9th of April - Half truths & Shadows
Welcome back to Cards Against The Patriarchy—where tarot meets rebellion.
In this bite-sized dose of divination, I pull cards and uncover the messages we need to dismantle the patriarchy, one revelation at a time. Let’s see what the deck has to say this week.
My anger sits in my chest like a swallowed stone, heavy and sharp-edged, pressing against the fragile walls of my ribs. I feel it rise in my throat as I walk down the sidewalk, my shoulders hunched against the evening air, the weight of the city pressing in from all sides.
A man passes me, the ghost of a smirk curling at the edge of his lips. Smile, he mutters, like an order, like a spell that will fix something broken in me. The words graze against my skin, and I flinch, but I do not stop.
I keep walking.
I always keep walking.
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Ahead, the crosswalk signal flickers, red against the slick pavement. A group of men cluster near the curb, laughing too loud, their voices thick with beer and something darker. One of them glances at me, then nudges his friend.
Their laughter changes.
Lowers.
Curves into something meant for me.
I know this moment. I have lived it a thousand times before.
I do not look up. I do not pause. I step into the street, weaving between cars, ignoring the honk of a driver impatient with my refusal to be in his way. My body moves on instinct, learned over years of knowing what happens when you hesitate.
At work today, my boss dismissed my idea with a wave of his hand, only to repeat it later as though it had come to him like some god given divine inspiration. My male coworker agreed. Nodded along. My mouth had pressed into a thin line, my pulse hammering behind my teeth, but I said nothing.
At lunch, my friend told me I was too harsh. That I needed to give people more grace. That I should learn to let things go.
On the train home, a man sat too close, his knee pressing against mine, his breath thick with the scent of something sour. He spread himself into my space with the effortless entitlement of someone who has never been told to shrink. I had pressed myself against the window, my breath slow and measured, waiting for the moment he would move.
He never did.
And I didn’t say anything.
Because the world has trained me well, to be quiet, to be agreeable, to let the discomfort settle in my bones and call it normal.
But tonight, something inside me is pressing back.
It claws at my ribs, hot and insistent, whispering in a language I don’t fully understand. A voice I have long silenced. A knowing I have long ignored.
I see the sign.
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The neon buzzes, casting an eerie glow onto the pavement. The letters flicker slightly, like they are speaking in code. The shop is wedged between a pawn shop and a liquor store, its windows clouded with dust, the door slightly ajar.
It looks like the kind of place you go when you have nowhere else left to turn.
I push the door open.
The air inside is thick with the scent of something burning—sage, maybe, or something older. Shelves lean under the weight of forgotten knowledge, their books stacked in precarious piles. A single candle flickers on a wooden table, illuminating a woman sitting behind it.
She is not what I expect. No flowing robes, no air of mystery—just sharp eyes, calloused hands, and a presence that makes me sit before she even asks me to.
"You look like someone who's tired of her own silence," she says, shuffling a deck of cards.
I stare at her. She doesn't smile, doesn't soften the words to make them easier to swallow.
"You want a reading or not?"
I nod.
She spreads the deck before me. The cards look worn, their edges softened by time. “Pick three,” she says.
My hands hesitate before pulling them.
The Moon. The Eight of Wands. The Five of Swords.
What illusions are clouding our path?The Moon
The Moon is soft deception, the kind you don’t see until you’re already lost in it. It’s the voice that says, Maybe things aren’t that bad. Maybe you’re just overreacting. Maybe if you just waited, they’d change. It’s the gaslight we have swallowed whole, the fog that makes the sharp edges of oppression seem blurry, less urgent. The Moon reminds us that the patriarchy thrives in half-truths and shadows—it wants us to doubt our own eyes. But just because something is hard to see doesn’t mean it isn’t there. The work now is to trust your gut over the mirage.
What energy is moving us forward?Eight of Wands
Speed. Acceleration. The moment after the storm when the air is electric, and you realize—Oh. This is happening. Change isn’t creeping anymore; it’s sprinting. Maybe it’s the collective waking up. Maybe it’s the stories that can’t be silenced. Maybe it’s you, finally saying the thing that needed saying. The Eight of Wands says, Go, go, go. No more waiting for permission. The momentum is here, and your voice is part of it.
What are we up against?Five of Swords
The ugliest kind of fight—the one where no one truly wins. The Five of Swords is power-hoarding, the refusal to back down even when harm is clear. This is the system clinging to control with bloodied hands. It will argue in bad faith. It will demand civility while it breaks every rule. It will tell you that calling out injustice is worse than injustice itself. This card is your warning: not every battle is worth your energy. You don’t have to play by their rules. Fight smarter, not harder. Choose your battles, and when you win? Make sure it’s a victory worth having.
The takeaway? You’re being asked to see through the lie (The Moon), move with urgency (Eight of Wands), and be strategic in your fights (Five of Swords). The work of dismantling systems isn’t always clean, but it’s always necessary. Trust your instincts, ride the momentum, and don’t waste time swinging at ghosts.
Now go raise some hell.
