Given that today’s New Moon is in Scorpio, it’s the perfect time to dive deep. So, we’re going to have some fun exploring a psychological dynamic I’ve been mapping in my journaling + dreamwork recently.
That said, some of the details are still needing gestation and personal processing, so I’ve concocted a hypothetical scenario for us to chew on, and because I love me some astral travel, you know I had to find a way to tie that in!
Say hello to Emery…
Only two hours before the coven’s arrival, and Emery’s apartment looked like a shipwreck. Why, oh why, had they agreed to host tonight’s Full Moon ritual??
Crystals cluttered every windowsill—rose quartz for balance, protective black tourmaline, and celestite to ease the journey between realms. Bundles of mugwort and nettles hung from twine loops, their meadow-grass scent mingling with the ward of dragon’s blood incense.
Emery tripped over a stack of psychic protection books, upending a pillar candle anointed with holy water—great for banishing malevolent spirits. The coffee table was littered with antique runes, a splurge that meant Emery would be eating ramen all month, but the witch who’d sold them promised they were the best defense on the astral plane. A defense against what, Emery couldn’t recall, exactly, but they were a must-have.
The filigree pendant was their latest obsession, an emblem of hope. The shopkeeper had sworn it was different: forged during an eclipse, blessed by an actual priestess, its moonstone etched with arcane symbols.
Fingering the cool chain, Emery tried to quell the fluttering of doubt. They’d said the same about the celestite, hadn’t they? And the protection runes. And the anointing oils. Each purchase delivered a nights’ peace, maybe two, before the dread returned.
Emery had been astral traveling for as long as they could remember, the Other Realms their respite from the mundane—until that night.
It had begun like any other journey, Emery floating free of their body, hovering within the circle of standing stones, waiting for that instinctual tug to guide them deeper. The scenery shimmered, and Emery found themselves in a moonlit forest, chasing after a snow-white stag. Its ghostly form darted between trees, disappearing into a shadowed glen. Emery spun around, scanning the hollow, but the stag was gone.
This had happened before, a guide vanishing, but Emery was always able to return.
Maybe it was because they’d traveled on the Blood Moon, or perhaps their focus was frayed after a long day at work. But that night, the moss-covered stones melted into shadows, and those shadows began to grasp and claw with spindly fingers. Emery fled through the trees, vines whipping at their ankles, branches lashing their cheeks.
Lurching up to sitting with great, hacking coughs, Emery yanked the quilt away, clutching at the moonstone pendant.
Their gaze skittered about the room, the mugwort, the tourmaline, everything right where it should be. A rough exhale; Emery’s shoulders released from their ears. I’m back. The moonstone had worked. Emery ragdolled with the ebb of adrenaline, slumping onto a mound of pillows. Wait—needle-like fear pricked at their hairline. Something wasn’t right.
The rocking chair in the corner. Its shadow seemed…wrong, the angle impossible. A metallic taste of fear, the shadow wriggling free, slithering along the baseboard. Searching. Testing.
They hadn’t come back alone.
Well, that was fun!
Let’s explore the underlying psychological dynamic, starting with a few things you don’t know yet about our friend Emery. If you took this story at face value, you might assume Emery has an astral travel problem, and specifically, that they need to find the proper tool or method to stay safe.
But this story leaves out pesky details of Emery’s mundane existence. The piled-up bills, their crumbling relationship, the job they’re afraid of losing. Oh, and don’t forget that bucket under the kitchen sink that has to be emptied three times a day until they finally get around to calling the plumber.
In short, Emery is stressing about a bunch of stuff.
And sure, staying safe on the astral is one of them, but it’s not the full story. This hyper-fixation is preventing them from tending to leaky buckets and their partner who’s tired of being left behind while Emery galivants on the astral every night.
Not to mention, many of their “solutions,” like splurging on antique runes and stockpiling crystals, are adding stress in the form of scary credit card statements and a cluttered apartment. Emery’s quest for the “correct” magical thingamabob is a stand-in for the swirling stressors that feel too messy to deal with.
In my case, I noticed myself fixating on how I was editing my novel, and what I learned by exploring this fixation through dreamwork + journaling is that this was a cover for my anxiety around releasing the novel into the world.
