Tarot Is Part of My Mental Health Toolkit

How I use tarot for psychological insight.

I still vividly remember the first time I ever saw a tarot deck. It was in a little shop my family stopped at during one of our summer road trips through the western United States. A bookstore, maybe – we were always stopping at bookstores to get me more reading material. This time, though, I left with only that tarot deck. I recall the moment I first understood what it was as one of recognition. This is for me, I thought. Tarot has been a part of my life ever since, and has become an important tool in my mental health kit.

I’ve never really believed tarot can be used for divinatory purposes. I’m agnostic about whether it is possible to “tell” the future, but I don’t use tarot that way. I’ve always used it as a form of psychological sequential art. Sequential art is a series of images that tell a story. In the case of tarot, the story is about the person being read for (the querent). People are often astonished by how uncanny and accurate tarot can be about their situation. The reason isn’t that tarot somehow “knows” you, or that the reader is psychic (though many tarot readers do possess powerful intuitive abilities) – it’s because tarot imagery is so rich with symbolism and metaphor that it triggers deep unconscious knowledge and understanding. Tarot can help us make sense of what we are experiencing, which in turn can help us move forward in positive ways.

I believe that people have both the right and responsibility to be sovereign over their own decisions and life. For this reason, I rarely give advice and I never “give” readings to others. Rather, I do readings with querents. I can interpret the cards for them, but ultimately only they can apply the reading to their lives in a useful way. Often cards have multiple meanings, especially when combined with other cards. By talking through a reading with a querent, I can suggest how the cards apply to their situation and use their responses to glean additional meanings from the cards. A querent usually comes away with a greater understanding of their emotions and actions, and often with feelings of peace and hope. 

My reading method comes from several decades of studying tarot and reading for myself. When I am feeling confused or fearful, I’ll draw a few cards and tell myself – out loud! – the story that they are narrating. Even though I remain agnostic about the nature of the tarot’s power, I’ve almost never had a reading that hasn’t made me catch my breath at the clarity it provides. For me, tarot isn’t an impersonal fortune teller doling out impartial judgments about my choices and my fate. It is a gentle, supportive tool that reminds me I have power a value in this world, even if it feels there are many things I cannot control. Reading tarot helps me feel less alone, and that the universe is supporting me on my path.

I’d recommend studying tarot as a psychological tool to anyone who is attracted to its imagery and personal storytelling power. There is no need to believe in anything mystical to benefit from it. While modern tarot did originate as an occult tool, there are many decks that have done away with esoteric symbolism - I have about twenty decks and am familiar with many more, so can recommend ones that might suit your esthetic. Please don’t hesitate to contact me with any questions if you think you may want to get started with tarot!  

I Thought I Had Depression, But It Was Something Else

My depression was a symptom of a bigger problem.

This blog post is now a podcast episode!

I once spent three weeks straight in bed. I’d get up to shower occasionally, but mostly my biggest daily expenditure of energy was reaching over to the bedside table to get more Benadryl to make me sleep again. Being awake was hell on earth. I wasn’t bad enough to want to die, but I certainly didn’t want to be alive. I thought I was depressed. I was wrong. What I actually had was burnout.

Let me explain. I tried for many years to treat my depression. Medication after medication. Cognitive-behavioral therapy. Wine. Endless rounds of falling into the abyss, dragging myself out and to the doctor yet again, only to come out feeling that there was no hope and nothing would ever get any better for me. “Treatment-resistant depression,” is what it’s generally called.

I don’t know exactly when I realized my depression was actually a symptom of something else. I suppose eventually I became so frustrated by the inability of medical approaches to help me that I started looking for other answers. I just couldn’t believe that I was doomed to feel like shit for the rest of my life because of some inherent biochemical or psychological flaw. But if the problem wasn’t me, what was it? The answer was obvious once I took brain chemistry and mental illness out of the equation: it was the circumstances of my life. I was suffering from the effects of years of anxiety that came from trying to survive and thrive as an intuitive feeler, a gentle soul, in a world that is not made for such as us. I was burned out from it.

In 2019, the World Health Organization (WHO) recognized burnout as a legitimate condition (a “syndrome”). Which is great, right? Not exactly. There is this major caveat: it is considered an “occupational phenomenon,” related only to the workplace context. Burnout comes from being overwhelmed and exhausted in one’s job. The standard treatment advice is to take a vacation, maybe change jobs. 

I think this is bullshit. Burnout is a whole-life condition, caused not just by a particular job but by the system that supports our work institutions. A system that prioritizes an individual’s productive and economic value for the organization they work for over their humanity. Take a look at the WHO’s list of burnout indicators:   

·     feelings of energy depletion and exhaustion;

·     increased mental distance from one’s job, or feelings of negativism or cynicism related to one's job; and

·     reduced professional efficacy

Let that last one sink in. Reduced professional efficacy.

