Okay, so let’s talk about this Jessica Adams Virgo thing. I usually just scroll past any weekly analysis stuff. Total horoscope fluff, right? But this time, something pulled my attention. Maybe it was the specific title: The One Thing You Must Do For Your Sign. Felt like a command, not a suggestion.
I clicked it, started reading. The general Virgo stuff was the usual: 6th House routine, work-life balance, health focus. But then, she hit the core advice, the ‘one thing,’ and it wasn’t the usual “eat more salad.” It was brutal. It was a complete dismantling of the status quo. I remember the exact phrasing sticking in my head, something like: “You have to pull the plug on the main energy drain. The entire structure of your daily life is built on sand, and you’re the only one still holding the shovel. Stop digging.”
The Mess I Had to Stop Digging
I read that and I just froze. Because she nailed it. My ‘6th House’—my everyday grind, my job, my health—it was a nightmare. I’d been working this gig for three years, and it was pure toxicity. Not the people, just the sheer volume of pointless busywork and the zero recognition. You know the kind. You’re paid well, but you’re trading your soul for it. I was clocking 60 hours, sleeping maybe five good ones, and my only ‘routine’ was a massive coffee and an emergency Tums.
Here’s the thing, most of you probably think I followed this advice because I was looking for a sign. Wrong. I didn’t follow it; I was already halfway through the breakdown when I read it. The astrology just gave me the technical justification to finally say the word.
See, the reason I even saw that post was because of the absolute, spectacular chaos that was my life six months prior. I was running a side hustle that actually paid better than my main job, but I kept the main job because of the ‘stability’ illusion. Then, my health went sideways. Nothing major, but that kind of chronic, stress-induced fatigue that just crushes you.
The real turning point wasn’t the analysis; it was the plumbing. Seriously. I rented this old place, and the main sewer line decided to back up on a Tuesday morning. Everything stopped. The smell was unbearable. I couldn’t work. I had to pay hundreds just for the emergency fix. And in the middle of this literal shit-show, my boss called, demanding a report that could have waited a week, threatening disciplinary action if I missed the deadline.
That was the moment. Looking at literal sewage creeping under my laundry room door while this corporate drone was stressing me over an internal PDF. I realized I was just cleaning up other people’s waste—both literally and professionally.
The Execution: Yanking the Lever
I immediately started the ‘practice.’ The ‘one thing’ was to eliminate the primary energy drain. I didn’t give two weeks notice. I didn’t negotiate. I just wrote the shortest email I’ve ever written, citing ‘unforeseen health emergencies’ and basically pulling the plug on the whole operation.
Here is what I executed:
- First: The Great Dump. I archived every single email and walked away. Phone off. Total blackout from the old world.
- Second: The Swap. I shifted all that 60-hour energy instantly into the side hustle, which I had been treating like a hobby. I made it the main thing.
- Third: The Health Check. I stopped drinking coffee that tasted like industrial sludge. I started walking for an hour every morning. Not ‘working out,’ just walking. I used to laugh at people who did that.
The money part was terrifying for the first three weeks. It felt like I was free-falling. My savings account took a hit, no question. But here’s the kicker, and this is where the Jessica Adams analysis actually held up, even if I found the proof in plumbing, not in the stars: my side hustle exploded.
The Weird Aftermath and The Proof
Why did it explode? Because I could finally focus. All that mental capacity I was using to manage the sewer of my old job, I redirected it. The cash flow stabilized, and within two months, my net income was actually higher, and my working hours were back down to a respectable 40.
Now, here’s the predictable part, just like that old story I told you guys about the last time I quit a truly toxic situation. About three months in, the phone starts ringing. Not my personal one, but messages filtering through old LinkedIn accounts. The old company was a wreck. Turns out, that report my old boss was screaming about? It was a disaster. The whole team structure was built around my silent, invisible labor—that 60-hour drain—and when I pulled out, the entire thing collapsed like a soggy house of cards.
They tried to reel me back in. They had the HR manager send a polite email: “We understand your past situation, and we’d be happy to discuss a new, part-time consultancy role at 150% of your old salary.”
I just laughed. I blacklisted the whole domain. That job is probably still open now, with the salary ticking up every month, because they can’t figure out how to staff a position that requires one person to do the work of three.
So, the ‘one thing you must do for your sign’ advice? It was spot-on. But you have to remember that sometimes, the stars just point you in the direction of the fire; you still have to be the one who sets the whole toxic mess on fire and walks away. The practice was terrifying, messy, and totally necessary. Now I wake up, the house smells fine, and I only have to clean up my own metaphorical messes, not some corporate dump site. That’s the real win.
