nine of cups & the grief of wishes withdrawn

hello, friends. at the top of the month i shared an essay on the nine of cups, on wishes, on the ripples of magic that are generated by our own yearnings and desires and strivings. but one of the reasons i fell in love with tarot, and that i keep falling more and more in love with tarot, is that each card has endless layers. and within these nine cups, there is more to find, deeper to dive, other versions of this experience to consider.

as i wrote about earlier this month, there's a hopefulness to the nine of cups when we think about wishes, about dreams, about the things we once longed for and now have in abundance. but another side of this card is also worth noting: the grief and detachment that comes from wishes that we know may never be fulfilled. the wishes we once had that we've had to surrender, the desires that a younger version of us carried that we've had to say goodbye to, the futures that we will not live out.

what about those cups? what about those wishes? let's talk about it.

not every wish comes true. i wish they did. i wish for a free palestine and a free congo and a free sudan, i wish every disabled person had dignity and support and abundance. i wish we had real reparations and justice and equality for the many generations of people who have endured pain and violence and discrimination at the hands of colonialism and white supremacy. i wish corrupt politicians and billionaires faced real consequences. i wish we all had access to clean water and safe food and dependable housing and free healthcare, i wish we could all do work that gave us joy and pride and satisfaction, i wish we could all make art that gave us pleasure and delight and whimsy. i wish nature was stewarded with care instead of stripped for parts. i wish the world wasn't burning and boiling. i wish animals and children didn't get hurt. i wish nobody ever had to worry about making rent or buying groceries or paying utility bills again. i wish we could all rest as often as we like.

i'm sure you have wishes of your own, for yourself and for your loved ones and for the collective. some of them maybe always felt like pipe dreams, or were wishes that you made knowing that they would be difficult to achieve. but others maybe felt very much within your grasp — and then slipped through your fingers anyway.

some of this is generational. as jeanna and i discussed in our recent call your coven episode on money, i was born in 1985 — which means i was promised all kinds of futures, had all kinds of expectations for who i would be and what i might've accomplished by the age of 40. i thought i'd own a house, be out of debt, and have a job that would support my life. instead i watched 9/11 on a corner tv in algebra class my junior year of high school, graduated college into one of many financial catastrophes, and have lived my whole life one day at a time: perpetually renting apartments, struggling to make ends meet, with more debt from student loans than i can wrap my head around and zero expectation of ever retiring. there is grief in this.

and of course, some of it is personal. i've had plenty of hobbies, plenty of dreams, plenty of aspirations that i couldn't make happen for one reason for another. i've fallen for people who weren't interested in me, fucked up friendships that i thought i'd have forever, hoped to reach certain milestones that i've long since missed, been to funerals for people who should still be alive. i've said goodbyes i thought were more temporary than they turned out to be. there is grief in this, too.

the things we wanted and couldn't have, the things we dreamed of that passed us by, the things we tried to make happen that simply didn't work. there is grief in all of this.

there is grief in the climate crisis, in fascism, in genocide, in racial violence. there is grief in homophobia, transphobia, xenophobia, ableism. there is grief in witnessing tragedy after tragedy and feeling powerless. there is grief in corruption, in colonization, in white supremacy, in systemic injustice, in feckless leaders and endless wars. and there is grief in not being able to find or afford the things we need, in having to prioritize survival over everything else.

your grief is so valid, friends. this is simply too much for any one person to carry. even nine cups are not enough for the overflow of sorrow, frustration, anger, exhaustion, and overwhelm that we all carry every single day.

this card also carries these lost wishes, these abandoned wishes, those untenable wishes. the nine of cups isn't just wishes fulfilled — it's also wishes withdrawn, wishes unlearned, wishes left behind. it's the wishes that change, dissolve, or adapt to a new reality.

what kinds of grief do you carry in your cups? personal grief, community grief, collective? grief for the future, for the past, for the present? grief for yourself, your loved ones, people you've never met?

we all hold grief, in one way or another. the nine of cups acknowledges the pain of separating ourselves from old wishes, the reality check of having to leave certain dreams behind. yes, we may have more cups than we know what to do with, may be blessed and highly favored in certain areas — yet we may also have cups of grief, cups of regret, cups of longing. this card can hold all of it, has space for all of it.

