november 2025: on everything being so goddamn hard

hello, friends. now that we've made our way through the suit of pentacles this year (get caught up on this year's essays here), i'm going to spend these last few months of 2025 sharing some topical tarot essays that i hope you find supportive, inspiring, grounding, and affirming.

because this world is really fucking hard, and we should talk about it.

reminder that i'm running a gentle tarot grief container called styx & stones that begins on november 9th, and will also be opening up a limited number of year-ahead tarot readings as well as my usual january journaling series over the next few weeks. i'm very aware that a lot of boycotts and no-buy actions are being organized around black friday this year, so i'm trying to decide if i should run another week of essays & discounts like last year, or forego it all in solidarity — small business ownership right now is complicated. i'll let you know as soon as i decide! (and if you wanna weigh in and/or let me know what you're craving from me these days, don't forget about my reader survey!)

our essay for today is about grief, and big feelings, and trying to be a real person with a soft heart and a thick skin in this beautiful, terrible world. i've got a few exercise suggestions, a couple of new tarot spreads, and a lot of reminders that it's okay if you're feeling some kind of way about the world right now.

grab some water if you need it, take a few deep breaths in and out, and let your body relax into a comfortable position. let's get into it.

"god, that absolutely sucks."

i remember the first time someone told me that this was an option as a response to someone else sharing hard news, and how liberating it felt to have a compassionate script to reach for when i wasn't sure how to solve their issue. not that it's always appropriate, or works for every situation — but having the option to simply acknowledge that sometimes things are really fucking hard and terrible, that maybe there's actually not a silver lining, that maybe there's not an easy or obvious solution, can be a profound gift.

in my heart of hearts i am a solutions person, a problem-solver. my first instinct, always, for better or worse, is to help. i want to be able to offer advice or insights, reframes or new perspectives, ideas or information or a resource that might provide a path forward.

really, it's that i like to be useful. if someone i care about is telling me about a challenge or struggle or hurt that they're facing, i want to help them to fix it as quickly as possible. it makes me feel like i have some control in a situation, and feel less powerless in the face of suffering or frustration. i want to provide value and care, an opportunity for relief. i want to do something.

this impulse has its limits. sometimes the obvious solutions are... well, obvious, and this person doesn't need me to offer them ideas they've already thought of. sometimes the problem is not as simple as this person is making it, because they don't actually want solutions or to get into the details, but instead just want to talk about how they feel. and often, the problem isn't actually an individual issue at all but a systemic one, where an easy solution doesn't actually exist.

it's okay to vent, y'all. it's also okay to just listen to someone vent, to hold space for their feelings before doing anything else. sometimes we just want to be seen and heard, witnessed, acknowledged in our pain. sometimes we just want someone to give us a hug and let us cry or scream or whine, someone to let us be messy and honest, someone to tell us that something really fucking sucks.

the problem, of course, is that choosing inaction, choosing to listen and witness rather than rushing straight into problem-solving, is not always our preference, whether we're dealing with our own challenges or hearing someone else's. it can be way less comfortable to listen and witness, instead of doing something.

what does it mean to sit with the hard thing, to hold space for it, instead of rushing to solve it? when is it actually kinder to give ourselves or others permission to feel bad, instead of trying to get over it as soon as humanly possible? and how can we learn to let ourselves relax into the discomfort of uncertainty, instead of avoiding stillness at all costs?

listen to me, friend: everything really is so goddamn hard right now. there are more eloquent ways to say it, i suppose, but sometimes it feels really good just to swear, to say something as bluntly as possible, to name the thing instead of dancing around it.

it's not an accident that things are this hard. capitalism is a cruel and unrelenting system that keeps us trapped in cycles of labor and struggle, that has us constantly trying to get ahead when everything is actually rigged against us. it's depressing, disgusting, dehumanizing, to value productivity at the cost of everything else. and it's revolting, horrific, to destroy human life so that a handful of white guys can keep getting richer. and it's exhausting, to know that if we had leaders and systems that weren't so inequitably weighted, this could all be a lot easier.

