, the story in the suit of cups has a few important beats: the gathering of emotions or connections or intuitive visions with the ace, followed by the choices and convergences acknowledged within the two, culminating in expressions and celebrations and outpourings and honesty with the three. but as we continue moving through the suit, we find a card that is often associated with contraction, resistance, or relational discomfort: the four of cups.

when i started reading tarot, this was one of the cards where the standardized definitions confused me the most. why did the story seem to go from celebration, care, and the flowing love of community into selfishness, bitterness, and a hardened heart? what happened in between the three and the four to make things go so sour? what does it mean to be emotionally stingy, or to become bored in our relationships? 

vulnerability can be a double-edged sword. with someone worthy of our trust, in an important moment, vulnerability can build intimacy, deepen relationships, show us what someone is really made of. how people care for us when we reveal ourselves, and how they treat us after major revelations, can turn a connection from something casual into a profound and lasting alliance.

but vulnerability can also have a cost. open up to the wrong person, share too much too quickly, be indiscreet with secrets or private dreams, and we can find ourselves taken advantage of, betrayed, or closing our hearts up out of fear. letting someone in can feel dangerous, especially if we’ve experienced harm or distance or isolation in relationships before — it can feel easier, simpler, safer, to only let our connections become so deep.

in a world that so often demands that we stay sharp and focused, that claims that we don't owe anyone anything, practicing tenderness or sensitivity or generosity with our hearts can feel really scary. in the three of cups, we may see those risks paying off — but with the four of cups, we are seeing one version of the aftermath of vulnerability. and especially in rider-waite-smith style imagery, it can feel like the risk wasn’t worth the effort.

i mean, look:

this person is straight-up not having a good time. they're sulking, isolated, refusing the cup being extended to them. while their hurts are their own, there are a few different ways we can interpret this image, depending on what story we’re telling or how we’re moving through this suit.

perhaps this person was a little bit emotionally slutty, sharing too much too quickly in the hopes of cementing a relationship, and now has the kinds of regrets that make someone close up and pull back. perhaps this person trusted the wrong friend with a secret and now feels exposed by their loose lips, painfully aware that people they don't know can see parts of them that they'd prefer to keep hidden. perhaps this person feels left out of the inner circle, and is now rebuffing any attempts at care or repair. or perhaps this person feels that the connections they've made are too superficial or with people they don’t really respect, and now they find themselves bored, reluctant to keep trying to build deeper connections.

there are so many versions of this story — and some aren't about relationships at all. maybe this person has become disappointed, cynical, hopeless, and is giving up on dreams for the future due to their own discouragement with the present. maybe they're depressed, grieving, and it feels like all of the color has leeched out of the world. maybe they moved too quickly through a choice that’s gone badly, and now they're second-guessing themselves, afraid to listen to their intuition again.

of course, four isn’t only a digit of closing ourselves off or refusing to engage with anything. four ultimately is a number of commitment, devotion, intention, protection. it can be traditional, even stuffy sometimes, but there's a constancy here, a reliability. four isn't afraid to make rules or set boundaries, to be clear about expectations, to lay it all out there. and while that might not always sound like the most exciting thing, knowing who we can trust, who we can depend on, and who we can predict can be a really valuable thing — especially in moments where we doubt, or where we aren't sure if we can trust ourselves.

beyond the number four, this card also incorporates the element of water: water that flows and stagnates, builds and smoothes, settles and drains, freezes and boils, sinks and evaporates. without any guardrails, water flows where it will, chasing gravity, like calling to like. but water can be protected, guided, preserved, and channeled, brought where we need it in a steady and reliable way. canals and channels hold water intentionally, through planning and purpose — and to me, these pathways and holding spaces for water feel like a perfect metaphor for the four of cups.

what if instead of just being about selfishness or emotional walls, the four of cups instead invites us be purposeful about how we engage with our tender feelings, our deliberate vulnerability, our openness in intimate relationships? what if this card can help us create containers and spaces and methods for moving emotions through our bodies, sharing how we feel with others, making room to consistently check in with each other and deepen connections?

what if this card is less about restriction, and more about intention?

consistently showing up in relationships, consistently showing up for the people we treasure, consistently showing up for the things we say we value — these can be four of cups qualities too. but part of being able to be consistent is knowing what we stand for, what we're willing to tolerate and what we cannot put up with. the older i've gotten, the more outspoken i have become about not wanting certain kinds of people in my life at all — especially folks who consider themselves apolitical, who justify voting for leaders who actively perpetuate violence against marginalized communities, or who refuse to take accountability for harm or abuse or neglect. in some cases lines have to be drawn, boundaries have to be enforced, or relationships have to be reconsidered.

deciding how to approach misunderstandings, miscommunications, differences in values or choices, or even just hurt feelings can require some time in four of cups spaces. sometimes, pulling back and protecting our hearts while we do some necessary self-inquiry and reflection is exactly what we need.

rather than being selfish, taking time and space to make a thoughtful, values-aligned choice can ultimately be the thing that saves a relationship, a dream, or an intuitive choice.