the story of the suit of cups isn't just a story of falling in love, or rediscovering our faith in magic, or building a community that allows us to be imperfect or needy or messy. the story of the suit of cups can also be a story of grief: of recognizing what lives within our hearts, of making space for it to be uncomfortable and true, of finding others who share our grief, and of learning to carry it alongside one another.

what cups story are you in right now, and what is its culmination? where is your heart opening and softening, your emotions deepening and shifting? how are your relationships expanding and contracting, your communities changing and solidifying? what story have you been telling yourself about wishes, about desires, about dreams? and where might grief be playing a bigger part than you realize?

are you actually giving yourself space to feel what you need to feel? or are you so focused on controlling the story, on compartmentalizing your losses, that you can't feel anything at all?

a few days ago i asked the good people of threads about the tarot cards they associate with grief. and while i was unsurprised to see the four of cups, the five of cups, and the eight of cups show up quite a bit, i was also delighted to see the three of cups, the six of cups, and even the nine of cups show up as grief cards for people too.

it's a testament to the many ways that grief can look, and feel, and express itself. and it makes a lot of sense to me that the nine of cups in particular was mentioned, because nine, among other things, is a number of detachment. it's letting go, moving on, allowing ourselves to say goodbye to something.

this card doesn't have to be grief work — but it certainly can be, if we let it.

what if you let yourself grieve the wishes you made, that didn't come true? what if you let yourself grieve the wishes that didn't turn out quite like you hoped? what if you let yourself grieve the wishes that you didn't feel brave enough or bold enough to make in the first place?

what would it feel like, to allow yourself space to grieve, permission to grieve, softness to grieve? what are your fears around letting yourself honor the grief that you're carrying? what would it mean to acknowledge that grief, to give it gentleness and care, to show it kindness?

and what might it shift in you, if you stopped seeing your grief as a villain or a failure or an obstacle to be avoided, and instead learned to love what your grief has to teach you about what you wish for, what you love, and what you want to be brave enough to hope for?

i know your grief might scare you. i know your grief might overwhelm you. i know your grief might exhaust you. but friend, ignoring your grief is not going to make it go away — it's just going to make it heavier and heavier to keep carrying.

this is the end of the essay. but if you'd like support in processing, tending, and learning to love your grief, remember that i've got a number of supported containers coming up including styx & stones beginning on september 20th, a free tarot for grief journaling event on september 27th, and river styx beginning on october 4th. i'd love to sit with you in your grief, and help you use tarot as a companion to transmute that grief into fierce hope and bold action.

sending you love, compassion, and courage, friends, in grief and in gratitude.

river styx is for tenderhearted badasses who want to believe in the future again. if you want to learn how to transmute your grief for the world into bold action and fierce hope — without drowning in overwhelm, helplessness, or fear — then this is the program for you.

this is a ten-week, self-paced, resilience-oriented community grief container that includes:

• original audio lessons (including transcripts) delivered straight to your inbox each week, based on the tried-and-true ten-step framework developed by good grief network’s laura schmidt and aimee lewis reau
• recommended tarot cards to work with alongside your lessons, along with new spreads and accessible exercises for tarot readers of any level
• journaling prompts for personal reflection, introspection, and discovery
• suggested somatic exercises to stay grounded, stable, and present
• a library of resources for creating your own personal support plan
• a private digital discord community for sharing, encouragement, and ongoing support
• accountability tools for helping you continue to show up to the work
• five live zoom meetups for checking in and practicing community building
• lifetime access to course content and our co-created grief community
• the flexibility to engage with lessons based on your own schedule and timeline, along with gentle reminders to honor your capacity and personal needs

the program costs $666 or three monthly payments of $222. a higher solidarity rate of $888 is available for participants who are in a financial position to support scholarships for marginalized students.

join the waitlist now to be notified when the program opens for enrollment on september 27th — doors close october 3rd, and river styx officially begins with the first email lesson on october 4th, 2026. and if you're interested in a gentle introduction to grief work, check out styx & stones as well as my free tarot for grief journaling event.

let’s tend our grieving hearts together.