“For this year, love life is not your priority.” Most tarot reading content that we see online always say the opposite – “You will meet the love of your life.” or “Someone special will come knocking and go back to your timeline.” It always feel clickbait-y and intrusive… but not the one that I had before Valentine’s Day.
It’s almost funny. After nearly half a decade of reading for others, I now found myself lying in bed, waiting for someone else to read for me. The roles had reversed, and for once, I wasn’t the one deciphering symbols and signs. I was the one hoping for clarity. Not complete certainty, because let’s be honest, the universe doesn’t deal in straight answers, but just enough insight to keep me from walking straight into a mess I could have avoided. Mistakes were inevitable, but unnecessary pain, regret, and guilt? Those, I wanted to minimize.
Maybe that was the paradox of divination. No matter how much you read for others, you were never truly exempt from the unknown. You could pull cards, analyze patterns, convince yourself that you saw everything… and still, there were shadows your own perspective could not reach. That was why I was here, waiting. Not just for answers, but for a reflection of my own uncertainties through someone else’s eyes. Sometimes, that was the real reason we sought a reading at all.
- Why Even Seek a Reading?
- A Shift in Perspective
- The Paradox of Knowing and Not Knowing
- An Open Door, Not a Closed One
Why Even Seek a Reading?
Back in December 2024, a friend gave me an official, legitimate reading about a struggle I had been dealing with for years. They told me I was finally free of it. That 2025 would be the year I could finally start building something for myself. The foundation of my financial freedom. There would be challenges, of course. Emotional management. Balancing self-care with responsibility. The usual. And as always, there was still no sign of romantic love. But that was never really my concern. What I needed was clarity on my first steps. I wanted to understand what to do so I wouldn’t slip back into the version of myself that was paralyzed by anxiety. The one surrounded by death and drowning in suffering.
I tried to listen. Paid attention to my dreams. Meditated. Asked for guidance. But nothing came through. My guides and my cards were quiet. Maybe I was looking in the wrong places, or maybe I was not meant to know just yet. I refused to rely on tarot readings on social media, though. There was always that nagging voice in my head that told me it was just the algorithm feeding me content based on what I had engaged with before. Not divine timing. Just code. Even during these times, I kept on seeing ads about tarot reading services in my country and I was pushed towards and pulled away so many times because I don’t want to spend money for something that might even be fake or destructive to me.
Then, in early February 2025, my coworker mentioned that his partner had gotten a reading from someone she didn’t even know. I asked how it went. He said it was eerily accurate. Down to the smallest details. Even her past life had been touched on. That got me thinking. I wasn’t desperate, but I was curious. That kind of curiosity that lingers. The kind that doesn’t just go away.
This wasn’t about losing faith in myself or the universe. It wasn’t about being ungrateful for the guidance I had already received. If anything, it was about honoring it in a different way. Letting myself see things from another perspective. The universe does not punish curiosity. Seeking a second opinion does not mean doubting the first. It means being open to more dimensions of the truth.
I was never afraid of the unknown. I had spent years embracing it. Flowing with it. Trusting it. But sometimes, trust is not about sitting in silence and waiting for the answers to come. Sometimes, trust is knowing when to knock on another door. So, I did… and availed the Space Package from TarotPH.
But was I really seeking confirmation, or was I just afraid of what I already knew? There’s a strange kind of comfort in pretending that the truth is still uncertain. As long as something remains a question, I don’t have to act on it yet. I don’t have to carry the weight of certainty. Maybe that was the real reason I wanted another reading. To delay the inevitable moment where I would have to move forward. I tell myself I’m looking for clarity, but maybe I’m just stalling.
And isn’t it ironic? People assume that being a diviner means you always have the answers. That you walk through life with a kind of mystical certainty. But it doesn’t work like that. If anything, it can be even more disorienting. You see the patterns, you hear the whispers, you recognize the signs, but that doesn’t mean you always understand them. And even when you do, understanding doesn’t make action any easier. Seeing the road ahead doesn’t mean you’re ready to walk it.
