The Mess That Made Me Pick Up a Deck
Man, I gotta tell you, the reason I even started down this whole Tarot thing—especially anything with “Care and Healing” in the title—was because I was an absolute wreck. We’re talking totally wiped out. For nearly seven months straight, I was dealing with this situation at work that just drained the life out of me. It wasn’t the hours; it was the vibe. I’m a Pisces, right? Which means I soak up every single crumb of emotion around me like a sponge. And that office? That place was full of toxic, petty crap. I’d walk in feeling okay and leave feeling like I’d been run over by a truck.
I tried everything to fix it. I ran myself ragged trying to be the peacemaker, trying to smooth things over, trying to fix other people’s emotional baggage. I was having trouble sleeping. I was snapping at my family. It all came to a head when I had this massive blowout with my neighbor over something stupid—like where my recycling bin was sitting. I just lost it. When I finally calmed down, I just sat there thinking, “Holy hell, this is not me. I’m swimming in everyone else’s stress, and I’m drowning.”
Hitting Rock Bottom and Grabbing the Cards
That moment, staring at the overflowing recycling bin, was my signal. I knew I needed to put a fence around my energy. Not literally, obviously, but you get the idea. I didn’t want a therapist, I wanted a tool. A way to actually see what was mine and what I’d absorbed from the crazy people at the office. I remembered a book my aunt had given me years ago, one of those super fluffy New Age things about intuition. It mentioned Tarot as a mirror, not a crystal ball. That stuck with me.
I walked into this little dusty shop downtown—the kind that smells like sage and old wood—and I bought the first deck that felt heavy in my hands. I didn’t research it. I didn’t look up reviews. I just grabbed this specific deck because the box had cool, deep blue colors. I went home, threw the instruction booklet away (because I figured trying to read that jargon would just stress me out more), and decided I was going to figure this mess out myself.
My first practical step was simple: I was only going to look at the Major Arcana. Twenty-two freaking cards. That’s it. Too much information would just send my already over-loaded Pisces brain spinning. I pulled out three cards—The Fool, The Magician, and The High Priestess—and just stared at them. I didn’t know the proper names. I just said:
- “This is me being stupid and starting something new.” (The Fool)
- “This is me trying to use what I have.” (The Magician)
- “This is the secret thing I need to pay attention to.” (The High Priestess)
It was rough. It was probably wrong. But it was my process.
The Daily Grind and the ‘Aha’ Moment
For the next two weeks, every single morning before I checked email, I shuffled the deck until I dropped a card. Just one card. My daily card. I wasn’t trying to predict the day; I was using it to set a boundary. If I pulled the Tower, I knew I needed to stay quiet and let the office drama burn down without me throwing water on it. If I pulled the Star, I allowed myself five minutes to actually dream about quitting and moving somewhere sunny.
The turning point, the thing that made me realize this wasn’t just nonsense, happened on a Tuesday. I was still agonizing over a decision about whether to confront my boss about an unfair assignment. I was literally paralyzed—I couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t decide, I was just spiraling in that classic Pisces ‘maybe I’m wrong, maybe I’m too sensitive’ crap.
I shuffled the whole damn deck (Majors and Minors, because I was desperate now) and I did the simplest spread I could think of: Past, Present, Future.
- Past: The Two of Swords. Blindfolded, unable to decide, stuck. (BAM! That was the last two weeks of my life.)
- Present: The Eight of Swords. Surrounded by swords, unable to move, but the ropes are loose. (Hit me like a ton of bricks. I was keeping myself trapped. The ropes were loose!)
- Future: The Knight of Swords. Charging forward, aggressive, ready for a fight.
That Knight of Swords scared me because I didn’t want to be aggressive. But the Eight of Swords—that picture of being blindfolded but still able to walk out—that’s where the “healing” part started for me. I saw, plain as day, that I wasn’t trapped by the job. I was trapped by my need to be a martyr about it. I needed to untie my own ropes.
Feeling Better Today and My Final Takeaway
I didn’t quit that day, but I went to work and untied those metaphorical ropes. I stopped trying to fix things. I focused on my desk, my lunch, my immediate tasks. I didn’t let the office chaos spill into me. I felt the difference immediately. That night, I slept for seven hours straight, which hadn’t happened in months. I mean, actually slept.
Look, I’m not going to sit here and tell you that a deck of cards is a substitute for hard work or professional help if you need it. But for a highly sensitive person—for anyone who finds themselves constantly swimming in other people’s drama, especially us Pisces folks—this journey gave me a vocabulary for my energy. It forced me to stop overthinking and start simply seeing where I was stuck.
If you’re starting this journey, forget the books and the fancy spreads for now. Just get a deck, pull one card, and ask it one question: “Where are my freaking ropes, and can I untie them today?” That practice is simple. It’s rough. And man, it works. I can finally breathe again. I feel better today because I finally learned how to stop solving everyone else’s mess and just focus on the few cards I pulled for myself.
