Almost every astrologer I follow has been saying the same thing lately: Cancers, you’ve been getting the shaft. For the past two years, we’ve been walking through cosmic sludge—eclipses in our identity houses, Pluto slow dancing on our undoing, retrogrades tangling everything up like earbuds in a drawer.

They all promised relief was coming. That things would feel lighter after Pluto dipped into Aquarius. That the recent eclipses would offer release. That, with no planets in retrograde for the first time in months, I might finally feel free to roam again—as my real self.

And I gotta say… they weren’t wrong.

For a long time, I’ve felt stuck. Unmotivated. Heavy in a way that had nothing to do with pounds. It wasn’t depression exactly. Just a persistent case of the “Mehs.” And then, last Monday, I woke up with a message that was so clear it could’ve been channeled directly from the stars:
“It is time.”

I knew what it meant immediately.
For years now, I’ve been doing the deep work—therapy, writing, spiritual practice, truth-telling, inner rebalancing. I’ve come back to myself piece by piece, after decades of fragmentation.
And now, it’s time to bring my body into that circle of care.

So I got a gym membership.

Now listen, this is not my first gym membership. I’ve signed up plenty of times before—usually after staring too long at the mirror, or catching a glimpse of a photo I didn’t like, or stepping on the scale and feeling that familiar pang of shame. And the pattern was always the same: go hard for two weeks, miss a day, then another… and eventually cancel in a cloud of self-loathing, telling myself I’d “try again when I’m really ready.”

But this time?
This time is different.
I’m not disgusted with myself. I’m not panicked or punishing. I’m actually… happy.

My body feels good. The scale isn’t screaming at me. My clothes fit fine. There was no crisis—just a quiet little nudge from within. A whisper that said, Hey, maybe it’s time to move a little more. Maybe your body wants to join this love story you’ve been writing with your soul.

So I said yes.

This week, I’ve gone to the gym three times. Just the treadmill, nothing crazy. But I walk out each time with a little more pride in my step. Not because I burned calories or crushed goals—but because I showed up. I did something kind for myself. I made time for my own energy and momentum.

And here’s the magic of it: I didn’t feel guilty for starting slow. I didn’t shame myself for not doing more. I didn’t beat myself up for missing a day. Because this version of me—the one who signed up for the gym out of love, not loathing—isn’t playing the same old game anymore.

This isn’t a “New Year, New Me” story.
It’s a Same Me, Just Softer story.
Wiser. More trusting. More whole.

For maybe the first time in my life, I’m moving my body not to fix it—but to thank it. And let me tell you, that shift is everything.