Therapy with Me: What the Cards Have to Say

Why it Matters that Therapists Do their Own Work

As a therapist, it’s always been important to me that when I ask my clients to try a new exercise or explore a vulnerable emotional place, I’ve gone there too. I’ve been in therapy myself—on and off—for over 15 years. I’ve experienced EMDR before I was trained in it. I’ve been through cognitive therapy and, from a client’s perspective, I can tell you exactly why I don’t use it. I’ve even been to inpatient, and I can hold with you the complicated truth that it was both life-saving and traumatic.

Of course, there are many experiences I won’t share—based on identity, lived reality, or the full shape of your “you-ness.” But I believe it’s unfair to ask you to go into the dark and twisty places—or try the weird parts work exercise—if I haven’t gone there myself. It’s so important that therapists do their own work so that you can trust us from a place of us authentically trusting ourselves. I want the therapy space to feel real, human, and rooted in mutual respect. That means doing my own emotional work, regularly, so I can show up as regulated and authentic as humanly possible.

Unsurprisingly (if you know me), this sometimes involves tarot.

🔮 A Tarot Spread to Reflect on My Role as a Therapist

A few days ago, I realized I needed to create a dedicated journal for my clinical work—not for business strategy, not for content planning—just for reflecting on my actual work with clients. As a Gemini moon, it’s incredibly easy for me to get caught up in what I’m saying about my work before I pause to check in with how I actually feel.

Tarot, for me, bridges that gap. While yes, it’s entirely possible to intellectualize your way through a spread (I am a therapist, after all), tarot has this way of calling forward your most immediate emotional instincts. Sometimes those are intrusive fears. But sometimes? They’re deep truths. Intuition. Embodied knowing.

Naturally, then, I decided the first thing I needed to do in my clinical journal was a long, in-depth tarot spread—a classic hyperfocus moment that took me about two and a half hours between prepping for and decompressing from a session (shoutout to my neurodivergent brain).

The spread covered a lot: where I am in my therapist journey, what blocks me from showing up authentically, and where I might be out of alignment. (Spoiler: it’s community. If you’re a fellow witchy therapist with a consult group, consider this my open signal—hit me up.)

But today, I want to share just one piece of that reading. The question was simple but revealing:

“Who am I to my clients?”

🃏 Who I Am to My Clients (According to the Tarot)

The 4 of swords and 8 of swords as presented in The Muse Tarot

What Kind of Therapist Am I?

While I was a little surprised to pull two cards for this question, it also made perfect sense. As a Bipolar Babe, I’m constantly balancing between many kinds of dualities. I pulled the 4 of Swords and the 8 of Swords—two cards that could not feel more different vibe-wise, and yet they belong to the same suit. They carry a thread of the same story.

These cards came from the Muse Tarot, which I love using for anything that even hints at creative struggle or soul work. The 4 of Swords in this deck looks like a literal spa day. The 8 of Swords, in contrast, looks like a dungeon—a harsh, dark space where the only light filters through prison bars. The 4 of Swords is about rest, stillness, and nervous system repair. The 8 of Swords is about internal paralysis, fear, and the suffocating grip of your own mind.

And yet, when I looked at these two cards side by side, something clicked.

A story. A felt sense.

A poem made of pendulation and titration (shoutout to my somatic practitioner crew).

Because truly, what you’ll find in my therapy space is both.

Held by a strong foundation of consent, pacing, and collaboration.

You might think of therapy as a place where darkness is illuminated so it can be healed—and it is. That’s a space I love to hold. But therapy is also a space for rest. For relief. For nervous system restoration. For the simple, radical act of being held without having to perform. Therapy can be shadow work, yes—and it can also be bubble baths, soft blankets, and “I’m so tired” energy.

My therapy space is all of that.

🌙 What These Cards Mean to Me Personally

How Tarot Reflects My Own Healing Journey

What struck me so thoroughly about these two cards is how deeply they mirror my own healing path. The 4 of Swords moments are etched into my nervous system: that day-after-the-big-test exhale, the it’s-finally-summer-vacation feeling. I’ve felt it under towering trees after finishing my degree. I’ve felt it when the meds started working. I’ve felt it every time I left a job that was crushing me.

And I’ve also lived through the 8 of Swords.

Moments that tore me up beyond recognition.

