Eclipse Season and the Call to Become

An End and a Beginning

On the day before the final solar eclipse in Aries (29 March 2025), my daughter turned 18. My youngest. The last one to cross the bridge from child to adult. And with that, something deep within me is shifting.

This eclipse lights up Aries, the sign of independence, courage, and new beginnings. And in my chart, Aries is the realm of relationships. A house once ruled by a man I left so I could find myself again. Because I’d disappeared. I had to walk away from the love I once thought was everything, in order to remember who I was.

Since then, it’s been mostly just me and my children. Blended family life proved hard. And so I made a choice, not just once, but again and again, to put them first. To raise them with love. To give them the kind of parenting I knew they deserved.

Disneyland Paris 2011

And now here we are. They are growing into strong, capable humans. And, because they are so wonderful, I’m learning to be proud of the mother I’ve been. Of the home I’ve built. Of the way I’ve carried us through.

And here's what I'm contemplating with my daughters milestone birthday. I’m starting to glimpse a future now where they are off pursuing their own dreams and I am no longer as obligated. As responsible. In just a few months I may be free of the every day parenting that has been so encompassing over the last 21 years.

At Hamilton 2017ish

This eclipse closes a chapter that began when my daughter was born in 2007. There was a Libra eclipse at the time, lighting up my first house. Then The Gods were whispering: this child would change the way I relate. And she did.

Another chapter unfolded in 2014, when eclipses returned to Aries. That was the year my then-partner moved in. It was hopeful, at first. But life doesn’t always follow the dream. My daughter wasn't comfortable in that dynamic. So he and I chose to end it. Ultimately, I chose her and put her needs first. A decision which felt as right then, as it does now.

Now, with this final eclipse in Aries, and her stepping into adulthood, I feel the cycle completing. The threshold is real. And this time, it’s mine to cross.

I’ve spent the last fifteen years holding a steady, secure haven for my children. A home where they could feel safe. Where they could grow into themselves without having to bend around someone else’s opinions. No outsider shaping their sense of worth. Just space, love, and presence.

But now. Well, now I can glimpse a time when I get to choose me.

Aries asks us to be brave. And with Mars, ruler of Aries, still moving through Cancer, the sign of home, family, and motherhood, the message is clear: my time is coming. I did what I needed to do. I held the fort. And now, maybe it’s safe to let someone else in.

The question I’ve been circling for a while is this: was it sacrifice, or was it sovereignty?

Did I give something up, or did I claim something priceless?

My Moon sits in Taurus, in the 8th house. It’s a placement that speaks of emotional depth, of transformation through intimacy, and of a kind of quiet power. It feels like She’s whispering to me now: you didn’t just mother your children, you mothered yourself back into being.

And now, I want love again. The kind of love I’ve always dreamed of. The kind I know is possible. Not to fill a gap. Not to fix anything. But to meet me here, where I am: whole, wise, and ready.

This eclipse is the end of a cycle. But it’s also the spark of a new flame. One lit not in response to the circumstances I landed in, but in choosing where I want to take my journey next.

But this eclipse isn’t just about me.

It’s about all of us.

Because this is the final Solar Eclipse in Aries with the North Node here for a while (around 18 years), a cycle that’s been pulling us all toward courage, independence, and the raw truth of who we are since mid-2023. And every eclipse along the Aries-Libra axis has been asking: What do you need in relationship? And what’s been holding you back from claiming it?

Libra is about the other, how we connect, compromise, collaborate. Aries is about the self, our desire, our drive, our need to be fully alive. Together, they form the tension between me and we. This axis teaches us that we cannot truly show up in relationship until we know who we are.

And now we’re at the end of that lesson.

A threshold. A turning point. A moment of becoming.

And it’s not happening in isolation.

Venus, Goddess of Love, is retrograde in Aries, about to slip back into Pisces. She’s asking us to reflect:

✨ What do I truly want in love?

✨ Where have I acted out of fear, or rushed ahead without listening to my heart?

✨ Can I be honest about my needs, and tender with myself where I haven’t met them?

Mercury is retrograde, too, also weaving between Aries and Pisces, reminding us to rethink how we speak, listen, and lead. It’s not a time to charge ahead blindly. It’s a time to remember. To revisit the choices that have shaped our path. And to ask: What do I really believe in? What story do I want to live now?

And then, like a quiet wave washing over it all, Neptune enters Aries. A new era begins. One where dreams meet action. Where the spiritual and the practical are no longer separate. Where we’re invited to live what we believe.

This moment is a pause.

A breath.

A reckoning.

Not just for me as a mother stepping into a new chapter, but for all of us.

Take a moment to ask yourself:

• Who have I become?

• Where have I given myself away?

• Where have I reclaimed myself?

• What do I want now, in love, in connection, in the way I show up in the world?

  
  

This eclipse may not change everything overnight. But it’s a spark. A shift. A quiet voice saying:

It’s time.

Time to act.

Time to speak.

Time to move differently.

Time to honour the fire within.

A Ritual:

Find a quiet moment. Perhaps light a candle.

Take out a piece of paper and write a letter to yourself, titled:

"This is who I am now."

Let the words come from your body, not just your mind. Speak from your belly, your chest, your hands. Let yourself name what you’ve walked through. What you’ve outgrown. What you’re ready to claim.

When you’re done, fold it up and keep it somewhere safe. Or burn it, if that feels truer, release it to the flame and let the fire be your witness.

This is a threshold. A becoming.

Let yourself cross it with love.

And perhaps these words from Anaïs Nin will light the way:

“And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.”