A Shift in Perspective
The reading itself unfolded quickly. Too quickly, perhaps. The reader was direct, relaying messages with little room for interpretation. I was allowed to ask questions, but there was barely any pause between their responses. It felt like they were pulling threads from the universe and tossing them to me before I could even grasp the last one. There was a certainty in their words, yet I found myself struggling to absorb everything in real time.
Some messages made perfect sense. I was on the right path, they said. Things were going to get easier soon. I needed to stay strong, especially through February, because there was a lot I had to do. That one resonated immediately. February had already been relentless. I had been pushing myself – building foundations, working, helping at home until exhaustion blurred the days together. Hearing it acknowledged felt like an invisible weight being lifted off my chest, like the universe had been watching and taking notes.
Then, there were things that made me pause. A deep connection with someone of the same sex. It could mean friendship, or something more. I didn’t know what to make of it. I’ve always had a push-and-pull energy when it comes to relationships, a hesitancy rooted in past wounds. The idea of something (or someone)appearing in my life in a way I wasn’t prepared for made my stomach twist. But I also knew better than to fear the unknown. Readiness and fear can exist in the same space.
Some things unsettled me. My birthday. There was going to be a shift, a disappointment, bad news. I wasn’t supposed to let it drag me down. That one lingered. The weight of expectation (of wanting certain dates to mean something good) was already a heavy thing. And yet, here was a warning that something would go wrong. I didn’t know how to feel about it. Part of me wanted to dismiss it, to refuse to give it power. Another part of me braced itself, already preparing for impact.
Then, there was the mention of a man. A relationship, a reconciliation. But with whom? It didn’t resonate. There was no one from my past I longed to reconnect with, no one I could think of who fit the picture being painted. Yet, if the message was true, then it meant this person hadn’t arrived yet. That was the thing about divination – it showed glimpses, but it never told you when. And if there was something unresolved ahead, something lingering in the unseen, was I meant to face it head-on or let it unfold naturally?
And then, the reminders. Take care of myself. Treat myself. Enjoy life. Simple, but difficult. It has always been easier for me to pour into others than to give to myself. The idea of slowing down, of letting myself enjoy something without justification, still felt foreign. But I knew they were right. Even if it was hard, even if it felt unnatural, it was something I needed to learn.
Lastly, discernment. Not everyone deserves my help. I needed stronger boundaries. The words rang louder than the rest, cutting through all the other messages. I had always struggled with this… wanting to help, feeling guilty when I couldn’t. But the universe wasn’t asking me to stop helping. It was asking me to be wiser about who I give my energy to. Not every open hand deserves what I have to give, and not every request is made in good faith. Energy is finite, and I was being reminded to safeguard mine.
Yet, as I reflected on the reading, I felt a deeper question gnawing at me. Was I seeking confirmation, or was I afraid of what I already knew? I had come into the session wanting direction, but deep down, had I already sensed these answers within me? The cards, the messages, the warnings… they all pointed to things I had felt before, things I had perhaps chosen to ignore. Maybe I wasn’t searching for guidance. Maybe I was searching for permission to trust myself.
It’s ironic. People assume that being a diviner means you always have clarity. That the connection to the unseen grants you constant certainty. But the truth is, even those who read the signs sometimes find themselves lost in them. We seek outside voices when our inner ones feel muffled. We look for confirmation when doubt creeps in. We crave glimpses of the future when the present feels too uncertain to stand on. Maybe that’s why this reading left me with more questions than answers. Because clarity isn’t about knowing everything. It’s about learning to listen (truly listen) to what has been whispering to you all along.
There is something unnerving about being read, about having pieces of yourself reflected back to you in ways you weren’t expecting. It’s one thing to wonder about your path in private, to wrestle with your own thoughts and uncertainties. But when someone else lays them out so plainly, it forces you to confront them in a way you can’t ignore. It is discomforting to be seen so clearly, to have the unspoken dragged into the light before you’ve even had the chance to process it yourself. And yet, with that discomfort comes a strange kind of relief, the kind that only clarity can bring. Even if the messages weren’t entirely what I wanted to hear, there was comfort in knowing they had been acknowledged.