According to this, the true cost of your burnout is that you cease to be an efficacious member of your organization. You cost them money because your productivity decreases.

The irony is that this system of valuation is a root cause of burnout. Even when your job is ostensibly for something other than profit, like my previous work in academia, it still always comes down to what is good for the organization, not you. Any institution seeks first and foremost to survive, and your worth to it is based on whether or not you contribute to that. 

You’re probably thinking, well duh. That’s just the way our system works. And anyway, everyone’s got to earn a living. True and true. But for gentle souls, this system is particularly spirit-crushing. We are not primed for the competitive, impersonal nature of it. But it’s more than that. Many intuitive feelers find that the institutional/organizational context just doesn’t make sense. It is so fundamentally contrary to our own personal value system that we often can’t function within it anywhere near a level of competence that expresses our true talents and skills, even as we exhaust ourselves trying to fit in. And this is devastating. It can lead to feelings of futility and hopelessness.

What really turned things around for me was when I realized that my real problem was that I was allowing the societal values of productivity and money-seeking to lead my decisions. All along I was chasing things I don’t personally value. I began to reassess my life from my own perspective, rather than society’s. This is an incredibly difficult thing to do – it requires a real commitment to examining and throwing away some beliefs that are so ingrained it feels wrong to reject them. Like deciding to not pursue certain career opportunities you’ve spent years qualifying for, even when it impacts your personal bottom line in life-altering ways. Or deciding that you are going to start “wasting” more time – see, we don’t even have positive ways to talk about being unproductive in our language!

Clearing my own mind – working to eliminate the cultural brainwashing – was the first and honestly only really difficult step I needed to take to heal from burnout. Once I gained confidence in living my personal values, and in a way that prioritizes my own mental health at all times, everything else began to fall into place. I’m not saying this is the way for everyone. But for me, trusting myself and trusting my values made all the difference. 

When You Have a Gentle Soul, the World Hurts You

You are not the problem, and it is not your fault.

This post is now a podcast episode!

You know who you are, you gentle-souled people. You are the ones that life hurts regardless of how strong you try to be. You are sensitive, intuitive, empathic. You feel things all the time, all day, in every moment. All your life, you’ve noticed that there’s something different about you. You’ve been called too sensitive and made to feel that this is bad. Other people often seem like they just don’t want to deal with your shit. You’ve learned to keep quiet and process it all inside. Or, because no one has taught you how to be who you are in this sharp-edged world, your emotions overload and come spilling out in torrents, creating a huge mess that feels like it’s all your fault.

I know you, I hear you.

You feel like there is no barrier between your soft, raw underbelly and the slashing parries of the everyday world. Some days are like sandpaper against your soul. Maybe you avoid going out into the world, because you know it will hurt. It’s not your imagination – you know that inevitably, you will hurt. Some days you can manage your shit and you feel almost normal. But mostly it seems like the world is just waiting out there to rough you up.

I know you, and I hear you.

There are many of us like you out there, more than you realize. But because we live in a society that denigrates our personalities – our gentleness, our introversion, even our tendency toward sincerity and kindness (you’re too soft, gullible, naïve!) – we have grown adept at hiding ourselves and do not recognize each other. Often we do not even understand ourselves. And often – usually – we feel that what’s wrong is within us, not out there in the world. 

That’s bullshit.

The truth is this world was not made by, or for, the gentle souls. That doesn’t mean there’s no place for us! But it does mean we have to struggle harder to find our roles. We have tried so hard to fit conventional ones, and it has been uncomfortable at best, traumatizing at worst. Many of us are very strong (although we feel weak!), and can go years trying to mold ourselves to a world that is not suited to our particular skills and characteristics. Eventually, though, we will find ourselves experiencing serious burnout.

Understanding this cycle of burnout we undergo – attempting to contort ourselves to fit into conventional roles to the point of trauma to ourselves – is essential to breaking out of it. Complicating things is that we are often actually good at these roles. Our intuitive, creative natures give us special skills that allow us to excel. But the cost is too great. We are ultimately being harmed by the world we are trying so desperately to compete in. What we need to do is stop competing. We are the ones who forge new paths, not follow the well-trodden ways. 

Is this challenging? Yes! Is it scary? Hell yes. But if you are one of the gentle souls, you will eventually arrive at a point where it is essential you break out. It may feel like your only choice, if you are to survive emotionally.

What this process looks like is different for each individual. But you will find that many of the ingredients you need are already a part of your life. Shifting your perspective will help you understand what is life-giving, and what is soul-sucking. It may take time – it took me years! – but it is never too late to begin. Take heart! Having a gentle soul makes you special. The first step is recognizing this and learning to accept and value who you are. This requires you go against a lifetime of socialization that taught you that it’s you, not the world, that is flawed. So start here: Repeat after me: That’s bullshit! Say it again. Keep saying it until you know deep inside that it is true.

