Eclipse Season

Original Post Nov 2022

I woke up early this morning to try to see the lunar eclipse. At the peak of the eclipse, the clouds covered the moon completely, and I wasn’t able to see it at all. About an hour later, though, the clouds moved on, and the moon emerged fully, unobstructed, and luminous. I watched it for a while, long enough to feel satisfied, even though I’d missed the dramatic moment itself.

I don’t know whether it’s an energetic sensitivity or simply a lifelong fascination, but I’m drawn to eclipses. I remember when my children were young, waking them in the middle of the night and pulling them out onto the front porch to witness a full lunar eclipse together. The moon glowed red and impossibly round. Normally, the moon looks more like a flat disk in the sky, but during that eclipse, it appeared unmistakably spherical, like a living body suspended in space. That moment lodged itself somewhere deep in me and never really left.

Astrologers often speak of eclipse seasons as times of removal and revelation—opportunities to shed what no longer fits and call in what is needed next. With the current eclipses falling along the Taurus–Scorpio axis, the themes center around stability, money, self-worth, shared resources, and shadow material. Since the eclipse last May, I’ve felt a persistent internal pull toward greater authenticity. I’ve become increasingly aware of how often I’ve edited myself over the years, shaping who I am to fit roles rather than honoring what is actually true for me. That awareness feels less optional now. It feels like preparation.

One way this has shown up is through a deeper understanding of my own design. Discovering that I am a Manifestor in Human Design and an INFJ in Myers-Briggs has helped explain patterns I long judged as personal failures. In my marriage and throughout motherhood, I tried to conform to my internalized image of what those roles should look like. I became domestic, dependable, and endlessly available because I believed that was what love and responsibility required.

There is nothing dishonorable about devotion to family. What I failed to recognize was the cost of offering that devotion in a way that violated my own energy. Manifestors and INFJs share a common challenge: inconsistent access to sustainable energy. We are not designed for constant output, repetition, or routine maintenance of others’ needs. I’ve noticed that many Manifestor women identify as NF types as well, which only reinforces this overlap.

Getting up every day to care for children while suppressing my own needs drained me profoundly, but so did the alternative. Traditional employment, with its fixed schedules and constant demands, has also been deeply taxing on my system. I’ve often felt caught between two models of life that both assume a level of energetic consistency I simply don’t have.

There aren’t many culturally supported options for people who don’t thrive in ongoing output mode. We’re taught to push through, adapt, and normalize exhaustion, rather than question whether the structure itself is misaligned. For years, I interpreted my burnout as weakness instead of information. It never occurred to me that my energy wasn’t broken—it was simply different.

Eclipse seasons tend to reveal these truths gently at first, and then more insistently. They don’t usually demand immediate action, but they do insist on honesty. What I feel now isn’t urgency so much as clarity. A quiet but steady recognition that the next phase of my life will require less performing and more inhabiting. Less explaining, more embodying.

Just like the moon emerging from behind the clouds, nothing new actually appeared this morning. The moon was always there. It simply became visible again once the obstruction passed.

That’s what this season feels like for me. Not a becoming, but a remembering.