The Tower Moment: Collective Upheaval, Systemic Collapse, and What Comes Next

Last week, I talked about how I believe the world is going through a collective Tower moment. I also promised to elaborate on that.

In tarot, there are 78 cards, divided into two parts: the Major and Minor Arcana. The Tower card belongs to the Major Arcana, and it's typically depicted as a tall tower being struck by lightning, with people falling from it—pure chaos.

Because this card signifies upheaval and abrupt, often painful endings, a lot of people dread seeing it in a reading—sometimes even more than the Death card. That’s interesting, right? You’d think the Death card would represent something more final or painful, but it’s usually about transformation, shedding old patterns, and releasing bondage. The Tower, on the other hand, represents unavoidable change—often sudden and disruptive.

Personally, I love the Tower card. It’s one of my favorites because no other card so clearly illustrates the natural order of change. Change feels chaotic when we’re not prepared for it, but it’s inevitable. I’ve said before that only two things in life are certain, but I’m often corrected that there are actually three: death, change, and taxes. No matter how much we try to avoid them, they’re inescapable.

The truth is, the United States has been in a constant state of change since its inception. Collectively, we've made a series of choices that have led us here. I’m not an expert in anything except self-mastery, so take what I say with a grain of salt. But depending on who you ask, you'll get a different answer about where America went off the rails.

There are many factors that have brought us to this moment—one major issue being corporations gaining the rights of individuals. Take Hobby Lobby, for example: in a court of law, it was ruled to have individual religious freedoms, which meant it could deny contraceptive coverage to employees. This is just one way corporations have influenced policies that don’t serve the collective good.

A couple of months back, I wrote about the history of cannabis and how lobbying efforts from industries like paper, logging, oil, and textiles pushed for its criminalization. This is an example of propaganda shaping public opinion—a concept I’m learning is called “manufactured consent.”

And we’re still seeing this play out today. Corporations continue to lobby for their own interests. Propaganda is used to justify policies like mass deportations of undocumented immigrants. Bills are being passed that override rights and freedoms we’ve long taken for granted.

The Tower moment is here. The question is: what comes after?

We are watching systems that once seemed unshakable crack under pressure. The economy is unpredictable, governments are tightening their grip, civil rights are being challenged, and corporations are prioritizing profits over people more blatantly than ever. If you’re paying attention, you can feel the shift—an unraveling of what was, making way for what will be.

Historically, Tower moments lead to two things: destruction and rebuilding. The old ways collapse, often painfully, but in their place, there’s an opportunity to create something better. The hardest part is that in the middle of it, everything feels uncertain. That’s where we are now. The collective is waking up, and those in power are scrambling to maintain control. That’s why we’re seeing more censorship, more divisive narratives, and more manufactured consent to keep the masses from realizing just how much power we actually have.

So, how do we prepare for the fallout?

1. Strengthen Your Foundations

When the Tower falls, what remains is whatever was built to last. That means focusing on what truly matters: your well-being, your relationships, your values. Get clear on what you stand for and what you’re willing to fight for.

2. Get Comfortable with Discomfort

Change isn’t easy, but resisting it only makes it harder. Learn to sit with uncertainty instead of fearing it. The more adaptable you are, the better you’ll navigate what’s coming.

3. Build Community

The systems we relied on may not be there in the same way soon. Find like-minded people, support local businesses, and create networks of mutual aid. Community will be essential in weathering the storm.

4. Diversify Your Resources

If we’ve learned anything from past economic collapses, it’s that relying too much on one system (whether it’s a job, the stock market, or supply chains) is risky. Learn skills that make you more self-sufficient, look into alternative currencies, and have a plan in case access to resources becomes restricted.

5. Stay Informed, but Discern Wisely

Propaganda is everywhere. Seek out multiple sources, question narratives, and don’t blindly accept what you’re being told—especially by institutions with a vested interest in keeping you complacent.

