My astrology practice is not predictive. It is not about forecasts or fatalism. It is not about becoming someone else. It is about returning—to your body, your grief, your pleasure, your hunger, your knowing. It is a space of remembering.

I read charts the way I live in my body: instinctively, reverently, defiantly. My readings are not separate from who I am—they are informed by my own unfolding. I am a trans wo man, a writer, a survivor, an intuitive. I bring with me the weight of being seen too much and not enough, of having to earn softness, of knowing what it means to be named wrong and still choose to bloom.

Your chart is not abstract. It lives in your skin, your breath, your gut instincts, your cravings. I trace your Venus through the shape of your desires, your Mars through the way you reach or retreat, your Moon through what makes you ache. I ask where the shame is stored. I ask what turns you on—not just sexually, but spiritually, creatively, viscerally. We talk about eros as life force. We talk about the body as oracle. I want you to leave the session not just with insight, but with permission to feel more—more want, more rage, more joy.

Astrology, for me, is a language of the flesh as much as the stars. It is a mirror. A spell. A map that whispers instead of instructs. My readings blend modern Western astrology, feminist thought, queer theory, sensual language, and sharp listening.

I offer astrology as a site of reclamation—especially for femmes (cis and trans) who are done with fragmentation. Women who are no longer willing to separate their intellect from their intuition, their desire from their dignity, their rage from their radiance.

If that’s you, you’re in the right place.