i'm here in your inbox right now to acknowledge that things are really hard, in case you're telling yourself that you should easily and consistently be doing more. i'm here to give voice to the fact that lots of people are having a really hard time, and that you are not alone if you're struggling. i'm here to hold space for the truths that we are discovering, that we are all we have and that magic is real but the mundane also matters and we have to keep showing up and that you have an essential role to play. i'm here to give you tarot spreads and imperfect insights and honest observations and hopeful ideas. i'm here to try and keep you inspired, and grounded, and connected, with tarot and community and writings and vulnerability from my weird little brain.

and sometimes, i truly think that the kindest and most practical thing that we can do is make sure people know that they aren't losing their minds, and that in fact things are desperately, horribly hard.

do you hear me, friend? shit is absolutely wild out there. it's all expensive and difficult and violent on purpose. you're not crazy, you're just paying attention to the fact that we're living through literal fascism as empire crumbles around us, that most of our politicians are bought and paid for by obscenely wealthy people, that we've been watching genocides through our phones for years now. anger, sorrow, grief, anxiety are all completely valid reactions to what's happening. and i know they might feel like too much but your feelings are proof that you're still alive, that you're present, that you're not completely opting out of reality.

i know that it costs a lot to keep paying attention. i know that it would be so much easier to just dissociate, to throw up your hands and say fuck it, to join the internet cynics who are more interested in yelling "we're cooked!" every time something bad happens than actually trying to fix anything. i know that it hurts, to read the news and actually process what you're learning, to balance the reality of Endless Horrors with daily responsibilities, challenges, and demands.

and, also: i know that people are doing incredible things every single day. i know that new folks keep volunteering and showing up and getting involved. i know that progressive people are running for office, calling out fascism, refusing donations from AIPAC. i know that there are folks trying to change systems from within, challenging bosses and managers instead of just going with the flow. i know that rebellion is in the air, in public and in private. i know that there are people practicing using their privilege to disrupt in unexpected ways. i know that artists and writers and musicians keep making beautiful, truthful things. i know that witches are still doing magic, both offensively and defensively.

and i know that you're still here, reading. i know that you still care about this broken world we live in. i know that you still turn to the tarot for reflections and ideas, grounding and advice, truths and dreams. i know that we still take care of each other, because i see it in my neighborhood and in my inboxes and in my discord server. i know that all hope is not lost, even on the worst of days.

it would be easier, sort of, maybe, to ignore what's happening around us. by not ignoring it, you're one of the brave ones, one of the honest ones, one of the ones who is going to help change all of this for the better.

but that change has to start with acknowledgement of something being broken. that change is born within acknowledgement. and right now, things are rough.

i know that it can feel like supportive, positive action to dive right into solutions, whether we're offering them to other people or trying to figure something out on our own. and sometimes, it truly is — sometimes problems are urgent, people are tired, and team work makes the dream work. sometimes we genuinely have information that is hard to access, that is valuable and needs to be shared. but i think that sometimes, prioritizing action first is just another way of avoiding the discomfort of uncertainty, as it lets us bypass the emotions entirely to focus on logical next steps or action items and doing something.

intellectualizing our feelings can be another way to avoid feeling our feelings.

that's not to say that we have to always prioritize drowning in big emotions or wallowing or whatever before we can take action, that we have to hurt our own feelings a certain number of times before we're allowed to do anything else. it's also not to say that your pal who is going through something wouldn't deeply welcome your ideas or advice or observations. i'm not interested in making blanket statements or trying to make anybody feel bad for how they cope with difficult things. i'm also not interested in pretending like feeling your feelings is somehow the answer to everything.

but i do want to remind all of us, myself included, that nobody can go at 1000% all day every day forever; that nobody can be all action and no reflection. we all need time to reflect, to process, to breathe, and — yes, truly, even you — to feel.

feeling is how we stay human. it's how we keep doing this even when it's impossible.

i know, i know, i really do know. feelings are big and heavy and messy and scary and hard to organize. phrases like "i don't have time to be sad" or "if i start screaming i'll never stop" might feel a little too close to home. not all of us can schedule our meltdowns or anticipate when we'll have five minutes to ourselves to cry before popping into the next meeting. not all of us can go to a rage room or take an extended break from working or even just fully dissociate for a few hours. not all us know how to identify a feeling for what it actually is. instead, it can feel way easier and safer and simpler to just keep those feelings locked up tight and not look too closely at them, ever.

