Dear Diary is a monthly love letter to the mess and magic of relationships — with others, and with myself. I don’t have answers, just lots of questions, but I believe in connecting through words. That’s why I keep writing.
🥤Grab a drink, take a 2-minute break, and enjoy the read 🗝️
Something suddenly changed on Monday. I woke up determined and felt surprisingly confident. Nothing substantial happened before it, but I felt done with being in between worlds and decided to cross the finish line. Victorious, as I’m only competing with myself. Was, actually. Not anymore.
It’s been almost five years since career became a triggering word for me. I still remember 2020 so vividly: working from home, stopping in the middle of an afternoon, and begging my tarot cards to tell me to quit. I couldn’t carry it anymore. My job felt like a heavy box I dragged everywhere — a box that didn’t fit into my life, my dreams for the future, or even my sense of ambition. I couldn’t picture any version of myself still holding it.
I didn’t leap and quit in that moment, but I did learn the tarot — and it became one of my favorite hobbies. Since then, I’ve tried on many different roles, hoping I might grow to love something in the same field. I tested, tested, and tested again. I poured energy (and money) into things I never truly felt drawn to (God knows I tried), simply because they were familiar — and felt like the safest way to support myself.
On Monday, I finally left the limbo of career transition. You know how it goes: juggling two paths until you burn out and are forced to choose. Either you follow the one you love most — the one you can’t not do — or the bills get louder, and you go where the money takes you. You risk giving up forever on something your soul once craved but couldn’t afford. Damn life.
I’d been dragging myself for years, torn between my soul’s need to go back home, to be, once again, a person who writes, and the safety of staying where I was.
But I said goodbye, and I meant it. I still have to mourn, say thanks before it let it go. But it’s decided.
I know words are my labor from now on — because something changed on Monday. I felt it, wrote it down, and two minutes later the universe confirmed it, as magically as a paid creative writing gig landing in my inbox.
You know I love the woo-woo side of life and how it balances the blandness of concrete buildings, AI, and all things plastic we swim in. This week, we’re already feeling the eclipse vibes ahead of Sunday, September 7. It’s like the cosmic big toe is hovering over the reset button. Eclipses shut things down, then switch them back on.
I asked my tarot for a card to help me navigate all this — and because my deck is not a strawberry cake, it gave me this:
The Three of Swords. Just looking at it hurts. But sometimes you have to stare pain in the face to move past it. To accept it doesn’t belong anymore, thank it, mourn it, and let it go.
These three swords crossed aren’t just about heartbreak and disappointment — they’re about the truth behind the pain. It’s the goodbye of the transition. Because as much as that old role was in my way, it was also serving me. It’s like finally deleting my ex’s number instead of occasionally replying just to feed my ego. Doesn’t matter if he once bought me my favorite ring — he’s just delaying my new life.
So let the swords help me grieve an identity, a safety net, maybe even old dreams I was tied to. They cut through the heart to remind me: avoiding the pain only keeps me stuck. Feeling it, letting the heartbreak move through me, is what clears space for the future.
Feeling it deeply.
Ouch.
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