The Messy Start: Why I Even Bothered with Tarot Bling
I saw this tarot jewelry thing popping up all over the place. Honestly, I thought it was just another cheap fad, you know? Like those weird zodiac signs everyone wore back in the day. But then my friend, Sarah, showed up wearing this chunky Sun card pendant. She swore up and down that since she started wearing it, her landlord finally fixed the leaky sink and she actually managed to finish that massive report she’d been dreading. I usually roll my eyes at this kind of stuff, but Sarah is usually pretty practical. So I figured, what the heck. I was between projects anyway—my attempt to fix the garage door spring went terribly wrong, and I needed something else to focus my hands on.
I wasn’t going to just buy some random piece off a website because it looked pretty. That’s weak. If I was going to wear a chunk of spiritual intention, I needed to earn it. I needed to find my own damn card. This meant digging out my old deck. It was tucked away in a shoebox under some dusty sweaters. It took me a good twenty minutes just to find it. I cleaned off the dust and decided to treat this like a real practice, not just silly shopping.
The Practice: Pulling the Card I Really Needed
I decided to stop focusing on what I wanted—like, I don’t need The Lovers to find romance or The Empress to be more fertile. What I needed was a physical, daily reminder of the practical lesson I was avoiding. I needed something to kick my butt into gear regarding my freelance work, which had turned into a complete disorganized mess lately.
I sat down at the kitchen table, cleared away the coffee mugs and mail, and started shuffling. I shuffled that deck until my fingers hurt, focusing hard on one simple question: “What foundational principle do I need to embody for the next six months to stop messing around and get my structure sorted out?”
I cut the deck three times, stacked them, and flipped the top card. I expected something straightforward, maybe Strength or Justice. Something solid. But no. The card staring back at me was The Tower.
Are you kidding me? The card of destruction, sudden change, chaos, and total breakdown? I actually laughed out loud. Why would I want to wear disaster around my neck? That felt like asking for trouble. I almost threw the deck back in the box and decided this whole jewelry idea was garbage.
Deciphering the “Disaster” and Getting to Work
I gave myself an hour to sulk, then I got back to it. I grabbed my worn-out Tarot book—the one with the crappy black-and-white drawings—and forced myself to read The Tower’s meaning again. And that’s when it clicked. It wasn’t about inviting trouble; it was about the necessity of breakdown. It’s tearing down the shaky foundations I’d built so I could rebuild stronger. That’s exactly what my disorganized freelance life was: a shaky tower built on wishful thinking and bad time management.
The Tower was perfect. It was the hard truth I needed strapped to my chest. Now, how do you translate lightning striking a building into wearable jewelry without looking like a twelve-year-old goth?
I tried looking online for a piece. Everything was too polished, too expensive, or just plain cheesy with glittery fake lightning bolts. Nope. I had to make it myself. This project suddenly shifted from “buying a necklace” to “making a talisman.”
The Hands-On Build: Getting the Materials
I drove down to the local hardware supply store—not the jewelry store, the hardware store. I was looking for rough stuff. I ended up buying some heavy-gauge copper wire and a small, rough chunk of black tourmaline. Tourmaline is known for protection, but this specific piece I picked out was naturally chipped and fractured. It looked like a rock that had been hit by something seriously hard. Perfect embodiment of The Tower’s energy.
- I wrestled with the copper wire for two hours. That stuff is stiff. I was trying to create a rough cage setting around the fractured stone.
- I bent the wire with a pair of pliers that weren’t really meant for fine work. I kept pinching my fingers.
- I hammered the edges slightly to give it a weathered, rough texture. It looks totally handmade and slightly brutal.
- I strung the finished pendant on a simple, thick black leather cord. Nothing delicate about this thing.
The final product is heavy, slightly lopsided, and looks like I just pulled it out of a fire. It’s ugly, frankly. But when I held it, I felt that sharp, grounding reminder: time to destroy what doesn’t serve you. It felt powerful because I put the work into both finding the card and physically creating the piece.
Wearing the Truth: The Unexpected Outcome
I started wearing it immediately. Under my shirt, most days, because honestly, I don’t need everyone asking me about my “cracked black rock necklace.” It’s not a fashion statement; it’s a silent commitment. And here’s the kicker: it actually worked.
It wasn’t magic, like suddenly my invoices were paid. It was the mental shift. Every time I reached up and felt the cold, rough edges of that tourmaline, I was reminded of the necessary pain of change. When a client project started feeling tedious or poorly structured, instead of procrastinating, I looked at the stone and thought, “Tear it down and start fresh.” I ended up dumping three old, low-paying projects that were just draining me. That freed up time to land one massive, solid contract.
The jewelry didn’t bring me good luck. It brought me focus. It turned the fear of catastrophe (The Tower) into the power of radical honesty. That ugly, rough necklace I made is now the single most important tool in my daily toolkit. If you’re going to get into this tarot jewelry game, don’t buy the smooth, polished version. Find the card that scares you a little, and make or find a piece that feels just as rugged and honest as the lesson itself. It’s messy, but it works.
