top of page

notes from venus in pisces

i wrote this in december 2015, just a few months after the last venus retrograde in leo.

a common misconception about venus in pisces folks is that we’re simply blessed in love. if you told 25-year-old me this, i would have laughed in your face.

on the contrary, many venus in pisces people have experienced excruciating loss, betrayal, and heartbreak. the kind that makes you write poetry because it’s the only medium that can carry the weight of your grief.

the wisdom of an exalted venus comes from the at-first-naïve willingness to dive into the sea of love.

do you know how powerful the sea is? it can swallow you whole. some of us drown. we might hold out hope for a lover to save us and end up losing ourselves.

this particular heartbreak lasted a decade. it brought me to my knees over and over, at different stages of self-destruction. i chose to worship a lover instead of the sea, and it cost me.

we don’t have to learn how to swim by drowning, but many of us do. we don’t have to learn to love ourselves by destroying ourselves, but many of us do.

earlier this year i shared some words about grief before venus entered pisces. i wanted people to understand that it wouldn’t be all rose petals and butterfly kisses. i wanted people to be prepared for the grief that floats there.

who can be though?

pisces acts as a reservoir. it contains experiences collected by all the signs. the aches of loving this way and that. the aches of learning the hard way, the soft way, the wild way, and every which way.

but there’s an eternal hope that comes with this venus. because alongside all that pain, she’s also witnessed an almost unbearable beauty.

she’s a venus who persists. who returns to the shore to tip-toe in after saying she’ll never love again 4000 times.

she collects too many seashells then alchemizes what she can no longer carry, creating art and magic to house the library’s worth of loving treasures from her travels.

i have deep respect for the ocean. it’s teeming with life and death. reefs and shipwrecks.

when we learn to worship at the shore of something bigger than ourselves, it all becomes beautiful — the aches, the endings, the openings, the impossible joy.


Recent Posts

See All


bottom of page