I never planned to become a tarot reader.

At first, it was just curiosity — a quiet pull toward a deck of cards that seemed to shimmer with mystery and meaning. I didn’t fully know what I was doing, only that something about it felt… familiar. Like I had done this before, in another life, with another name. Like the cards remembered me, even before I remembered myself.

And maybe they did.

It started slowly.

I would sit cross-legged on the floor with my first deck, drawing cards just to see what they’d say.

At first, it felt like a game. A secret language I was learning one symbol at a time.

But then something shifted.

The cards began to speak — not just about the future, but about me.

My wounds. My softness.

My longing to belong in a world where I often felt too much and not enough at the same time.

And somewhere between The Hermit and The Star,

between Death and The Empress,

I started remembering myself.

Tarot became my mirror.

A gentle companion through my healing season,

through the quiet months when I withdrew from the world to go inward —

not because I was lost,

but because I was being called home.

Through the cards, I touched the edges of my inner child again.

The one who used to dream with wild wonder,

believe in magic,

laugh without shrinking.

She came back to me in whispers and symbols,

in mischievous grins and sudden laughter,

in the joy of interpreting messages that felt like puzzles the soul had left for me to decode.

Tarot wasn’t just a practice.

It was a return.

In time, I stopped reading only for myself.

Something inside me said:

Share this. You’ve come this far — don’t keep it hidden.

And so I did.

I began offering free readings on a large, beautiful tarot community site —

not for money,

not for praise,

but for the simple joy of connection.

For the soul of it.

I poured love into each message.

Listened with compassion.

Wrote like I was speaking directly to their spirit — not just answering a question, but uplifting something deep within them.

And then the messages began to come:

“This is exactly what I needed.”

“How did you know?”

“You gave me hope.”

Some told me I made them cry.

Some said I helped them see themselves in a new light.

All of them made me feel something I hadn’t felt in a long time:

seen. valued. aligned.

Now, nearly 30 free readings later, I’m stepping into a new phase.

I’ve decided to offer my readings not just as a gift, but as a soul work.

A side job — yes.

But more importantly, a soul job.

Not for wealth.

Not for fame.

But for recognition.

For energetic reciprocity.

To be met with appreciation for the care, presence, and intuition I pour into every reading.

Because what I offer is not just a card interpretation.

It’s compassion.

It’s soul listening.

It’s the moment someone feels less alone because they know — someone understands.

I don’t just want to answer “yes” or “no.”

I want to reflect the truth of someone’s essence back to them.

To guide them gently,

to remind them of their power,

and to help them meet themselves with grace.

I know not everyone in my life will understand.

Not all my friends or family see what I see,

feel what I feel.

But that’s okay.

Because I’m no longer hiding my soft heart.

I’m no longer dimming my dreaminess,

or tucking away the part of me that still talks to stars.

I’ve learned that when I live truly —

with magic in my hands and mystery in my voice —

the right people find me.

They feel me.

And even those who once didn’t understand… begin to soften too.

I feel it now —

my inner child dancing again.

Mischievous.

Joyful.

Innocent and infinite.

She’s not afraid anymore.

She knows that this life is hers to live fully,

softly,

soulfully.

And tarot?

Tarot was the doorway.

Not to a future I could control,

but to a self I could finally meet.

So here I am.

A tarot reader.

A heart listener.

A soft soul who once felt too different, and now knows: that difference is my gift.

If you sit with me in a reading,

I won’t just flip cards and explain symbols.

I will meet you in that sacred space between the known and the unseen.

I will remind you of your own light.

I will hold your questions like they matter — because they do.

This is not just a service.

It’s a homecoming.

For you. For me.

For all of us who are ready to live as we truly are.