This is Part 2 of a 3-part series based on my analysis of the big “seasons” of my life that, funny enough, coincide with my progressed Ascendant moving into a new sign to begin each season.
After the fiery rush of Aries and that 21-year season, my life shifted into something slower, heavier, and more deliberate. When my progressed Ascendant moved into Taurus, I didn’t know the astrology at the time—but looking back, I can see it so clearly. The themes of that 24-year season revolved around stability, endurance, and the long, steady work of building a foundation. There was a lot of sacrifice, too, in trying to build that foundation or rewicker the foundation I’d built, which is common at the approach of your 40s and midlife.
Taurus energy is rooted in the physical world. It asks: What can you rely on? What endures? What do you need in order to feel safe? Why am I still helping my partners realize their dreams but not finding a partner who reciprocates? Will I ever be accepted for who I am? Will I ever be able to write and create what sparks joy in me instead of what I need to do to feed the kids and pay the mortgage? Those were the questions that defined this season of my life. My identity became less about chasing independence and more about securing stability—not just for myself, but for my family.
That was the season when I had to put my writing dreams on the back burner in favor of my career in public service and national security. Not because I wanted to, but because Taurus demanded practicality.
Ha! It demanded I pay the bills!
My career in acquisition became the solid ground under my feet, even at 70 to 80 hours a week after the kids left home for college. It wasn’t glamorous, and it wasn’t always fulfilling in the soul-deep way writing is, but it provided what was needed: security, income, a roof over our heads, a way to survive as a single mom when everything else felt uncertain. It also provided me with a sense of fulfillment because my work often dipped into life-or-death situations for the Special Operators I supported, and by improving the system and taking risks, I brought home men who might not have without my willingness to innovate new business methods that got them what they needed before they needed it. And I’m proud of the work I did for them and the impact I had on fixing my country’s acquisition system… but I just didn’t have time to do that and write the novels I wanted to.
At the same time, Taurus also brought me deeper into my spiritual practice. Almost from the first degree of Taurus, though I’d felt the pull of more spiritual exploration in the few years before the progression into a new sign. While my outer life was about responsibility and endurance, my inner life was learning how to root into something steady and nourishing. Taurus loves ritual, loves connection with the earth, loves the rhythms that keep us grounded. Those practices became the quiet strength beneath all the external responsibilities.
My progressed Taurus started with the demise of a long-term relationship, though it did fester for another couple of years while I tried to figure out if it could be salvaged AND I could have some part of my identity left because this town wasn’t big enough for both. Although partnership is usually associated with Libra, I did try to find a supportive partner during this time, but nothing lasting. This was a season of exploration into my own patterns and the why of mistakes I kept making and personalities that kept attracting me. I was able to combine my spiritual practices, my gift for analyzing patterns, and understanding the abnormality of childhood relationships to understand what I wanted and what I would choose peace over any day of the week.
Looking back, I see that Taurus Rising wasn’t about denying my voice as a writer—it was about teaching me the value of patience–and of myself. It was about building a foundation sturdy enough to eventually hold my creative work and say F– you to anyone who wanted to squash my goals, dreams, personality. Those years taught me how to endure, how to focus hard, how to tend to the soil even when I couldn’t yet see the harvest but could trust that it would be there, eventually.
Taurus doesn’t move quickly, and it doesn’t make dramatic leaps. Sometimes, it’s downright lumbering. But it gave me something Aries never could: roots. Without those roots, without that hard-earned stability, I wouldn’t be in the position now to step into the next season—one that invites me to pick up my pen again, to reconnect with curiosity, and to finally let my writing flourish.
The funny thing about the end of this season is that in the two years that it has loomed ahead of me, I’ve shut the door on a lot of the more “secure” work of my Taurus season. I may have planned another 5 years in public service, but my employer’s insistence of going into the office when I’d been hired as a full-time teleworker pushed me to retire earlier than I’d wanted and within a year, my old career had been Executive Ordered out of existence. I hated that, hated to see what I’d felt was my life’s work just vanish overnight, but it was the Universe shoving me into a new season unexpectedly because I was never going to be able to really devote myself to my creative pursuits as long as I was trying to take care of my country’s needs the best I could. So many of the things that drove my progressed Taurus years matured or ended, while others made way for an exciting new season.
The Taurus years were a test of endurance. They asked me to trade immediacy for longevity, and while it often felt like sacrifice, it was really preparation. Now, as I feel the next progressed Ascendant shift into Gemini stirring, I understand what Taurus gave me: the strength to hold steady through change and the foundation to grow into something new–being utterly myself and at peace with myself.
Ever felt a “meant to be” moment? That’s your Vertex—the hidden point of destiny in your birth chart.
Visit the Book Page →