6. Take Care of Your Nervous System

Constant chaos takes a toll. Ground yourself, breathe, and find practices that keep you centered. A regulated nervous system makes better decisions than a panicked one.

Tower moments are terrifying, but they’re also necessary. They clear the way for something new—something that couldn’t exist without the collapse of the old.

That’s why I’m not afraid of what’s coming—I’m focused on what we can build. The question isn’t whether change is happening. It’s already here. The real question is: What are we going to do with it?

That answer is up to us.

Looking for ways to get involved or people to follow?
I’m starting a new section where I highlight someone I follow who shares valuable insights—whether it’s about resistance, mutual aid, or just putting in the work.

This time, I want to spotlight Sasha S. Graham, a powerhouse I came across about a year ago. She first appeared on my FYP discussing the 4B movement and the importance of standing together in sisterhood against patriarchy. I stuck around for her determination and dedication to the communities she serves.

If you’re interested in her work, follow her on Substack, where she shares most of her content:
👉 https://sistaseparatist.substack.com/subscribe?utm_campaign=unknown&utm_medium=web

Take care of each other,
Mia Marie

Finding Hope in a Time of Crisis: Reflections on Empathy, Boundaries, and Personal Growth

Thank you for your patience with my absence.

I didn’t intend to be gone for months. Initially, when the election results came in, I thought I was just taking a week to find a voice of love, hope, and compassion. But one week turned into two, and then family drama and political affairs stretched those two weeks into, well, months.

In that time, I’ve been observing and processing the energy in both my personal life and the world at large—doing my best to look for the helpers, the leaders, the truth-tellers—while balancing it all with what I was desperately seeking: hope. Moving forward, I want to be sure my voice remains true to my core tenet: Do no harm, but take no shit. (And if you see me bullying the bullies—no, you don’t.)

That tenet didn’t come easy. I’m what some might call a recovering “crash-out” (shoutout to Black people for your beautiful turn of phrases). My family might tell you I’m overdramatic, overly sensitive, or even the entire problem—depending on who you ask and how respectful they were in our last interaction.

The truth is, I’m angry.

I’m still learning, still experimenting with how to fully embody my story and my voice. And with everything going on—EVERYWHERE—I’ve had plenty of opportunities to exercise wisdom while allowing my justified rage to sharpen my convictions. I am grateful for these opportunities to reflect on my growth and choose new patterns for myself.

I know that the only thing I can control in this life is me. I know that challenges to my worldview aren’t a threat to my person—nor are the people who bring those shifts. And through this practice of embracing shifts in my own perspective, I’ve come to a heartbreaking realization: so many of my countrymen seem convinced that empathy is a sin.

Growing up as the at-least-sometimes scapegoat in a narcissistic family dynamic, I was conditioned to see many perspectives before I even fully examined my own. This was once a hindrance in my journey—until I learned about ✨boundaries✨.

To me, sitting at the table with someone—regardless of their background—listening to their story, holding space for their pain, even just for a moment, and imagining myself in their position isn’t a weakness; it’s a strength. Empathy is not a sin. In fact, most spiritual leaders, even Jesus, would ask you to sit with people who have lived different lives than you and allow their stories to fully hit you.

Every time we do this, we change. Within ourselves as listeners, we shift, having held space for a new perspective. And as witnesses, we validate another person’s reality. Sometimes, that’s all someone needs—to be seen, heard, and innerstood. Ideally, we validate ourselves, but for those of us who have been gaslit out of our own narratives, even a little validation can feel like the first warm ray of sun after a long winter storm.

And in those cold winter storms, there are lessons to be learned. Some might call this process shadow work—facing ourselves in the quiet, lonely moments.

Before we can meet others in their pain, we must first meet ourselves in our own. If we sit at the table with others without first facing ourselves, our own lens may distort the picture they are painting. Sometimes, our lens leads us to identify with the villain in someone else’s story rather than the protagonist. If we see ourselves in what hurt them but haven’t unpacked our own role in similar dynamics, we stop listening—we get defensive.