as so often happens for these monthly essays, while writing about this card it ended up showing up in my life in some unexpected ways. 

i am the keeper of a tender heart, and have learned over the years that i need to be quite protective of it. but sometimes there are moments when the only way to deepen and protect a relationship is to share intimate feelings, even if it’s uncomfortable or nerve-wracking, even if we aren’t sure how those feelings will be received. i recently had to open up to a friend about my own hurt feelings, which brought up a lot of anxiety for me.

it’s scary, letting people we care about see deeply sensitive parts of us. there’s so much fear of being misunderstood or dismissed, of having our feelings rejected or thrown back in our faces, or even of a relationship dissolving. so for awhile, i didn’t want to say anything to anyone. i didn’t want to share my emotions, didn’t want to reveal my hurt. it felt safer, easier, less disruptive, for me to just hold my hurt close and bury it deep, to pretend that everything was fine. but the feelings just kept coming up, distracting me, until finally i had no choice but to speak. i lit candles, said prayers, hoped for the best, and tentatively shared my tender heart.

the four of cups moments that i had to sit in before speaking up were essential. i had to consider if it was more important to me to guard my heart, or to deepen my relationship. i had to decide how brave i wanted to be, how many of my own wounds i was willing to reveal. and i had to really reflect on how much i trusted someone else, that i would let them hold my feelings and not blow me off or break my heart.

it all turned out just fine. i was a bit clumsy, a bit awkward — but my vulnerability was met with care, and this relationship feels even sturdier than before.

i know how badly this all could’ve gone, because i've had these situations not turn out okay. i've tried to be honest with friends or family about hurt feelings, misaligned values, or uncertainty, and had it blow up in my face. i've been confronted by loved ones about my own mistakes, and haven't always responded with humility or regret or compassion in the ways that i would strive to now. these kinds of moments can leave a lasting impact on us in relationships, and change the ways that we approach similar moments in the future.

you’re allowed to protect your heart. so am i. but sometimes, pulling back and putting up walls provides us the necessary safety and shelter that we need to be intentionally tender, to make the hard or scary choice that creates opportunities for deeper intimacy. sometimes, those four of cups moments let us be true to ourselves and loving to others, instead of reacting too hastily or harshly.

who do you let in, and how do you decide how much access people get to you? who do you trust with your secrets, your reputation, your desires, your fears, you loftiest ambitions? how do you assess and enforce your own boundaries around friends, family, acquaintances, coworkers, peers, neighbors, community members? and when's the last time you evaluated these patterns and habits?

whether you're intensely private or a social butterfly with dozens of confidants, you probably have some rules (subtle or obvious) about how you decide who you bring in, and how much you share. who gets to splash around in the waters of emotion and intimacy with you, and who are you keeping on the riverbank? when do you let yourself get emotionally messy or demonstrative or vulnerable, and when do you keep your feelings locked up tight? when do you trust your intuition implicitly, and when do you doubt yourself, second-guess, or look to someone else for another opinion?

this is all four of cups work. these are all four of cups decisions.

this isn't just a card about closing ourselves off or refusing to trust anyone else. it's a card about being intentional with what we offer, what we hold back, and what we are willing to expose.

there was a time in my life where cutting someone off or having a hard conversation about a relationship seemed like the worst, scariest, most impossible thing i would ever do. but the truth is, removing people from my life who made me feel unsafe or worthless has made my life significantly better. and i really cherish knowing that the people who are in my life now are people that will sit with me in the hard moments, who aren't afraid of talking about the shit that's real, who are willing to call me out when i fuck up — or to own it and apologize when they've fucked up and hurt me, too.

it only took forty years, but i'm glad to be here now.

maybe these are the kinds of statements that make some people write this card off as selfishness or an unwillingness to be vulnerable — but the truth is that not everyone is safe for us to be our full selves with. not everyone is worthy of our magic, our tenderness, our truth. not everyone deserves to hear our secrets. and pretending otherwise, especially those of us who are queer or trans or disabled or otherwise marginalized, can sometimes keep us trapped in dangerous situations. this, too, is four of cups work.

this card can help us find the courage we need to draw a line, to pull back, to ask an important question, or even to reevaluate a relationship when we need to. and also, this card can help us simmer down or cool off when someone we love draws a line with us, reminding us to offer compassion and curiosity instead of immediately writing them off as selfish, close-minded, or unwilling to listen.

the four of cups can support us in keeping the waters of our deep emotions, tender secrets, wistful dreams, or intuitive insights protected — so that we can flow when, and how, we choose.

this month, consider where your heart could use some shielding, your emotions could use some intentional containers, your intuition could use some guidance. where have things been flowing so freely that they feel rushed or out of control? where might you feel stopped up, stagnant, or stone-hearted? 

what would it look like to build in some guardrails, to be more thoughtful about how you let the waters of your emotions and relationships flow? where might some time, space, purposeful boundaries help you get clear about what you want and need, what you’re capable of offering?

and how might reflection and self-awareness allow you to move with more humility, more compassion, more generosity in your relationships with others, and your relationship with yourself?

wishing you courage, vulnerability, and protection, friends.