There’s this psychological blind spot that creeps in when you’re the “expert.” I keep running into Carl Jung’s concept of the shadow—the parts of ourselves we refuse to look at because they’re inconvenient or messy. When I’m reading for clients, the cards are a mirror for them. But when the mirror turns around, I suddenly get hyper-aware of confirmation bias. I’ll catch myself trying to steer the narrative, or worse, diagnosing my own Two of Swords instead of just sitting with the damn hesitation. The High Priestess doesn’t sit well with me when I’m the one on the other side of the table. I want the veil pulled back, not a lecture on my own avoidance.

I know, I know. The community loves to romanticize the “reader’s journey,” but we rarely talk about the fatigue that comes from constantly holding space. As a queer writer holed up in Louisville, I’ve leaned into ritual as a creative practice because it keeps me grounded, but sometimes I think we’re all just playing a very elaborate game of cosmic mirror. If you’re a regular reader here, do you actually get readings? Or do you keep the deck locked in a velvet pouch like a good little gatekeeper? I’m genuinely curious. I’ve been thinking about sitting down with a friend next week, mostly because my own introspection has started sounding like a broken record. Let’s hear it—who reads the readers, and why do we pretend we don’t need it?