And when we get defensive, we can’t see past our own limited experience long enough to fully hear the pain we’ve caused. Instead of pausing to examine ourselves, we lash out. Maybe we excuse the harm, soften the image of the abuser, or refuse to believe the storyteller at all—blaming them for their own pain. When we can’t remove our ego from a story that was never ours to begin with, we risk subjecting people to double abuse.

Every story shared is a gift. When we focus on anyone other than the storyteller, we discard that gift before we’ve even unwrapped it.

The Global Reflection of Family Cycles

What I’m witnessing—both in my personal life and on a larger societal scale—is a lot of people throwing a gift in the trash simply because they don’t like the person handing it to them.

Take my feral-dog extended family, for example. I can’t recall a time when any two people were genuinely committed to exchanging the gift of authentic stories. Don’t get me wrong—my family has plenty of stories, some they’ll eagerly share, and others they pray I never speak aloud.

In my family, the first person to bend—to let someone else’s version of events reshape their own perspective—is seen as the weakest. And the weakest? They become the target of slander, backbiting, gossip, and, if the others are feeling particularly self-righteous, maybe even a sanctimonious family prayer.

Watching these patterns play out for the first 14 years of my life—and intermittently as an adult—has unfortunately made it easy for me to recognize them on what feels like a global scale.

As a truth-teller, both in my family and in the world, I often feel like I’m screaming into the void about these cycles. I have empathy, but I have little patience for the toxic dynamics that created these broken people in the first place.

And these people? They’re in comment sections and in the world, spouting misinformation with confidence, “owning the libs,” and believing their billionaire “Daddy” loves them more than the family that broke them.

There’s something to be said about how they don’t even realize they’re broken. These are the same people who proudly declare, “I got beat, and I turned out fine” while verbally annihilating their own children. That is—if they even bothered to try to do better than their parents. And if they did? They’ll say, “I never hit ya, I was a great parent,” as if not hitting their kids was the pinnacle of good parenting. Not realizing that not hitting your kids is the bare minimum.

So Where Do We Go From Here?

I don’t know. I don’t pretend to know.

I will, however, share what I am doing right now—the good, the bad, and the ugly.

I’m planning my garden, hoping to help myself and my neighbors with canning and freezing. I’m being intentional about speaking with my neighbors when I see them. I’m being intentional about smiling at people who don’t look like me, people who are “alt,” people who are obviously non-conformists.

I am intentionally not smiling at old white men. I live in a very red community. Yes, I’m being openly prejudiced. 

I’m making sure I check in and connect with the people I love. I’m drinking my water and taking deep breaths. I’m practicing observance.

I’m bullying people who spread misinformation, disinformation, and ignorance. I’m staying informed while balancing that with caring for myself and my loved ones.

I’m lifting up voices that educate, offer balance, and bring perspectives that I believe are important.

My Advice?

Get involved—however you can.

• Plan a garden in your community.

• Build connections.

• Listen to Black, Brown, and Indigenous creators. They have been oppressed. They have the blueprint. The rest of us need to get really comfortable listening to them.

• Educate yourself on bad-faith arguments, and either disengage—or if you have the time and energy, PUSH BACK.

• Call out the specific reason an argument is bad faith—strawman, goalpost shifting, conflating issues.

• Call out hypocrisy and contradictions in logic.

• Or just bully them until they remove the stupid shit they’re trying to spread.

We are in this together. We will get through this global tower moment together.

Join me in the next post to explore what I mean by "tower moment" more in-depth.

In the meantime, love yourself, take care of each other, and get involved in resistance.

With as much compassion as I could muster,
Mia Marie

Double Abuse: A Hidden Wound Beyond Domestic Violence

Double abuse is a term many haven’t heard, but it’s a reality for too many survivors. Even though Domestic Violence Awareness Month has ended, I feel compelled to share my story. Double abuse occurs when those around you discredit or dismiss your experience with abuse, often compounding the trauma you’ve already endured. I experienced this first-hand in my relationships with my ex-husband, Brad, and later with Swain. After extensive research and healing work on domestic violence and narcissistic abuse, I recently discovered a term for what I went through during and after those relationships.

