Scorpio Bearer. When I think about my emotions and the ways my body somatizes them, I can’t help but refer to a few key moments in my life: the moment I broke my leg, the moment I was diagnosed with postpartum Hashimoto’s, and most importantly, the moment I truly began to heal my left leg. It becomes clearer and clearer to me that there is an emotional intelligence in the Universe that shows me the source of my emotional imbalance and implicitly guides me to seek ways to regulate myself from within.

If the tibial fracture was actually the rupture between parents, yet also the beginning of grieving the idealized parent, the hypothyroidism diagnosis made me realize how many words had remained unspoken, how much anger I had swallowed, and how many tears had been stuck in my throat. The first event broke, one by one, my leg, my heart, and my throat. I regulated my thyroid through healthy food, therapy, and a lot of patience. Through singing, through authentic and assertive communication. Through self-love, but also through self-shedding. Through shadow work, but also through integrating that shadow.

Jung said, “Until you make the unconscious conscious, it will rule your life and you will call it fate.” A major role in my personal healing and in working with my shadow was played by Tudor, my little boy. This November Scorpio, with his blond hair, eyes blue as the sky, and with his mischievous Dennis-the-Menace smile, made me fall in love with cats, convinced me to organize an evil-laugh contest for all the kids on the street, and almost managed to make me believe that Halloween is the coolest holiday in the world. He even surprised and humbled me with his theory that “negative characters are much smarter than positive ones.” “They always have a plan, Mom! While the good ones are just lucky!”

During the evenings, we are reading Harry Potter together and the series for children and teenagers is much deeper than I expected. In the first book, Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone, the centaurs appear as readers of the stars. When they are asked if they have seen anything unusual lately, they reply with the same phrase, in a neutral tone: “Mars is bright tonight,” referring to violence, the spilling of blood, and the fact that Voldemort had killed a unicorn for its blood, blood that is used to partially restore his power. One of the centaurs even breaks his vow to remain impartial, preventing another innocent life from being taken and saving Harry from Voldemort’s grasp. “He should’ve let Voldemort kill me… I suppose that was written in the stars too,” Harry said bitterly.

I was no stranger to the brightness of Mars. Anger often darkened my mind, and without meaning to, I spilled innocent blood, including my own. My anger revealed deep sadness, a sadness rooted in the psychological driver “Don’t be yourself!” I constantly had to adjust the dial of myself: “You’re too much!” / “You’re not enough!” And ironically, I was being told all of these things especially when I wasn’t truly myself.

Part of me doubted herself and longed with all her heart to belong, while another part of me wanted to simply be herself, even if that meant being alone. But then came the anger, born from the injustice of being left alone. I didn’t deserve to be alone. And that anger pushed me back into the comfort zone of self-doubt or lack of self-love (which felt like a deep discomfort).

Speaking of doubt, another beloved moment from Harry Potter is when Albus Dumbledore tells Harry that it is absolutely natural to doubt himself. Even the strongest wizards have experienced self-doubt. He was chosen, and especially the Chosen ones doubt themselves. But this makes him more human, and helps others relate to him. Doubt is the part that keeps him tethered to matter, yet it complements his Divinity. In conclusion, self-doubt doesn’t push you away from others, it brings you closer to those who are human and like you. It even brings you closer to yourself and to your authentic emotions.

Sagittarius Ruler. When did I realize that I had truly begun to make peace with my body? At the same time little Rori, a Maltese bichon, came into our lives. She arrived just as I had made a series of changes, I had changed my job and freed myself from that part of me that used to attack me, by integrating my grandiose narcissistic part. I had begun to say “No.” I was showing my real power. I was myself, my straightforward, assertive self. But it took me another year to polish this raw version of me so that I could truly tame my inner animal. Serenity settled in once my white animal arrive, the dog that was, in fact, a Christmas gift for my little boy (and for my inner child as well).

Serenity, taming, and stillness. Coincidentally or through synchronicity, Rori is a Sagittarius. The symbol of Sagittarius, for those who don’t know, is a centaur: half horse, half man, half animalistic part, half human part. In another article I wrote about Chiron, the centaur associated in astrology with our core wound, and the metaphor behind the name Chiralina (Chiron + Alina, symbolizing the integration of that core wound). Chiron is raised by Apollo and initiated in the arts of music, healing, and astrology. The more I think about this, the more it becomes clear that Rori entered my life to teach me to love and integrate the animal within me. To turn me into a “centaur.” To integrate my shadow. To heal my wound. To be gentle with myself.

We humans, in our vanity, believe we are the tamers of animals. But isn’t it the other way around? Aren’t animal the ones that tame us? Here are a few lines from my journal to show the impact Rori had on me:

In the middle of meditation, my bare feet in the freshly cut grass, I feel the warmth with which Rori, the newest member of the family, caresses my soles. The puppy wants to play, just like the animal within me, the animal that won’t let me connect with Divinity. I open my eyes and see a kind of love and devotion I didn’t know existed until now.

Until December 2023, I couldn’t even conceive the idea of having a pet, especially one living inside the house. I wonder what changed in me to make room for a new form of love? How did I come to love this little creature? How and why did I free up so much space from within for such a small being? What did I do to make her love me so much? From the way she looks at me, it seems she has loved me forever. She loved me and chose me long before I chose her.

I open my eyes and see playfulness personified. What a beautiful projection it is! This wonderful puppy is the animal within me. And the animal within me is action, joy, play, spontaneity, a present tense verb. I made room for the animal within me until I materialized it. I loved the animal within me until I began to see the love with which it licks the soles of  Divinity sitting on the grass. I loved the animal within me until I saw its divinity. What changed within You, Lord, for You to make room for the animal in me? What did I do for You to love me this much? How and why did You choose me long before I chose You? And if the animal is part of Divinity, how could I ever be a fluke?