The Woman I Was No Longer Lives Here...

Today I caught myself thinking about something strange.

About a year ago, in Tarot, I was represented by the Queen of Wands.

Now I am the Queen of Pentacles.

I don't know if I believe that Tarot predicts anything. Sometimes I do. Other times I think Tarot is simply a beautiful way of forcing us to look at what we already know but still can't quite say out loud.

And maybe that's it.

Because when I think about the woman I was a year ago, I recognise her immediately.

But I no longer confuse myself with her.

I was fire.

A lot of fire.

I needed to feel. I needed movement. I needed that feeling that something was happening. A look, a message, a possibility, a trip, someone new, a conversation that stayed in my head for hours.

I wanted to feel alive again.

And I think, for a while, I confused that with needing someone to make me feel alive.

It's not exactly the same thing.

But I didn't know that.

Or maybe I did, and I didn't want to know.

After so many years of being someone's wife, a mother, a professional, the owner of a home, the builder of a life I thought would last forever, something in me got lost when that life ended.

It wasn't just the marriage.

It was the version of me that existed inside it.

And I needed to find myself.

Except finding yourself after spending a lifetime being so many things for other people isn't particularly pretty.

It's confusing.

Sometimes it's lonely.

Sometimes it's even a little ridiculous.

Because you start trying on versions of yourself like you're trying on clothes in a shop.

Is this me?

No.

What about this one?

Maybe.

And this woman who laughs louder, dances more, accepts last-minute invitations, flirts, travels, doesn't think too much about the consequences?

This one seems interesting.

And for a while, I was that woman.

The Queen of Wands.

She liked being desired.

She liked the attention.

She liked the adrenaline.

She liked knowing she could still make a man feel something.

And I'm not ashamed of that.

Not one bit.

After everything that had happened, maybe I really needed to reclaim that part of myself.

I needed to remember that I was still a woman before I could figure out who I wanted to be.

But there's something I only understood afterwards.

Being desired feels really good.

Being chosen by yourself feels much better.

And that's where something started to change.

It didn't happen overnight.

There wasn't a morning when I woke up enlightened and thought, "Right. I'm emotionally mature now."

Thank God.

That would be a lie.

The change happened slowly, almost without me noticing.

I started losing interest in certain things.

In conversations that were going nowhere.

In people who only showed up when it suited them.

In relationships that had chemistry but no consistency.

In men who made me feel a lot and offered very little.

And I started to understand something that perhaps would have been easier to learn at twenty:

not everything that makes us feel deeply is good for us.

Annoying, isn't it?

I liked the romantic version better.

But it's true.

I still want passion.

I still like flirting.

I still love that little flutter in my stomach when I'm attracted to someone.

I still want sex, desire, travel, dancing, wine, music, laughter and those nights that end far too late.

I haven't become zen.

Thank God.

I just stopped believing that an intense life necessarily has to be a chaotic one.

Maybe that's the difference between the two queens.

The Queen of Wands wants to live.

The Queen of Pentacles wants to like the life she's built.

And I think I'm finally there.

I'm much more interested in what remains after the excitement fades.

Who is still there the next day?

Who asks how your day went and actually wants to know?

Who shows up?

Who follows through?

Who knows how to have a conversation when the conversation stops being fun?

Who can be close without invading?

Who can give you space without disappearing?

Who brings me peace without taking away my fire?

Those questions didn't matter as much to me a year ago.

Now they matter a lot.

Because I no longer want someone to save me from my life.

I like my life.

Even when it's difficult.

Even when I'm tired.

Even when I have doubts.

Even when I don't know exactly where I'm going.

I like it.

And maybe that's the most beautiful part of all of this.

For a long time, I thought starting over meant building another life.

Now I think it means building a different relationship with the life you already have.

And with yourself.

I'm still learning.

There are still days when I become that woman again, the one who wants to chase the answer, the attention, the certainty.

There are still days when I want to send the message.

There are still days when I want to know.

There are still days when I mistake silence for rejection and distance for disinterest.

I haven't become immune.

I just started recognising myself in those moments.

And that changes everything.

Because I no longer have to believe everything I feel.

I can feel something and wait.

I can want something and not act on it.

I can like someone and observe.

I can let someone get closer without immediately handing them the keys to my house.

Maybe that's what it means to be the Queen of Pentacles.

It's not about being less intense.

It's about owning your intensity.

Knowing that my body, my home, my time, my energy, my love and my attention are precious things.

And not everyone deserves access to them.

A year ago, I wanted to discover who could enter my life.

Today I'm much more concerned with protecting the life I built after everything I lost.

And not because I'm afraid.

But because I finally understand its value.

Maybe the Queen of Wands still lives here.

Of course she does.

She's probably sitting somewhere inside me, legs crossed, rolling her eyes because I'm writing all of this.

She still wants to dance.

Still wants to kiss.

Still wants to travel.

Still wants to make a mess every now and then.

And I hope she never disappears.

It's just that now there's another woman sitting beside her.

Calmer.

Harder to impress.

More comfortable in her own skin.

A woman who no longer needs to prove that she can start over.

Because she already has.

And this time, she isn't building a life to fit inside someone else's life.

She's building a life where she herself fits.

Maybe that's what changed.

I didn't become another woman.

I came back to myself.