Marta
Mielcarek

I spent years trying to be credible.

I was going to be a clinical psychologist. Studied part time while working full time, packed away the astrology books, tried very hard to choose a lane. Science or intuition. Logic or the chart. I was told, more than once, that I'd have to pick.

So I picked. Got the degree. Got the corporate job in international logistics. Built a life that looked exactly right from the outside — structured, successful, someone else's definition of serious.

My body disagreed. Quietly at first, then loudly, then in A&E twice with tests that came back clean.

"Nothing wrong," they said — unless you count not being able to breathe. They offered MS, RA, fibromyalgia, antidepressants. Symptoms without a system. Answers without the actual question.

Something in me kept pulling the thread.

I am, it turns out, a pattern recognition person. I read Harvard Business Review and do moon rituals and see no contradiction there. I always have. What I couldn't tolerate — what my body eventually refused to tolerate — was the insistence that only half of that was real.

It was during a brutal Pluto transit that my own astrologer suggested RTT. Something cracked open that the degree hadn't reached.

Pluto claimed me before I claimed it. Took the career, the relationship, the performance. And on the other side: a framework built on everything I'd been told couldn't coexist. The neuroscience and the natal chart. The systematic and the intuitive. The research and the ritual.

Uranus conjunct Lilith on a Sagittarius Ascendant.
As if it was ever going to let me do otherwise.