My Story

I’m a Cancer Sun with a Cancer Midheaven, a licensed clinical social worker turned astrologer, and a mother of two humans and three fur babies. But none of that is really where this starts.

This starts with a feeling I had long before I had a name for it. A weight that didn’t seem to belong to me but was somehow mine to carry anyway. Reactions too big for the moment that caused them. Patterns I kept living out without choosing them. I didn’t know yet that I was standing inside something inherited. I just knew something in me didn’t add up.

So, I went looking for the language.

That search became a master’s in clinical therapy, years spent sitting across from people carrying the same kind of weight, patterns and loops that started long before they were born. The clinical language was precise. It had a name for what I was seeing. Unfortunately, that name was the DSM. It could diagnose the symptom. It couldn’t touch the story underneath it. I kept asking the question the diagnosis couldn’t answer: where did this actually begin?

The answer wasn’t in a session room. It was further back than that. In the charts. In my own lineage. All the way back to my great-grandmother Catherine, who didn’t speak English and carried her entire inner world in silence because she had no other choice. That silence didn’t disappear when she did. It took a shape, and I grew up inside that shape without knowing it had a name, or an origin, or an end.

My own chart explains why.

I carry Saturn, Uranus, and Neptune all together in my 4th house, the house of home and ancestry. Structure, rupture, and intuition, three forces that don’t usually sit quietly together, stacked in the exact same place: the part of me that holds my lineage. And almost directly across from that, in exact opposition, sits my Chiron in Cancer, in my 10th house. The wound around home and motherhood, carried in public, staring straight back at everything buried in the 4th. I didn’t choose that tension. I was born holding both ends of it.

But that wound has a line straight to Pluto, the planet of transformation, in supportive trine. It was never just a wound to survive. It was always meant to become something. And Jupiter, the planet of expansion, sits in easy trine to my Ascendant, my Moon, and my North Node, my identity, my inheritance, and my path forward, all aligned in the same direction. The pattern was breakable. More than that, breaking it was the path of least resistance, the door that was already open, if I was willing to walk through it.

During my Saturn return, Saturn retrograde back over that same 4th house, I stood at a fork. Every woman in my line had stood at this exact same fork before me, and every one of them, as far back as I could trace, had turned the same direction. I turned the other way. I didn’t fully understand what that choice cost or changed until my daughter was born, and I sat with her chart for the first time. I looked for the pattern. The one that had repeated, generation after generation, without exception. It wasn’t there. It hadn’t skipped her. It had stopped. Not with her.

With me.

That’s the moment I understood what this work is actually for. Liberation, the kind that ends not when you’re seen, but when the pattern that was never really yours finally runs out of places to hide.

The stories carried in silence are usually the ones most worth telling, because silence is rarely the absence of a story. It’s a story with nowhere left to go. If you’ve ever sensed there was more to yours than you could explain, you’re not imagining it. You’ve just been waiting, maybe for longer than you realized, for someone to say it back to you.

I’d be honored to help you feel at home in your own story.

TL;DR: I’m a clinical therapist turned astrologer who created Maria Catherine to do the work the DSM couldn’t, naming the patterns we inherit, not just the symptoms they cause. It’s named after my great-grandmother Catherine, who carried her story in silence. My own chart explains why I’m built for this work, and why I was able to break a pattern that ran through every woman in my line before me.