Introverts, Be Proud

This is the era of introverts!

I’ve noticed something interesting in the midst of the social distancing required by the coronavirus pandemic. My introverted friends are suddenly much more active on Facebook, posting about resources, spreading positive messages, and proffering solidarity. My more extroverted friends, the ones who usually clutter up my feed, are…fascinatingly silent. It’s almost as if introverts, with our more attuned sensitivities and ability to enjoy periods of isolation, are uniquely suited to this unprecedented situation (hint: we are).

I’ve been pondering something that’s often occurred to me over the last few years. In a world in which we are already socially isolated for so many reasons, and with the growth of home-based personal internet businesses in the last decade, are introverts finally having their day? 

When I was growing up, being shy and introverted was not considered cool. I felt like a pariah among my peers. My friends were the other geeks and nerds. Most of us got bullied eventually, some of us horrifically. I can’t tell you how much I prayed that my shyness would be taken away (I didn’t know the difference between shyness and introversion back then). My profound socially awkwardness meant that I was under constant stress. Group activities of any kind at school were a nightmare. I was often very, very unhappy. Weekends were spent shut up in my room, reading and working on crafts. And during those long stretches of time alone, I felt happy. Very, very happy.

My life is little changed by social distancing during this pandemic. I already work from home, I take daily walks with my dog but otherwise don’t go out much, and most of my friends are text message buddies. Even my writing group meets online! All those personality traits other kids made fun of are now a benefit.

Then, today this popped up on Facebook: “Introverts, check in on your extroverted friends; they’re probably really suffering right now!” And you know what? I didn’t really believe it - because come on, being home all the time isn’t that hard, is it? I did an experiment: I posted about how I feel that I’ve been training my whole life to survive this enforced social distancing. An extroverted acquaintance replied, “I’m the opposite. It’s going to kill me.”

It’s not going to kill him (and hopefully the virus won’t, either), but wow. I can’t imagine finding social distancing that hard! But here’s the thing - extroverts can’t imagine how hard introverts find daily life in a society that favors extroverted personalities. We have to work harder for everything. Now it’s the extroverts who are going to have to work harder to adapt. I told him I know he’ll make it through - but he may have to find some creative solutions to his cabin fever. And he may find he’s more exhausted than usual, not at the top of his game - the way introverts often feel when we have to go out into the world and extrovert.

In the meantime, I’m doing pretty well, at least with the social distancing part. In fact, despite all the fear and uncertainty, I feel strangely confident, given the circumstances. And I was thinking: us introverts should start being proud of who we are. We are like the new cool kids in town - we have skills and resources that will help us endure and thrive in this new reality. I think it’s time we start saying – Out loud! To other people! – that we are glad we are introverts, that it does not make us the “second-bests” of society. We are not less useful than extroverts - in fact, quite possibly the opposite is true. We have a chance to shine in this new era – during this pandemic and beyond.   

When You've Failed at Your Dream

Should you give up your dream if you’ve failed? That’s not the right question to ask!

I know I was born to be a writer. It’s always been about words and language for me. I even learned three other languages, I love them so much. All of my jobs, from policy analyst in DC to professional editor to academic have involved writing in some capacity. I continued to write fiction as I toiled on a PhD, splitting the writing into morning and afternoon sessions. I was doing what I always had: delegating my fiction writing to the time left over. I thought it was working well.

Then the worst happened. I stopped writing fiction. Looking back, I would call it writer’s block, but really it was more than that. I not only had no ideas for what to write, I didn’t want to write fiction anymore. This was one of the most profoundly awful feelings I’ve ever had. I’d considered myself a writer my entire life, and had pursued it seriously for over a decade at that point. To suddenly have it dawn on me, after being unable to write for a year or so, that maybe I wasn’t a writer anymore, or perhaps never was one to begin with, was disorientating and devastating.

I was at that time in my mid thirties. Maybe my lack of enthusiasm about writing was my brain telling me I needed to grow up and put away childish dreams. Maybe I’d had all my chances already, and it was time to gracefully embrace the inevitable decline in accomplishment of the second half of life (can you say midlife crisis? – haha). Of course that’s all bullshit, but at the time I genuinely felt that it could be time to accept that I’m not a writer at all. 

And I did. I came to a kind of peace about it. I didn’t write any fiction for about three years. I wrote a travel blog for a time, and then started writing a lot of what you see here on this blog, but no fiction. I had no ideas for fiction. Then one day out of the blue, I got an idea. It came in a flash and momentarily stole my breath away. I knew it was real because I could feel the excitement throughout my body. I sat with that idea, and it grew. And some months later, I started a novel. I’m still working on it, and I love writing fiction even more than I ever did. 