Specifically, it was concealing how vulnerable I’ve been feeling as the release date approaches. Expressing vulnerability was the kiss of death in my wounded family system, so it makes sense that my psyche developed strategies for keeping those feelings at bay.
I’ve dubbed this strategy the Anxiety Scapegoat.
At its core, the strategy is simple. Too simple, in fact.
Life is a glorious mess, often eliciting a tangle of thoughts and feelings. If we don’t know how to navigate this, our psyche develops a workaround so we don’t shut down completely. It oversimplifies.
For examples, please reference 99% of political messaging, which I’m sure you’ll have no trouble finding right now. The bread and butter of authoritarian figures, in particular, (within a society, within a workplace, a family…) is an oversimplified message, which:
- whittles down the complexity of reality
- packages it into emotionally triggering sound bytes**
- and preys on our psyche’s innate desire for easy answers.
**This often involves casting a group of people (like immigrants, the opposing political party, Black and Brown people, or nonbinary/trans folks, such as myself) as the enemy. This gives all that bubbling outrage a tangible focus while offering a “solution.” Eradicate the so-called enemy, and voilà! Problem solved.
On the microcosmic scale of our individual lives…
…we might gain a sense of short-term control with the Anxiety Scapegoat, but it distracts from underlying issues in need of TLC. Emery’s search for the “perfect” talisman is a proxy for their financial insecurity, painful relationship dynamics, employment stressors, etc.
In the same way, my fixation on finding the “best” editing solution peddled the illusion that once I solved this problem, everything else would feel manageable. But no editing strategy, no matter how fantastic it may be, can magic-wand my anxiety and fears of vulnerability away.
Such a seductive promise: Solve this one thing, and everything will fall into place.
Backing ourselves out of the corner of oversimplification requires a willingness to not know. Life involves a whole lot of not-knowing, punctuated by little bursts of figuring shit out.
Anyone—your own mind included—who claims to have all the answers is selling a fantasy.
For me, two dead giveaways accompany the Anxiety Scapegoat.
One, I’m easily swayed by random opinions, with each flip-flop in thinking generating more internal unrest. For instance, maybe I listen to a podcast advocating an editing strategy similar to mine. Whew. I “get” to feel okay today. But then I see someone else lambasting my chosen method, and I’m racked with self-doubt.
This is a clear indicator that I haven’t done the work to clarify my personal values and goals. Does this method align with my values? Does it move me closer to my goals? These are far more important metrics than whatever some rando thinks!
(A variation on this theme is canvassing everyone and their uncle to solicit their approval, because trusting yourself feels too scary.)
Two—and this might seem antithetical to the first, but they’re actually peas in a pod—I dig my heels in and refuse to alter course.
History has demonstrated, time and time again, the ubiquity of this very human response. A common balm for self-doubt is fanaticism. Feeling shaky about my decision? Right-o! I’ll double—no, triple!—down, forcing everyone else to agree that I’m right.
If I can get everyone else to join in, then I can feel okay.
Here’s a sneaky variation you might be familiar with: If the other person responds favorably, then and only then is it okay for me to set this boundary. Here, we’ve swapped doing the inner work of sitting with the discomfort around disappointing or angering others for people pleasing, making the latter our metric of “success.”
When I notice these signs, this is an invitation to pause. Go for a walk. Pull out my journal.
My aim is twofold: Creating space for my feelings and thoughts, because avoiding them is likely what’s generating my anxiety to begin with. And two, reminding myself that rarely is there an iron-clad answer, so driving myself nuts trying to find one isn’t productive. Instead, I need to get clear on my personal values and goals and do my best to choose actions that align with those metrics.
In a culture that bombards us with promises of security and certainty, in exchange for our attention and outrage…
On this New Moon in Scorpio, let’s give ourselves a little more time, a little more space, to step out of the fray. Let’s re-find our center and tend to our innermost selves.
The more we learn to meet all of ourselves with compassion, even those parts that feel broken or shameful, the more we can meet the world, in all its brokenness and beauty, with the same level of care.
Happy New Moon, my friend. 🌑