What lingered most wasn’t just what was said, but how it made me rethink everything. It wasn’t just about the predictions, the warnings, or the affirmations. It was about the way they forced me to reassess my own instincts. The reading didn’t hand me a roadmap, but it did make me stop and examine the road I was already on. Was I really lost, or had I just been second-guessing myself? Was I afraid of the unknown, or was I simply afraid to trust what I already knew? The answers were there, waiting, not in the cards, but in the spaces between them, in the things I had always known but hadn’t yet dared to believe.
The Paradox of Knowing and Not Knowing
Some things were left unanswered. No mention of financial struggles within my family, no insight into past lives. The absence of those answers was not an oversight. It felt deliberate, as if the universe was refusing to indulge those particular questions. I had braced myself for difficult truths, for revelations that might require immediate action or preparation. Instead, I was met with silence. A silence that carried weight, that felt like a hand gently pushing me away from the door I was trying to open.
It would be easy to see this as a gap, an unfinished part of the reading. But deep down, I knew better. Some knowledge is withheld for a reason. Perhaps because it is not yet time to know, or because knowing would change the course in ways that are not meant to be changed. Maybe the act of searching for these answers would distract me from the path I am meant to walk. The universe is not cruel, but it is intentional. What it withholds is just as important as what it reveals.
There is a paradox in this. We crave certainty, yet we also fear it. We want to know what lies ahead, but we also flinch at the thought of seeing too much. The choice to know or not know is always ours, but the universe, in its quiet wisdom, sometimes makes that choice for us. And perhaps that is a mercy. Because knowing comes with responsibility. Knowing demands action. And sometimes, not knowing is the only way we are able to move forward without hesitation.
Even those who have knowledge seek guidance. Even those who read the signs for others sometimes need another voice to confirm what they cannot yet articulate. We search for meaning, for validation, for something to anchor us when our own intuition feels too fragile to trust. But guidance is not a solution. It is not a shortcut. It does not erase the need for action. What we do with the knowledge we are given is what truly matters.
This reading did not give me all the answers. But maybe that is the point. Maybe the power was never in the knowing, but in the choices I make regardless of what I am told. In trusting that what is meant for me will find me, and that what remains in the dark is not mine to carry yet. In realizing that whether I have certainty or not, the path is still mine to walk.
An Open Door, Not a Closed One
A reading is not just about the cards or the one receiving them. It is also about the one who lays them down, who interprets the patterns, who holds space for what is revealed and what remains hidden. The tarot reader was not merely a conduit for answers but a guide through the process of questioning itself. Their role was not to hand me certainty on a silver platter, but to mirror back the truths I was ready to see… to challenge me where I needed to be challenged… and to remind me that some answers must be lived, not given.
But perhaps what struck me most was their restraint. It would have been easy to fill the silence with reassurance, to shape my reading into something palatable, to soften the weight of what I was facing. But they did none of that. Instead, they trusted me to hold the uncertainty myself. And maybe that was the lesson. No one else can carry the weight of not knowing for me. It is mine to bear… mine to learn to live with.
Even now, after everything, I don’t feel more certain. But maybe certainty was never the point. What I do feel is confidence… but not the kind that erases doubt. It is the kind that exists alongside it, that allows me to move forward even when part of me still hesitates. Because perspective does not eliminate uncertainty; it teaches you how to hold it without letting it paralyze you.
And uncertainty is not something to be conquered. It is something that lingers, presses in at the edges of every decision, reminds me of everything I still do not know. Some days, it feels exhilarating. Other days, it tightens in my chest, makes me crave the solid ground of an answer. But I am learning that I do not need that ground beneath my feet to keep walking. Some steps must be taken in midair… trusting the road will rise to meet them.
And if the universe did answer my deepest question? If it laid out every truth before me, undeniable and clear… would I be ready?
I don’t know. I want to say yes, that I would act without hesitation, that my desire for a better life would drown out the fear. But I also know myself. I know the way doubt creeps in, how hesitation takes the shape of delay, of rationalization, of waiting for a better moment. Would I act?
I would have to. Because in the end, knowing changes nothing if I do not move. Certainty is not what shapes my path; it is the steps I take, whether I can see the road ahead or not. And if I hesitate? Then I will move through that hesitation. Because waiting for certainty has never built anything worth having.
If you found this piece insightful, consider supporting my work – every contribution helps fuel more in-depth stories, reflections, and meaningful content. Support here!