It feels like a miracle to be writing again, but it’s something much more mundane than that. I simply needed time to heal from the harm of my PhD. And I needed to reevaluate my relationship with fiction, come to a place where I was truly writing for myself only, because writing is who I am.

Maybe you’re in place similar place of confusion about your dream. Wondering if it’s worth continuing on. Should you give it up? I think this is the wrong question. What if what you really need to do is recalibrate your relationship with your dream? What if your long-held vision of your dream has started blocking you from pursuing it, rather than motivating you? Ask yourself how much of your dream has to do with specific outcomes, and how much with showing up to do the actual work of it. 

I had to step away from my dream entirely in order to give myself space to ask these questions. Just asking them feels like you are giving up on your dream! Trust me, I get it. I had to literally give up my dream to repossess it again on better terms. I’m telling you my story so that maybe you won’t have to go through such a painful experience. Ask your dream some hard questions – and then listen with an open heart.

You Are a Real Artist Already

Don’t think you’re a “real” artist? Here I tell you why that’s bullshit.

I’ve always secretly doubted I’m a true creative. Sure, I was always doing art or writing stories as a kid, but I knew there were more talented kids out there. My best friend in high school was so obviously more artistically talented than me that I wasn’t sure if I admired her or was deeply jealous. Both! When I started writing seriously I remember saying to her that I know I’m no Milan Kundera – who was apparently the writer I thought at that time was one of the “real” artists. I thought I was just being realistic about my talents. But actually, how I saw myself was based purely on my own insecurities. I have always undersold myself and set the bar low.

Even while I dedicated myself to writing, I felt like I was pretending. So I sought out opportunities in life that I thought would help me develop a fulfilling (and money-making) career, and I kept my art on the back burner. I never stopped writing, but I didn’t prioritize it or fully commit to it. And predictably, I didn’t find success with it. That is to say, I didn’t get anything published. I came close a number of times, but the process of submissions and rejections was so demoralizing I eventually gave it up. And then one day I found I couldn’t write. I began to believe that maybe I wasn’t a writer anymore. Maybe I had never truly been one.

You’re reading this because I eventually came out of that dark place. And I learned some important lessons along the way I want to pass on to other creatives struggling with life choices and where their art fits in to it all. All these lessons fit a philosophy of creative living I call whole-life creativity. It’s what it sounds like: creativity that is the generative source of all you do, not an activity confined to the extra minutes left over. Creativity should be how you live every moment of your life. Let me explain.

Do Art to Live

I used to think my real life was the money-making work I did, and that my art, as sacred as it was to me, was something that I would have to do on my own time. Like a hobby. I knew I’d never make money off my fiction – I don’t write best-seller material – so I found jobs that included writing, thinking they would be the closest I’d come to supporting myself doing what I love. And I wasn’t wrong about that. What I was wrong about was how I valued my writing and prioritized it. 

See, I believed I would only qualify as real writer if I was “successful” at it – that is, I earned money from it. And I knew this would never happen with my fiction. Therefore, my fiction did not deserve to be what I prioritized in my life. Real life was the work-a-day life, and my fiction was like my shadow life. Real in my own heart, perhaps, but not in the eyes of the world. None of this made me a happy person. 

A couple pivots had to happen in my perspective for my misery living this way to lift. One, I had to completely divorce art from money. In fact, I had to outright reject the idea of earning any money at all with my writing. Once this link was decoupled, I was able to begin valuing my fiction for what it brought into my life. The joy of a dedicated practice of an art. Knowing I’m a real writer because and only because I sit down and write. Writing whatever the hell I want because probably no one’s going to read it anyway.

This first pivot naturally led to the second: Writing quickly became what feeds my life. I realized that before I had simply been doing art, and that now I was living art. My approach to writing became an embodiment of a new approach to life, one that was focused on experiencing it rather than milking all my time and effort for quantifiable results. The unexpected irony of this was that I ended up writing far more than I ever had before. In developing my whole life into a practice of creativity, something in me bloomed, and the words started coming back.

Once I realized that I needed to do art to live - and not the other way around, living to do my art - everything became clear. Writing is one way I choose to express my creativity, but it is just one part of a greater art: my life. The way I live my life day in and day out, from moment to moment, is my true art. My writing isn’t just something I do during a time I set apart. It is woven through all aspects of my day. A walk I take in the morning may inspire an afternoon writing fiction; that writing session may spark something I write here. The words are always there. I just need to be open to them and listen. The same is true of any creative endeavor. The ideas are already there - and the more you open your life up to be your greatest art, the more inspired you will feel in whatever you choose as your artistic craft.