Today is the anniversary of my mother’s death. It’s one of those dates that changes the acoustics in my body. But I’m not here to perform grief, I want to name a truth: Some losses don’t get smaller; they just get quieter.
Every year this day turns the volume down in my brain on what doesn’t matter, and the lights up on what does.
Growing up, my mom wasn’t perfect, and neither was I. We had seasons. But as adulthood started handing out consequences like party favors, she became one of my best friends in a way I didn’t understand until I had to live without her. And this day turns the contrast up.
Which is inconvenient timing, because I also just came back from a 2-week West Coast adventure, and my body has spent the week filing formal complaints. I’ve hit physical and emotional walls like they’re my job. My brain has been a dark, messy room. I even took a sick day yesterday to shut it down, which was less “restorative” and more “don’t ask me to form a sentence.”
So, we pulled Death. Because the universe slid me a folder labeled: “We’re done pretending this is working.”
MEANING (UPRIGHT): THE HONEST ENDING
Death is about endings that create space for what is alive. It asks:
What are you maintaining out of habit?
What are you over-explaining out of fear?
What are you calling “relationship” when it’s just… positioning?
Because at work, Death often shows up as clarity about connection.
Sometimes it’s obvious: someone treats you like a resource. They’re warm when they need you, vague when you need them, and somehow your role becomes: provider of access, insight, calm, credibility…
Other times its distance dressed as admiration. The person who keeps you in the category of “impressive” but not quite a peer, not quite a friend… a polished idea. They’re pleasant, say the right things, and may even champion you from time to time… but the connection never settles because it only has room for the unbothered part of you. That’s another kind of depleting imbalance. So, Death shows up and says: Stop trying to earn intimacy from someone who only wants the concept of you.
Real closeness doesn’t require you to stay useful to be valued. It doesn’t siphon you or keep you on a pedestal where you’re not allowed to be human. It makes room for the tired, complicated, “I’m not okay today” parts. Which brings me to a companion card:
THE EMPRESS. She is what you cultivate when you stop clinging to what can’t meet you. Warmth with boundaries and quiet confidence that says: “I will feed what feeds me.” She notices patterns and invests accordingly.
Because healthy relationships have a rhythm that feels steady over time…
Effort isn’t one-directional,
respect shows up in small moments,
people make room for your humanity,
connection isn’t transactional and IS balanced [on average.]
Your turn: What’s a “relationship standard” you learned the hard way that improved everything after you adopted it?