Times I felt trapped and desperate for a way out.

The longing for the Big Escape™.

Sometimes these moments happen right next to each other.

The Tower, then The Star.

Darkness, then dawn.

Collapse, then breath.

These aren’t just archetypes I talk about in session. They are realities I have lived. I know them in my bones. I know them like muscle memory. I know them like DNA.

🌱 What This Looks Like in My Therapy Work

What to expect in therapy with me

Okay Fitz, enough with the abstract poetic stuff—what does this actually look like in a session?

Broadly, this might look like days where we’re building coping skills, giving you space from your trauma, or celebrating small (but big) victories. It might also look like going into the deep hurts with EMDR, exploring the parts of you that feel too scary to name, or even talking about your relationship to death. But let’s break that down a bit further by niche.

🗳️ Political Anxiety

4 of Swords: Here, we’re working on actual rest. Many clients dealing with political anxiety are already carrying grief, guilt, and isolation and have little to no capacity left. Maybe they’re neurodivergent, maxed out at work, or struggling to say no. These sessions might look like learning what helps your body chill. They might include unmasking, breaking eye contact, having a consistent space to just be.

8 of Swords: In these sessions, we may sit with your fear and hopelessness without rushing to fix it. We get curious about shutdown, and we speak directly to that paralysis. Maybe we explore the guilt that keeps you from showing up, and the perfectionism protecting something deeper. This is compassion work—for the parts of you that are totally freaked out.

✝️ Religious Trauma

4 of Swords: This might be the space where you explore your new freedom—your new spiritual identity—and simply notice what brings you joy. Maybe we talk about connecting with a new community or spiritual practice. Or maybe I just reflect back to you: No, you weren’t making it up. That really was culty. You are allowed to be believed.

8 of Swords: This is where we might dive into the molten core of what purity culture did to your sense of self. We might do EMDR around painful memories or slowly unpack the shame and worthlessness you’re carrying. These sessions hold grief and make space for your hardest emotions without spiritual bypassing.

🧠 Neurodivergent-Affirming Work

4 of Swords: This is the “OMG I HAVE ADHD, I FEEL SO VALIDATED!” phase. Maybe you’re realizing what Adderall makes possible. Maybe you’re deep in the meme spiral of self-recognition. This is where we honor self-diagnosis, explore identity with curiosity, and validate your entire lived experience—especially the parts you thought were just personal failures.

8 of Swords: This is where the deeper work begins. Perfectionism. Childhood trauma. Identity confusion. Resentment toward your parents tangled with love. Loneliness. Burnout. This work is often more experimental—which can feel scary. Sometimes things don’t work, and we have to try something completely different. But that’s part of what makes it yours.

🌌 Transpersonal Work (aka Spiritual Therapy)

4 of Swords: Even though spiritual work can go deep fast, we can still use your spirituality to support rest and regulation. Maybe we explore rituals that soothe your nervous system. Maybe we talk about awe, magic, and the parts of your spiritual life that actually feel good. Joy is a sacred part of healing.

8 of Swords: Welcome to shadow work. This is the part where we sit with the doubts, the shame, the fear that you’re “doing it wrong.” This is where we ask hard questions about God, the afterlife, or nothingness. It’s where we let you feel the resentment you hold toward divinity—and let that pain speak without trying to tidy it up.

⚖️ Why Therapy Needs Rest—Not Just Trauma Work

Why Therapy Isn’t Only About Digging Into Trauma

Let me be clear: therapy is not a linear journey from the 4 of Swords to the 8 of Swords. We’re constantly moving between them. And truthfully, we can’t go into the deepest places if you don’t have a place to return to—a beach after the ocean. A pause after the wave.

We stay there as long as we need to. As long as you want to.

At the same time, therapy that’s only about immediate regulation can start to feel like it’s missing something. You might feel emotionally distant or disconnected from something your soul is calling for.

Effective therapy lives in the balance. Especially in trauma work.

The space I offer is one of refuge and regulation—but that refuge exists in service to your deeper healing.

That wild, sacred healing you long for.

Nothing more, and nothing less.

If this way of working resonates with you—if you’re craving both rest and depth, both space to fall apart and space to be gently held—I’d love to connect.

You can learn more about working with me at the rest of my website or just reach out to say hi.

Your healing doesn’t have to be a solo journey.