It’s wild how you get into some projects, right? You never plan on becoming an armchair astrologer, especially when you’re usually knee-deep in real-world, measurable stuff. But 2020 wasn’t real-world, was it? It was a global head-scratcher.
I dove into this whole Pisces 2020 mess because of my close mate. He’s the chillest, most go-with-the-flow guy you’d ever meet, total textbook Pisces. And 2020 just absolutely leveled him. Not the virus, just everything else. He was a freelancer, doing okay, saving up, then in the span of three weeks in September, his biggest contract vanished, his landlord decided to sell the building, and his ten-year-old car finally croaked, taking a huge chunk of his savings with it. He was effectively homeless, jobless, and completely paralyzed by the shock of it all.
The Trigger and the Documentation Drive
I felt useless just throwing him money and telling him it’d be okay. He needed a strategy, a map, not just pity. That’s where the idea for this “Worst Month” documentation came from. It was the same feeling I had when my own life got derailed years back—you need an answer for the why, even if the answer is completely stupid. I figured, I can’t control the economy, but I can damn well map the variables that seemed to be actively wrecking him. Why September? Why that sign?
I started digging. Not into the fluffy stuff—I went straight to the forums where people talk about the hard transits. I opened a spreadsheet, nothing fancy, just a Google Sheet. I labeled the columns: Date, Major Event (External), Mood Index (1-10, based on our daily quick calls), and then the new column: Key Transit.
- I logged his general emotional state for the previous six months, tracing the first signs of stress back to a rough Venus square in July.
- I started really tracking the Mars retrograde movement in Aries, which was the astrological heavyweight for late 2020.
- I documented every job application he sent, and the mood swing that followed the inevitable radio silence.
What the log immediately showed was that his lowest point, his genuine, can’t-get-out-of-bed phase, aligned perfectly with Mars reversing through the second house of resources and security, opposed by the Moon’s nodes. I know, it sounds like nonsense, but when you see a person’s ability to act tank completely the moment a planet goes backwards in a sign of action (Aries), it makes you think. His normal escape strategy—just floating along—was blocked by the sheer planetary demands for aggressive action, which he simply couldn’t muster.
Mapping the Rock Bottom and the Pivot
The “Worst Month” wasn’t just a tough time; it was a psychological anchor dropped right in the middle of September. His mood hit a consistent 3. He wasn’t arguing or lashing out; he was just gone. He stopped answering texts. When I finally got him on a long call, the only thing he could articulate was a feeling of being absolutely swamped by invisible demands.
My practice then pivoted from documentation to testing an intervention. If the problem was planetary paralysis and emotional overwhelm, the cure had to be brutally practical and require zero mental effort.
I didn’t try to get him back into freelancing. That was the mistake. That path was ruined by the Mars retrograde energy. Instead, I enforced a change of scene and a requirement for mindless, physical work. I drove him across the state to stay with a cousin who owns a small warehouse and just needed manual labor—sorting boxes, scrubbing floors, lifting heavy stuff. Zero decision-making. No high-level sales calls. Just simple, hard, physical movement.
That was the key observation from the log: the moment he stopped trying to intellectualize his way out of the crisis and started moving his body, the Mood Index started creeping back up. It wasn’t about the money; it was about the kinetic energy counteracting the static, paralyzing energy he was experiencing. I watched the log entries shift from “Depressed, ignored email” to “Sore, felt productive.”
The Final Recovery: Stability Over Ambition
His eventual recovery wasn’t a sudden burst of ambition. That’s the messy part you miss in the glossy stories. He didn’t come out of the crisis ready to conquer the world. He came out humbled and exhausted. The real realization, the one I noted down as the end of the recovery phase, came when Mars finally went direct in mid-November and he was in the process of interviewing for a totally unglamorous, fixed-schedule, administrative job.
He got the job. It paid half of his old freelance rate, but it had benefits, a fixed 9-to-5, and offered absolute, solid stability. My key takeaway from the entire documentation process was this: for Pisces facing that kind of existential shock, the recovery isn’t about chasing the big dream or the big money. It’s about prioritizing the mundane structure. He deliberately chose stability over ambition, safety over high risk, because the foundation had been totally shaken. He built a small, boring, predictable fortress to ride out the last vestiges of the chaos.
I stopped updating the spreadsheet when he got his first steady paycheck. The whole thing taught me that sometimes, the most abstract problems—like an astrological transit—require the most concrete, lowest-level, practical solutions. You have to stop swimming and just stand on the damn ground for a while.
