In the Stars
This piece is about healing. We can’t always see the change in front of us on our own—but we can when accompanied by the eyes and heart of a true other. Read or listen, and see what surprises you.
You’re welcome to listen to me read these words—sometimes hearing them changes how they land.
While reading my horoscope today, I was reminded of the work of James Pennebaker, a social psychologist and hero of mine, who studied the impact of expressive writing on trauma.
In his research, he invited people to write about traumatic experiences for just fifteen minutes a day, several times per week. Writing freely, they were asked to stay with something still on their mind—something that could keep them up at night.
The main goal was to express the emotions coming up and how they connected to their life now—with an emphasis on integration and finding new meaning in the experience—not taking a deep dive into raw emotion.
Remarkably, subjects showed improved immune function, reduced blood pressure, greater mood stability, and fewer depressive symptoms—reporting better academic or work performance.
But here’s the kicker: the benefits don’t come from just venting or processing feelings. Without attuned accompaniment, that can sometimes make things worse—like being stuck in a dark hole with no way out, especially when no one is helping us make sense of what we’re feeling.
What gives us a way out is constructing a new narrative—making new meaning, finding patterns, and creating coherence—first shaped in relationship, and later practiced within ourselves.
In my words, experience becomes meaning without losing feeling. This helps a person see the bigger picture of themselves—undoing the aloneness that trauma can leave behind, even when there are many people in their life.
You may not have caught it, but the funny thing is that Pennebaker’s research was referenced in my horoscope, which also said:
“You Scorpios excel at this alchemical work. One of your superpowers is to take what’s dark, buried, or painful and transform it through the piercing attention of your intelligence and imagination. The coming weeks will be an excellent time to do this (Seven Days, January 26–February 4, 2026).”
I’m sure all of you have had similar experiences where you just shake your head and say, “Wow.”
Being a therapist is a blessing in many ways because I have an opportunity every day to witness these moments, or have one myself. Perhaps it’s just a reminder that there’s something much bigger happening in the universe that I’ll never fully understand—and I don't need to. I just have to get out of the way.
My sweet granddaughter taught me this when she was only 3-years-old, and she couldn't find one of her new clogs. Her words, “Don’t worry, Papa, life is a mystery,” still ring in my ears, especially today, when I had to pick up something at the drug store and couldn't find my key when I returned to my car.
Frantically, with a full plate of appointments awaiting me, I retraced every step. Meanwhile, my wife—20 miles away—didn’t hesitate to get in the car, the spare one in hand, despite everything else on her schedule. It’s just what we do—and who we are. That’s the key I’ll never lose.
Before her arrival, I took her suggestion, and humbly approached the well-aged woman at the front counter who cashed me out earlier. She looked at me softly and said, “Oh, have you checked your bag?”
Then, as I carefully removed each item and placed them on the counter, there it was, glistening in the light—like a buried treasure. The kind woman just smiled and gently said, “I‘m so glad you found your key. I’ve done that before when I was in a hurry.”
Then, hands trembling, echoes stirring in my heart, I placed each item back in the bag, careful not to rip it.
Another “wow” moment. Can you feel it? What’s that like to feel it together? That means a lot to me.
Now, when I’m working too hard to help others face moments of powerlessness and lack of control, it will be easier to slow things down—and notice. Remembering this moment, I can simply tell myself, “It’s in the bag.“
We don't have to pretend to know all the answers. The last I looked, we’re all human, and we make mistakes all the time—even therapists. That's our superpower. I couldn't do this work if I wore a hat that said I‘m perfect—you know, something like—"Trust me... I know I'm right, even when I'm wrong."
I know what sitting with that message is all about, both with my clients and myself—and in the world around me, where many of us are sitting or standing right now—some of us still running, unsure of the path beneath our feet.
In doing this work of hearts, the opposite of those words comes to life every day. I find myself wanting to say something—anything—that might help my dear clients, and everyone else believe that what they feel matters—and that they aren’t living in the darkness anymore.
And remarkably, it sounds a lot like my horoscope suggested might happen—like the stars aligning in just the right way, within and between us, the light shining brightly, from the inside out.
