My Journey with Tarot Cards
Okay, let me tell you about my little dance with tarot cards. It wasn’t something I planned, you know? It started pretty innocently. I saw a deck in a quirky little shop years ago, thought the artwork was neat. Picked it up mostly out of curiosity, maybe a bit of boredom during a slow period in my life.
So, I got the deck home. I remember sitting down, shuffling them, feeling the cards in my hands. It felt kinda mysterious, intriguing. I bought a little book, started learning the basic meanings – the Major Arcana, the suits, all that stuff. At first, I just pulled a card for myself each morning. What’s the vibe for today? Simple stuff.
Then I started doing small readings for myself. Three-card spreads, past-present-future, that sort of thing. Sometimes the readings felt spot on, kinda spooky how they seemed to match what was going on. Other times, they were just confusing. I even did a few readings for close friends who asked. It was all just a bit of fun, or so I thought.
But after a while, maybe six months or so into using them pretty regularly, I started noticing a shift. It wasn’t like a big lightning bolt moment. More like a gradual… heaviness. Doing readings started to feel draining, not intriguing anymore. Sometimes, especially if I did a reading late at night, the room would feel weird afterward. Cold spots, shadows playing tricks, that kind of thing you usually brush off.
I also noticed my mood started dipping around the times I used the cards heavily. More anxiety, weird dreams sometimes that felt connected to the card imagery, but in a distorted, unsettling way. It wasn’t dramatic, not like in the movies, but it was a noticeable pattern for me. It felt like focusing on the cards, trying to interpret them, was somehow… tuning my mind into a frequency I didn’t like. It felt less like guidance and more like stirring up murky water.
There wasn’t one single scary event. It was more a growing unease. A feeling that something unwelcome was sort of… lingering. Like leaving a door cracked open and feeling a draft you can’t quite place. The “fun” was gone, replaced by a vague sense of apprehension whenever I thought about pulling out the deck.
So, one day, I just decided I was done. I gathered up the deck, the little book, everything. I didn’t make a big ceremony out of it, just packed them away deep in a storage box. Put them out of sight, out of mind.
And honestly? I felt better almost immediately. It was like the air cleared. The vague anxiety lessened, the weird feelings faded. My focus shifted back to just, well, living my life without trying to decipher symbols all the time. Maybe the cards themselves aren’t inherently bad, I don’t know. But for me, during that period, using them felt like I was inviting in static, unwanted noise, maybe something more unsettling. Putting them away felt like closing that door firmly shut. Haven’t touched them since, and honestly, I don’t miss it.
