When Uranus came for my life: A year of sudden endings, clean breaks & fierce clarity

This past year, Uranus crossed over both my Sun and Moon — they sit together in my 10th house — and my life rearranged itself with a force I couldn’t negotiate with, soften, or spiritually bypass.

Uranus doesn’t ask.
It liberates.
Often violently. Always with precision.

Every relationship, role, and obligation that held even a trace of compromise… cracked.
Some shattered.
A few dissolved like mist without warning.

At first, it felt cruel.
As if life was stripping away the scaffolding I’d leaned on for decades — people I trusted, work I had poured myself into, identities I’d worn like skin.

But looking back, I can see the truth:
Uranus didn’t destroy my life — it removed what couldn’t come with me.

The Year Everything I Outgrew Fell Away

Some endings were loud and painful.
Others arrived quietly — a slow loosening, a subtle “no more,” a boundary finally enforced after years of accommodation.

Most of these endings, I didn’t initiate.

The universe did — abruptly, decisively — before I could talk myself into staying small.

Clients I had carried too long drifted off or were let go.
Old relational patterns cracked open under the strain of truth.
Even my business shape-shifted, shedding what was fueled by obligation instead of inspiration.

One by one, anything that siphoned energy instead of generating it… was stripped away.

What Remained

And here’s the astonishing part — what stayed is what was real.

The people who truly see me.
The work that feels alive in my hands.
The quiet friendships that never demanded I shrink or hold the world together for them.
The places and routines that nourish me instead of drain me.

When the storm finished, my ecosystem was smaller — but it was clean.
Every presence in my life now supports me, or it’s not here.

The Fierce Gift of Lightning

Uranus isn’t gentle.
But it is honest.

It freed me from caretaking roles I never consciously agreed to.
It dissolved patterns I thought I needed for belonging.
It revealed the quiet ways I had been accommodating others at the expense of my own life force.

This year, I stopped being the one who bends.
I stopped organizing my life around other people’s urgency.
I stopped valuing comfort over truth.

I discovered something shocking:

When I stop shrinking, what doesn’t truly support me falls away — and what remains was meant for me all along.

What I Know Now

I am clearer, lighter, stronger.
My energy belongs to my work, my creative fire, my calling — not crisis-care and emotional management.

And I finally understand why the upheaval had to happen the way it did:
Some endings don’t require confrontation.
They require evolution.

When you grow, you simply no longer fit the places built for your smaller self.

Uranus didn’t break my life.
It broke me out.