Of everything I do, I think that’s the most important thing I can offer: helping other people awaken to the power of their Core Self, the person they were born to be.
This doesn't mean they can’t be wrong. Not at all. What I know is that it’s important to be open to how others feel about themselves because their feelings matter. I don't need to live in the fear of disapproval or rejection if they don't see me in the way I view myself.
Yeah, that wouldn't be fair for either of us. That would be living in past trauma—where I would be colluding with their wounded child parts, or my own. Things may change temporarily—but it doesn't stick. They might even get worse—and we wouldn’t have a chance to dance together—with joy and pride.
Take a moment and go inside. Notice what that's like to hear. You might be surprised to discover a sense of relief—realizing it's okay to not know everything and to make mistakes. You could write about this in your journal—and perhaps, take the risk of sharing it with someone close to heart—or send it out to the world someday.
Hmm… I wonder if there’s a similar process of healing that happens when someone reads or listens to our words during these moments of deep self-reflection. Or better yet, what happens when we share ourselves in this way—face to face, heart to heart. It would mean a lot to me to hear about your experience—if you feel moved to share.
My experience from this blog—what I call experience-near research—has given me all the proof I need to know that it makes a difference to many people, especially now, when aloneness and relational trauma are not only a human phenomenon but a pervasive human tragedy of epic proportions.
My own experience with this research reveals that many people feel it, the tears flowing as the ice melts, the light getting brighter every day—more and more people starting to wake up and do something that is meaningful to them—and all of us.
In the moment, I encourage you to notice the light inside and around you. Imagine a time when you discovered a truth about yourself. That’s the key you’ve been looking for—often right in front of you—one I trust is there, often hard to see. I call it the painful truth.
When I’m in this place, I feel like I’m in a state of accompaniment where streams of light are radiating from my heart in many directions, forming a glowing circle around me. It's as if time stops and the stars connect. I see something that I never saw before, either about the other person or myself.
Once again, look up as you softly glance at the photo above my words. Then, close your eyes and notice what you see or feel—maybe both.
It may only happen for a few seconds, but the more you do it, it will start to stick—like opening a door inside and between us. I was a little tentative at first, but now I know that door well, and walk through it confidently and with excitement—even dancing—knowing that something truly special is waiting to be discovered on the other side.
It’s like I’m seeing my life through time—past, present, and future. Sort of like I died and came back to life—resetting and powering up—as if I woke to find that what had been worrying me was simply no longer there.
But first, I had to surrender to the idea that something inside me was wounded and needed care.
The person in front of me—especially the one in the mirror—looks a little different, like I’ve met them before, and we’re just finishing some old business, and taking our relationship to a new place, yet to be discovered.
It’s pretty trippy… not because of anything I take, but because of where attention and trust can go.
All I know is that when I trust myself to go there with someone, I’m home—and they are too.
I hope my words take you home to the person you were always meant to be—the stars aligning in just the right way. That’s who we are, and that’s all that really matters.
With tears in my eyes and strength in my heart, I feel loved—and love you, everyone. It’s not perfect—just a way to help the lost ones inside find their way back home, even when it isn’t yet safe to know they’re already there.
I wonder what my horoscope will tell me tomorrow. If you check yours… don’t worry. You never know what you’ll discover about yourself. It’s the light of invisibility.
It’s in the bag—no, it’s in the stars. I’m still holding the hope—for myself, for you, and the world around us.
I know you can do that, too—and we’re not alone anymore. That’s the key.
Wow!
Gratitude: In deep appreciation of those people, like the one who sent me the image above, who have shared their light and sweetness with me over the years—and received mine.
Confidentiality note: Any resemblance to your own life is both coincidental and universal—reminding us that our stories echo one another in the shared fabric of human experience.
Comments or questions? Email me at mcecilvt@aol.com. Feel free to share in r these words—and this blog—with anyone you hold close or long to be held.
Dr. Cecil is a licensed psychologist, certified AEDP supervisor, approved EMDR consultant, and senior CSRT consultant. He specializes in treating complex relational, developmental, and transgenerational trauma, bringing therapy to life through heartfelt stories and images of connection and healing that emerge from the light of invisibility.