On Queer Astrology, and being a Transgender Astrologer

I think a lot about how my status as a transgender woman in astrology sets me apart from my peers. It’s meaningful. It makes me who I am as a professional, some of it for reasons I love, and some of it… less so.

From the moment I came out as a trans woman, astrologers who had once considered me valued colleagues suddenly stopped reaching out to me for opportunities to advance. I had been on a meteoric rise in my career, careening towards center stage like a rocket ship aimed at the Sun. I’d had some initial acclaim as the person who got a birthtime for Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, followed by some notoriety as an apt pupil in the art of talisman-making. It was intoxicating and lucrative, but in the rearview mirror I see it as a very masculinity-as-default approach to my career, and very Icarian.

I didn’t have a career built on a way of being in the world that fit with who I am as a woman. I had a career built on the mask I wore, built on years of being told a man was the thing I was allowed to be and that meant ways I was allowed to act. I just wish I had learned how to redo things sooner.

I don’t think how I did things was wrong, but it wasn’t authentic. Truth is, I never faced any discrimination from former clients. I’ve always been clear about the values that make me who I am, which filtered out any potential issues of that sort in advance. But I didn’t do the same with my professional connections, and that led to reliance on people with no conscious awareness of their own transphobic habits being the gatekeepers between me and professional advancement. It was awful at the time, but in retrospect was a gift. I get to be who I am now.

I used to use the word “Sage” a lot in my marketing. The Sage is the powerful wizard you see advising kings in many works of media inspired by medieval settings, in European and Islamic middle ages both. The Sage’s role is to both be a font of wisdom and to know All The Things - math, art, music, alchemy, astrology, magic, the timing of the harvests, the properties of various herbs and stones, etc. In his role as advisor to kings and nobles, the Sage uses this knowledge to aid in the governance of the land - Merlin advising King Arthur. Or occasionally to be the true power behind the throne - think Jafar from Aladdin, or Wormtongue from Lord of the Rings.

Truth be told, as an aspiring professional astrologer still struggling to free myself from the mask I wore before coming out, that was pretty much my goal. Find myself a rich patron or two, be their personal astromagical and life advisor, and cruise along. I don’t want that anymore. There’s another figure whose job qualifications are the same as that of the Sage, but instead of using it to hold power over a kingdom, the figure uses their wisdom and knowledge to be of service to the community. I call this figure The Witch in the Woods.

Likely you’ve heard of this archtype in one form or another. There is a person in the community known by different names in different cultures - medicine person, shaman, weird old lady with the house at the edge of the woods, etc. Their role is to advice the community on spiritual matters, as well as to know what herbs to use to calm a headache, cool a fever, or aid in delivery when functioning as midwife. They are often neurodivergent and/or gender-nonconforming in some way, selected out for this role by their oddity. They were the original queer astrologer, or neurodivergent astrologer, because this person’s role was to know the timing of things, and tracking the movement of the wandering stars (or planets, if you prefer) is one way of doing this. Is the killing frost coming early this year? Let me look at the Moon in a month and she’ll tell you. Often this figure was a woman, and often this figured was revered in some ways, feared in others, and in some cases or cultures, looked down upon. But generally speaking the Witch in the Woods, as I call her, is cared for by her community, and cares for her community in turn.

I am taking great liberties here with my universalizing anthropology and the broadness of my brush. I hope you will forgive me, but I need this broad brush to paint a picture of who I am and what queer astrology is to me. In my defense, such as it is, I was raised by Wiccans.

There are almost zero transgender women astrologers. I think the number of reasons for this is many. In spite of the increasingly queer customer base for birth chart readings, astrology is by-and-large still an overwhelmingly transphobic industry. At least, if you try to make a career by marketing to other astrologers. Or boost your profile and success by industry connections. Which is a great way of doing things, for those able to do it. But not for the rest of us.

I think there are other factors, ones more hopeful and positive than that. My name is partially an homage to Ursula K. LeGuin, and her short story "The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas" describes a utopia of prosperity and joy built upon the oppression and suffering of a single, helpless child. It is, of course, a metaphor for oppression and privilege. The ones who learn the truth can either decide to stay in the society of Omelas, or choose to walk away.

I think some of us choose to walk away. We discover that the career path in our little professional bubble is based on a more societally masculine way of doing things. It is Solar - rising up above the rest, making oneself seen, becoming visible in the spotlight with charisma and bravado. We recognize our womanhood, and we want to live in a less masculine way - more Lunar. Receptive. Allowing in rather than making happen. Quieter.

What makes transgender women so frightening to those who seek to uphold the status quo is our joy. Joy is not “supposed” to be found in discarding a role of privilege for a role seen as submissive or less-than. To be a woman is to occupy a role in society beneath that of a man, and to make that transition not just willingly but joyfully calls into question the very foundations of what is and is not permitted. We walk away from what we were allowed to be, and walk towards an unknown horizon where we can live as our authentic selves. When people see us moving towards that unknown, smiling, they start to ask questions about what roles or ways of being they have accepted for themselves simply because they didn’t know they had a choice. They start to wonder if they too could be happier by walking into the unknown.

On the outskirts of town lies the line between society and wildness, and in a small cottage surrounded by herbs and odd markings is a woman with unkempt hair and a wide smile. She welcomes you in, as the first stop on your journey into the unknown, or as a regular visitor from town who wishes to know what ways of being and doing they don’t teach you in the university and make you cover your ears around in church. And that’s me.

Role defier. Queer Astrologer. The Witch in the Woods.

Welcome to my cottage. Have a seat and let’s talk a while.