Hey ,

This Saturday, the Full Moon arrives in Scorpio.

If you read my email a few weeks ago about the Libra Full Moon and Easter, we sat with the wound of over-giving — the weight we carry for love, and what it costs us when we're never truly met in return.

This Full Moon takes that wound a little deeper, I think.

Because Scorpio doesn't really ask about balance. It asks about betrayal.

About trust that was given and then broken. About the slow, quiet erosion that happens when someone we loved — or still love — keeps choosing themselves at our expense, and we keep allowing it.

Scorpio governs what is hidden. What lives beneath the surface. The truth we don't say out loud, maybe because saying it would mean we'd have to do something about it. And often, we're just not ready yet.

There's a relational pattern I notice over and over again in my work, and it goes something like this.

👉 Someone withdraws — but nothing actually changes.

👉 They avoid the hard conversation — but somehow, contact remains.

👉 They don't repair. They don't apologise. And yet — access is still there.

And so the system just... stabilises.

Around low accountability. High access.

And we keep waiting. Waiting for them to see what they did. To feel remorse. To finally show up differently.

But they don't. And maybe it's because they don't have to.

I realise one of the hardest skills we'll ever develop in relationships after all is said and done, isn't learning how to communicate better.

It's learning to accept that accountability and apologies may never come from the people we most need them from.

And then being honest enough to see the situation for what it actually is: someone optimising for control over connection.

Because systems don't upgrade through dialogue. They upgrade when inputs and consequences change.

We can't talk someone into valuing us differently if the system we're both in rewards them for not doing so.

But here's where Scorpio takes us even deeper — and this is the part we don't always want to look at.

The betrayal from someone else is real. And it hurts.

Yet often, the wound that keeps us stuck isn't just what they did.

It's what we keep doing to ourselves by staying in a system we know, deep down, isn't safe.

Self-betrayal lives in the moment we feel something is wrong and choose to ignore it. When our body tightens and we override it. When we know we should speak, or leave, or at least stop giving so much — and we don't.

Because we're afraid. Or we're hoping. Or we've convinced ourselves it's love to keep trying.

Scorpio rules the regenerative organs — and in my work with the body, I often see betrayal held in the womb space for women, the ovaries, the deep pelvic floor. For men, it's frequently the hips — the place of stability, of standing, of holding your ground.

Though not always, of course. Mostly betrayal lives in the heart — the part that closed to protect itself and never fully opened again.

The body doesn't forget betrayal. It reorganises around it. It tightens, braces, holds — not out of weakness, but out of a very intelligent, survival-level response to a relational field that was no longer safe.

And when we betray ourselves — when we abandon our own knowing — the body holds that too. Sometimes even more deeply.

So the real question this Full Moon is asking isn't just who betrayed me?

It's where have I been betraying myself? Where have I been ignoring what I know? And what would it look like to finally trust myself more than I trust the hope that someone else will change?

Self-trust doesn't come from getting it right every time.

It comes from the willingness to stop abandoning yourself when something doesn't feel right.

To honour the tightness in your chest. To respect the part of you that has been whispering this isn't okay — and to let that be enough.

You don't need more proof. You don't need to wait for them to get worse. You don't need permission from anyone else to trust what you already know.

The system changes the moment you stop betraying yourself to keep it stable.

If you've been carrying this — the weight of someone else's betrayal and the quieter ache of your own — the scalar-sound lounge this weekend might be a space to let some of that go.

Not through talking or processing, but through giving your nervous system an environment where it can finally stop bracing and begin to release what it's been holding: Scalar-Sound Lounge Meditation: Saturday 2nd May at 4:30pm

SAVE YOUR SPOT HERE!

But whether you come this weekend or not, I want to share this: your heart and body already knows. And the bravest thing you can do under this Scorpio Moon is finally listen.

Wishing you clarity, courage, and deep self-trust.

@akneskendra_phd x

PS: And if this has stirred something and you'd like to explore it in a more private, held space, I also offer 1-1 transpersonal sessions. You're welcome to reply if that feels right.