THE STARS CAN'T SAVE YOU.
But, They Might Make You Feel Seen. (A 2k Subscriber Special—thank you!!)
I know what you’re thinking.
Astrology? Really? In this economy?
There’s something undeniably millennial about it, even though I’m not. It smells like girlhood and tea tree oil, like friendships forged in bathrooms and collapsing on the same twin bed talking about Mercury retrograde. It sounds unserious. And I get it — the skeptics in the room are already clocking out.
Because how could the position of the planets — these massive rocks hurtling through space — possibly explain why I ghost people when I’m anxious or why capitalism feels like a scam but I still need a Google Doc for vacation plans?
But here’s the thing. It’s not about science. It’s about a story.
And I’m a sucker for a good one.
“What’s your sign?” is a loaded question.
People think it’s a party trick. Something you toss out in a group chat when things get quiet. But when someone asks me that, I think about the layers.
I’m a Capricorn Sun, Libra Moon, Virgo Rising.
Which is to say:
I lead with structure, even when I’m falling apart.
I want peace, but I’ll fight for it.
I look calm, but I notice everything.
Does that explain me? Not fully. But does it name something I’ve always felt? Absolutely.
Astrology is like a mirror that doesn’t demand proof. It just asks: does this feel true? Sometimes, that’s more honest than whatever logic we’re clinging to.
You say you believe in science...
But forget that astrology was the first attempt to understand the sky.
We named stars before we named countries.
We watched the sky to plant our food, to cross oceans, to bury our dead.
Indigenous astronomers tracked Venus across centuries. Ethiopian time ran on Sirius and the Coptic Calendar. The Dogon mapped binary stars long before Galileo.
Solange built When I Get Home on cosmograms. Saidiya Hartman teaches that Black displacement is also a displacement from the stars. And Erykah Badu — part prophet, part telescope — gave us zodiac songs before Spotify made playlists about it.
Astrology isn’t unserious. It’s just not white.
And that’s what makes people nervous.
It’s also not evil — though some of us were raised to think it was.
In a lot of Black homes, especially Caribbean, African, or Christian ones, talking about astrology was like whispering witchcraft. But what if it wasn’t dark magic — just misunderstood meaning?
Before it was outlawed, it was sacred.
Before it was fringe, it was functional.
Before it was "other," it was ours.
So maybe we don’t need to choose between stars and scripture.
Maybe both were just different ways of trying to survive the chaos — by finding a pattern in it.
My chart is basically a thesis statement.
Let me show you what I mean.
Capricorn Sun in the 5th House → I create for a living. Not just for fun. Joy is work. Play is political. I was literally born to organize imagination.
Virgo Rising → I come off put together even when I’m chaos inside. People ask me for answers like I’ve got a Google calendar in my bones (I don’t even use Gcal).
Libra Moon in the 2nd House → I feel safest when things are beautiful and fair. I can’t rest if someone at the table is being overlooked.
Chiron in Capricorn → I’ve been wounded by what it means to “succeed,” but I still chase it. I heal through building things that last.
North Node in Pisces → I’m learning how to let go. To trust feelings. To stop trying to spreadsheet my way out of grief.
That’s not pseudoscience — that’s a poem.
And some of y’all only believe in therapy because a white lady with a clipboard told you to.
So what’s really the difference?
how capricorns love
(I) We don’t ask the sun to rise.
We build light
from the inside out.
They say we’re cold,
but they never stayed long enough
to see the fire
tucked behind our spine.
We love in blueprints.
In backup plans.
In showing up when no one else does.
Some people wait for magic.
We walk into the storm
and lay brick.
(II) When I was little,
I thought being strong meant being quiet.
That to care was to carry.
That to lead meant
going first
and going alone.
Now I know —
we were never meant to hold the world
without holding each other.
(III) Being a Capricorn is being
the oldest and only daughter
in a room full of people
who forgot who taught them to stand.
It’s holding the ladder
while everyone else climbs.
Then building your own
when they forget to pass it back down.
It’s love
in its most
tired
and holy
form.
Why people don’t believe (and why they should)
Let’s talk about disbelief. It’s not about data. It’s about power.
People say they don’t believe in astrology, but they believe in job interviews that last six minutes.
They believe in IQ tests written by eugenicists.
What they mean is: they don’t believe in what girls believe in.
Especially Black girls. Especially queer people. Especially mystics and weirdos and people who pray with their eyes open.
Astrology makes people nervous because it dares to say:
You were born with a pattern. You were not a mistake. There’s a language for the ache you carry.
That’s terrifying in a world that profits off your confusion.
What if your birth chart could explain why you write the way you do?
I’ve always loved the archive — always tried to hold onto things. A voice. A record. A memory.
Some of that is trauma. Some of it is my 4th house Pluto.
(Yes, that’s the house of home and ancestry and power. Do you see what I’m saying?)
My chart tells me I’m not just driven — I’m haunted. That I’m not just a thinker — I’m a translator.
That maybe my gift is not having all the answers, but asking better questions.
That’s what astrology does. It doesn’t fix you.
It frames you.
And in a world that constantly tries to reframe us — flatten us, mislabel us, define us without our consent — maybe holding your own frame is radical.
You are not broken. You are becoming.
No, your birth chart can’t replace accountability.
No, Mercury retrograde isn’t why you cheated on your girlfriend.
No, being a Scorpio Moon doesn’t give you the right to emotionally disappear.
But yes — you might learn something about yourself in the process.
Yes — it can be a tool for naming what therapy hasn’t uncovered.
Yes — it can sit beside your politics, your spreadsheet, your skepticism, and still glow.
Because believing in astrology isn’t about prediction.
It’s about permission.
To be messy. To be multifaceted.
To say: “This is who I’ve always been — and maybe the sky knew it, too.”
You don’t have to believe in astrology.
But if you’re someone like me — someone who was raised in systems that tried to erase you, smooth you out, tell you your rage was too much and your brilliance was too sharp — then maybe you need a tool that sees you in full.
I don’t check my chart every day.
But I do return to it when I feel unmoored.
And when I do, it says the same thing:
You are not broken. You are becoming.
And sometimes, that’s enough.
Until next time,
Marley
This was such a phenomenal read! Thank you so much for sharing your gifts! 🫶🏽
Love