So, what is double abuse? It can manifest in two ways: sometimes accidentally, stemming from people’s own unresolved issues or lack of understanding, and other times intentionally, as if to protect the abuser or silence the victim. I want to share my experiences with both types, illustrating how they shaped my journey.

Double Abuse with My Husband

During my marriage, I faced double abuse from those who should have supported me. There was a harrowing incident where my husband reversed my car, while drunk,  striking me in the ribs with the side mirror while I was in a dangerous spot. I knew it wasn't an accident, but the friends who witnessed it insisted I was “seeing things wrong.” Their dismissal cut deeper than the physical pain, leaving me feeling invisible and unheard.

One of my bridesmaids, who lived with us, witnessed the cycle of abuse I endured—weeks of walking on eggshells until he would provoke a reaction out of me. Yet, she sided with him, believing I was the problem. After I left him, I stayed with her and her devout Baptist parents. I remember a moment when her mother suggested that wearing makeup might “fix” the issues with my husband, despite knowing my Pentecostal faith prohibited it.

After my departure, my bridesmaid's mother urged me to return to my husband, claiming that breaking a covenant with God would be unforgivable. Unbeknownst to her, I had distanced myself from my faith, rendering her guilt trip ineffective. I quickly left that household, seeking refuge with an uncle who was abusive in his own ways.

Even my mother subjected me to double abuse, trying to convince me to return to my husband for the sake of health insurance, which he would soon lose due to his drinking. Ironically, my uncle was one of the few who supported my decision to leave, understanding my husband’s issues on a level I hadn’t yet grasped.

Double Abuse with Swain

By the time I was with Swain, I had distanced myself from many religious influences, reducing instances of double abuse. However, one significant source of this abuse came from Ahri, a friend who knew of my struggles but repeatedly proclaimed her love for my abuser. After our breakup, she callously told me she didn’t care about my pain, despite being considered part of my chosen family.

My mother, who once pointed out some of Swain’s abuse, now entirely denies having witnessed anything. On Mother’s Day this year, she called, expecting acknowledgment but instead delivered emotional torment. I should have known better than to expect normalcy. She inquired, again, if I was sure Swain’s suicide was accidental and repeatedly expressed her love for him, emphasizing how wonderful he was to her, despite my reality. This conversation solidified my decision for low-contact with her—not as punishment, but as self-preservation.

Understanding, Healing, and Moving Forward

Confronting double abuse taught me how to reclaim my narrative. I learned that just because others denied my experiences didn’t render them any less valid. Accepting this truth was my first step toward healing. I had to untangle my experiences from the expectations and beliefs imposed on me by others. It was a challenging journey, but ultimately, it led me to trust myself and my perceptions.

Writing became a powerful tool in my recovery. Documenting my experiences allowed me to view them outside of others’ opinions, helping me recognize the endurance and resilience within myself. I learned to let go of the need for validation from those who disbelieved me.

Setting boundaries became another vital aspect of my healing. Once I recognized patterns of double abuse, I could choose who I allowed into my life. I began prioritizing relationships with those who respected my story, who believed in me without requiring proof. Letting go of unsupportive people was challenging, but I realized that keeping them around meant silencing my truth.

The journey to healing isn’t linear; some days feel like a return to the beginning, filled with self-doubt. Yet, I persist because I know there’s something real and meaningful on the other side of the struggle. I’m learning to believe in myself, even if others do not.

If there’s one thing I can say, it’s this: if you share your story and someone doesn’t believe you, you’re in the wrong company. Sharing your narrative, whether through conversation or writing, can be an empowering act of healing. Remember, your story deserves respect and validation. Trust your own experiences, and seek support where it’s freely given.

Love,

Mia Marie