but emotions are not the enemy. grief is not the enemy. if we treat these experiences like problems to be solved, like sensations that are far too big to manage, we never figure out what those emotions mean or what they actually need — and eventually, we'll burn out, crash out, give up, or stop caring.

and that's the thing, friends: i really don't want you to stop caring. i want you to keep your heart soft. and that means that sometimes, you have to let yourself feel the hard thing instead of rushing to solve it.

so what do we do, exactly? how are we supposed to sit with the bad scary feelings when the world is on fire around us? how can any of us reasonably be expected to dive deep into emotions that are easier to keep buried, when there are so many demands on our time and attention and energy and money and resources?

we do it simply, and gently, one day at a time. we do it with compassion, and patience, and grace. and we use a tool like tarot, which can help us dip our toes in the water instead of diving right into the deep end.

tarot can provide a really helpful buffer and structure to do this kind of work without getting lost in the sauce. finding a specific card that represents how you're feeling in a particular moment, or choosing multiple cards for different areas of your life (work, rest, creativity, spiritual practice, relationships, movement, etc), can help you find language for emotions or struggles that might otherwise be hard to define or identify.

or, choosing a specific card to work with (a.k.a. to talk with, to journal with, to meditate on, to study, to make a playlist for, etc) based on your challenges or frustrations can be useful. if you feel like your internal walls are so high that you don't even know what your emotions are, cards like the four of cups or the emperor could offer a helpful mirror, while cards like the empress or the three of wands might give you a path into expression. if you feel like grief or sorrow or loss are overwhelming or paralyzing, the five of cups or the eight of swords could help you articulate the sensations you're experiencing. if you're craving solitude and wisdom, look to the hermit or the priestess. if you're hungry for connection and community, listen to the lovers or the ten of pentacles or the wheel. if you're scared, sit with strength.

and of course, if you feel too overwhelmed for any of this, you can also literally ask your cards to reflect your feelings back to you, to acknowledge what you're carrying or what you're struggling to identify. shuffle the cards well, ask the deck to be your mirror, and pull out a card or two that can offer some insights into what is churning within your heart. or, use this new tarot spread:

sometimes, my cards will literally say "god, that absolutely sucks." and i find that it really is helpful, actually, to hear that from them — to have the acknowledgement that shit is rough and i'm not blowing something out of proportion.

for me, using the tarot as part of this work makes it easier to stay in the identification and reflection mindset, rather than springing right into action. but the real point here, whether you try one of my suggestions or do your own thing, is to start gently, intentionally, consistently engaging with your emotions in a way that is not solutions-oriented. the key, really, is in not judging yourself for what you're feeling (shit is hard, remember?), and also in not immediately launching into problem-solving mode.

you're not making a to do list, you're looking into a mirror.

and of course, whenever you're ready to get moving again, you can also use the tarot to help you figure out what to do next, and why that's your best option. i've written lots of tarot spreads around actions or next steps, and i also made you this:

this work is hard. it's slow. it can be super uncomfortable, even feel scary. but as we move into november, as we recognize the unique new challenges that this month will bring, as we do our best to stay connected to ourselves and to each other, i want you to remember that ignoring your feelings won't make them disappear. i want you to acknowledge that you are a human being with a soft heart. i want you to celebrate your capacity for staying tender, even when it hurts.

your action is valuable. it's so important. but try not to get so focused on finding immediate solutions to very heavy, complicated problems that you lose sight of what you're feeling, and what you actually need. this is long-term work, lifetime work, and it will take all of us shoving at a thing from all sides to bring it down.

don't burn out, friend. don't deny your humanity by denying your emotions. give yourself time to breathe, and grieve, and feel, and rest, so that you can keep showing up and fighting back for the long haul.

sending you love, strength, and solidarity, friends. i'll be back tomorrow with a paid numerology post on november 2025's numbers, and am also sending out another essay on tuesday, so keep an eye on your inbox for more writings and resources.

and remember that if you could use some support learning how to gently engage with your grief via the tarot, my next community container begins on november 9th!