This Libra Moon and the Beautiful Mess of Rebalancing
I’ve been thinking a lot about balance. Not the kind that fits neatly on a pie chart, but the kind that makes your shoulders drop and your jaw unclench. The kind that feels like exhaling after a season of holding your breath.
The April 13th full moon in Libra—the sign of the scales, and my sun sign—has me reflecting on where I’m stretched thin, where I’ve over-given, and where I’ve abandoned myself in the name of being “a good girl.” Libra is ruled by Venus (which is stationing direct on April 13th!) and represents balance, fairness, and beauty. In astrology, Libra governs the 7th house of partnerships and is deeply connected to how we relate to others, seek harmony, and weigh inner vs. outer needs. It’s a reminder to check in with what’s actually working—and what’s quietly wearing us out. Not just in terms of equilibrium, but in how we show up in our relationships, in truth, and in that tension between care for others and care for ourselves.
That reflection has echoed into how I show up in my work, too. I’ve been learning how to work in a way that’s more efficient, more focused, more in tune with my own energy. It’s required a different kind of discipline—not the hustle kind, but the kind that says: pause now, not later. It’s helped me see where I override my own needs—not just to get things done, but to keep being seen as someone who’s capable and polished—the kind of woman who’s got it together and knows what she’s doing. The kind who doesn’t make things complicated or messy.
And that brought me to love—self-love, in particular.
My friend Shannon recently said something that landed deep in my chest: “The only reason disagreement hurts or lingers is because of the judgment we place on ourselves.” It made me realize how often I’ve tied love to agreement, or harmony, or being easy to love. But real love—the kind that heals, the kind that frees—is unconditional.
Disagreement and connection can co-exist. Being misunderstood doesn’t mean I’m unloved. And sometimes, the deepest intimacy is born in the discomfort of honesty.
I’ve been sitting with that truth. Noticing how often I twist myself—just a little—to smooth things over or make myself more palatable.
But this moon is clear.
I’m done people-pleasing to keep the peace. I’m done molding myself into who I think others need me to be, just so I’ll be accepted, welcomed, or relied on. It reminds me of that scene in Guardians of the Galaxy where Gamora screams at Star-Lord, “I’m not some starry-eyed waif here to succumb to your… your pelvic sorcery!” and then—raw and frustrated—asks, “What is it you need me to be so you’ll feel okay?” That line hit me. Because I’ve been that version—contorting myself into the emotional shape someone else needs, even when it costs me parts of myself.
And here’s what I’ve come to understand: I can’t ask others to be what I need them to be in order for me to feel safe, seen, or whole. That’s my work. It’s on me to get clear about what I need, to communicate it cleanly and honestly, and to take responsibility for meeting those needs—rather than outsourcing that responsibility in the hopes of being loved.
How many of us do that daily? Morphing just enough to keep the peace, to be useful, to be what someone else needs us to be?
That part of me got me here, but she can’t come with me.
That version of me—sweet, careful, constantly adjusting—is ready to be released. With love. With thanks. And with a deep breath of finality.
Because peace doesn’t come from being quiet. It comes when I tell the truth. Even if it shakes something loose.
And, as I’ve been letting go of those old ways of being and finding my way back to what’s real for me, I’ve started to notice the tender beauty that’s growing in their place. My relationship with Den has deepened. Clarity is beginning to return to my work. And friendships have rooted themselves into the soil of my days. They feel like home.
Full moons are a powerful time for release.
They illuminate what’s no longer working—what we’ve outgrown, what’s been asking to be laid down—and that clarity can bring grief with it. Naturally. That grief isn’t just abstract—it’s real in my own life too.
Some days, I feel like I’m treading water, watching the people around me launch, grow, and rise. I’ve closed more chapters than I’ve opened lately, and even though I know this is part of the cycle, it makes me feel like I’m failing.
A full moon in Libra has brought all of that into focus. Not just what’s blooming—but what I’m still carrying that no longer fits. And it’s asking me, gently but clearly, to let go.
So I’m letting go of the pressure to prove. Letting go of the urge to please. Letting go of the shame that creeps in when I rest.And instead, I’m calling in what’s already here: beauty, truth, clarity, and the quiet knowing that I’m exactly where I need to be—even if it’s slower, even if it’s quieter, even if no one else sees the growth but me.
If you’re feeling this too—like your insides are rearranging while the outside world keeps rushing forward—I see you.
The scales are rebalancing. Let yourself be honest about what’s worth holding, and what’s holding you back.
We don’t need to shape-shift to belong. We don’t need to perform to be valued. We just need to come home to our truth.