The Empress Interviews a Child
All the cool kids are reparenting themselves.
Welcome back, and a warm hello to the newcomers.
Thanks for being here. In this post, we examine The Empress figure as she appears in tarot. She represents the maternal nature within; she is nurturance personified.
You are a small child, about three or four years old. Your fingernails are tiny half-moons on your little hands. Your joints feel easy and free. Your neck cranes just a bit to meet the world’s eye.
You stand looking into a small, dim room. Music drifts from inside.
Behind you, a grim hallway lined with flickering fluorescent lights extends to your left and right. You cannot see the end in either direction.
Inside the dim room, The Empress relaxes on a plush green corduroy sofa, big enough for two. Her gown flows dark blue like the night ocean. You’re dazzled by vases of blooms covering the shelves and tabletops. Purple, pink, and red petals blaze around The Empress as she reclines on her verdant couch. Gauzy scarves cover small lamps, lighting the room with jewel-haze.
The resplendent lady opens her shawl-clad arms and beckons you into her ample, loving lap. Braided rugs in blends of brown, green, and navy cuddle your bare feet as you pad your way across the room. You feel drawn to the soft woman on the green sofa, and you settle into her embrace. She tucks her scepter into the cushions of the couch, the better to hold you. The scent of her neck steadies your bones. You hide your face in her shoulder and try to get as small as possible.
She strokes your hair and speaks first.
The Empress: What is it about staying quiet that keeps you safe?
The Child: Proof of life angers the ones in charge. Quiet means protection.
What counts as proof of life?
Anything that shows that my atoms have aligned in space to make a person.
I want to be good and accepted. It seems like the way to do that is to never say no.
Being good seems to mean complete obedience.
I have to earn my worthiness by being very accommodating. No pushback allowed.
Your worthiness is constant. No one can ever remove it. No one can grant it. It came factory-installed, and it’s not going anywhere.
If I mess up, the adults around me will have to deal with me, and they don’t have time for that.
If your caregiver is icing you out when you need them, they shouldn’t be in charge of you.
I need to be helpful so they can get done what they need to get done.
One of the things they need to get done is meeting your needs, because you’re too young and small to do it yet.
Healthy adults can run a whole household without relying on a child’s help. Teaching a child to do chores is intended to help them learn how to care for themselves one day. It’s not a child’s job to run a household.
There’s no space for me to make errors that require time, money, or patience to correct.
Being a parent means using your time, money, and patience to teach a human how to live in the world.
When I make a mistake, I get banished to my room until the people who have to deal with me can stand to look at me again.
Isolating someone when they commit a crime is something done to the worst offenders of society. What could a little child do that warrants that treatment?
I don’t have access to forgiveness. I have to move on and start again with fresh people who don’t know how awful I am.
You are forgivable. You are worth hearing out. You are worth a second chance. It is possible for you to find repair for relationships that have value to you, and it is possible to let go of unhealthy relationships without experiencing retaliation.
Other people get a chance to own their mistakes without being beaten up for it, and even get praise for coming clean. When I make a mistake, I should have known better.
There’s not always a way to have known better. We mess up sometimes. We even mess up things we know well.
My past mistakes will be combined into a portrait of failure and badness that I don’t get a chance to argue against.
That’s something a hurt person does to you. It’s no reflection of who you really are.
Any error I make is a theft from the people I’m supposed to be showing up for.
You do not owe the world perfection. You owe it to the world to live in balance, because humans are social creatures, and we influence each other. Since you influence the people around you whether you mean to or not, let yourself spread peace and balance.
I have to work twice as hard as the badness inside me just to earn my place in the world, otherwise I deserve to die.
The badness you feel is just the pain of how you were treated. It was grafted onto your bones and ligaments and for a long time, it’s been puppeting you. It’s easy to peel off, thankfully, once you know what it looks like. After it’s gone, you should be able to move freely.
I have to find a way back into harmony with anyone who hurts me.
This felt true as a child, because your caregiver was bullying you, and you needed connection with them to survive.
But now I need to put space between myself and those who hurt me, and make my way toward people who behave with kindness.
What a wonderful idea. I’m so proud of you.
The Empress hugs you deeply, breathing you in. The tip of her nose is cool on your forehead as she kisses your eyes. One of her callused hands strokes your downy hair.
A sense of relief floods your young body as an unfamiliar thought tiptoes into your mind:
Connection is good.
Thank you for being part of this community.
Do you know any nurturing Empresses?
I’d love to hear all about them in the comments.
Let’s celebrate the ones among us who make the world feel safe and warm.
See you next time!
All my best,
