Finding my way home

Cancer Season Begins 🌼

Sometimes you have to get lost to find your way home..

As we cross the threshold of the solstice and enter Cancer season, I’ve been thinking a lot about success—how I’ve defined it, how it’s shifted, and how care fits into the heart of my work.

Cancer is the sign of the mother. It carries themes of nurturing, emotional intelligence, belonging, and home. In my own chart, Cancer rules my 10th House—connected to legacy, structure, ambition, and career.

In many ways, I searched for belonging through my work. I was drawn to spirituality and yoga because of the sense of community it offered me. Within that space, I felt safe. My teachers made me feel comforted and encouraged—and they expected nothing in return.

Becoming a yoga teacher and healer felt aligned with my chart: I could offer care and nourishment through my work. I could give. I didn’t need to ask for anything back.

Except—I live in the real world. I have bills to pay. So…it became a hustle.

And after my daughter was born, the hustle hit a wall. Over the past nine years, I’ve had to reimagine what success means to me. Still, I kept finding myself pulled back to society’s old benchmarks: income, status, followers. It’s hard to untangle your soul work from systems that tell you your worth is tied to productivity.

Loving what you do and trying to monetize it is one of the strangest dances. Some people are lucky enough to love things that bring in real money. Some of us... not so much. I was never going to get rich teaching yoga—but every influencer I see insists I should be making $10k a month from “evergreen content.” The online entrepreneur is the new It Girl. All you have to do is manifest it!

It’s hard not to feel like you’re failing every time you open your phone.

So, I’ve been sitting with these questions:
Is it that hard to make money, do what you love, and feel balanced?
Can I really mother when my own mother couldn’t?
How do I mother others when, deep down, I’m still aching to be mothered myself?

I wanted to be the one who offered care. I wanted to mother the world. But I also wanted the world to choose me. To tell me I was special. That I belonged. That I mattered.

In my family, I was the black sheep. So I learned to earn love through care. I became the peacemaker, the glue, the steady one while addiction and dysfunction blew the family apart. That role gave me a sense of purpose and power. But I lost myself in the chaos.

I’m still learning to locate myself. Define myself. Learning to stay with myself in the presence of others.

Recently, I listened to a talk on Family Constellations. The teacher spoke about the daughter who couldn’t walk fully into her own life because she was stuck behind the energy of a mother who couldn’t mother. Forced into a caregiver role she never chose. As I listened, a wave of recognition moved through my body.

Even years after choosing to cut contact with my mother because of her addiction, I still find myself stuck in that space. A part of me swoops in to self-sabotage. Not to hurt me—but to protect me. To keep me in place.

But lately, I’ve been in dialogue with that part. I’m learning to witness when it shows up. What it’s trying to do. What it’s afraid of. I’m noticing how often I pull back—not because something’s wrong, but because I’m afraid of being rejected. Again.

I’ve been afraid of rejection for so long, and yet I always seem to find it—in family, in relationships, in work.
What we resist, persists.

So I’m learning. That the care I long for—the belonging, the mothering—I can source within.
I don’t need to be right, or perfect, or chosen by others in order to choose myself.

And choosing myself looks like this:

• Being present with intense emotion instead of checking out.

• Showing up vulnerably instead of disappearing.

• Listening instead of fixing.

• Holding steady in uncertainty instead of spiraling into worst-case scenarios.

Sometimes, what I’ve called “self-care” has been more like coddling. Sometimes, my inner child is running the show when what she really needs is some tough love.
Because a true mother isn’t just a warm hug—she’s the one who sets the framework for how you connect. She’s your first home.

For the past four years, I’ve been desperately searching for a physical home for my family. What I didn’t realize is that I needed to come home to myself.

A place where I feel safe. Where I feel belonging. Where I’m accepted.
And—where my wise inner parent can also say: “Alright. Enough now. Get up. Keep going.”

Through the trials, the rejections, the pain—I’ve been shown all the ways I was rejecting myself.
All the fears. The doubts. The belief that if I don’t hold it all together, chaos will reign.
So I let it fall apart.

And now, piece by piece, I’m getting to know myself again. The fear. The sweetness. The anger. The creativity. The curiosity.

Over the next six to nine months, I’ll be building a home. And I know I can do it.

Because I know what it’s like to be exiled. I know what it’s like to search your whole life for someone to take care of you. I know what it’s like to fall apart—and then, brick by brick, put yourself back together.

Even when you don’t know what the blueprint looks like,
Even when the pieces don’t seem to fit,
You keep going.
Brick by brick,
You find your way home.

If this letter resonated with you…
If you’re navigating your own homecoming, or feeling called to reconnect with your inner wisdom—I’d be honored to hold space for you.

You can book a Tarot or Astrology session by sending me an email at holly@hollydramey.com. Let’s tune in together and see what’s ready to shift.

And if you’ve been enjoying these reflections and want to support this work, consider upgrading to a paid subscription—you’ll receive deeper insights, exclusive content, and first access to new offerings.

Thank you for joining me on this Long Strange Trip 🍄

Safe Travels 🚌

Holly