By Adreanna

A Reflection on Rain, Roots, and the Second Saturn Square

It’s strange—I’ve lived through so many Aprils, but this is the first time I’ve truly noticed how much it rains.

Maybe it’s because I’ve been collecting plants this year. Not just buying them, but tending to them. Learning what they need. Watching them respond to water, light, neglect, and love. My little garden family includes a new aloe vera—a replacement for the massive one I lost in a freeze years ago. There’s citronella to keep the mosquitoes at bay, six cheerful petunias, a regal majesty palm, and a golden pothos whose vines are already reaching for something to hold onto.

I’m also growing food—jalapeños, tomatoes, and bell peppers. These little things sprouting under the unpredictable sky have become symbols of something deeper: I’ve been paying attention to life again. I even had my yard reseeded to bring back the lush, enviable grass that once ruled the cul de sac. It’s a little ego, a little nostalgia—but mostly, it’s the desire to see life return after a long stretch of emotional drought.

So yeah. I’ve been outside this year… kinda.

What’s funny is, I didn’t realize just how inward my life had become until recently. I’ve spent nearly a full year in the house—or within a five-mile radius of it. Outside of work (my office is 4.2 miles away, for the record), I haven’t really been interested in going too far or doing too much. And not in a sad or depressed way. I’ve just been deeply, beautifully lowkey.

If I’m not writing, I’m reading. If I’m not reading, I’m gardening. If I’m not gardening, I’m trying new recipes. If I’m not cooking, I’m moisturizing my scalp or painting my nails. And if I’m not doing any of that, I’m in bed, resting—curled up with the cat, surrounded by stillness.

I’ve been minding my business and protecting my peace.

Not because I had chaos to escape, but because I was simply tired. Tired of being “on.” Tired of stretching myself to be social, impressive, productive. Without even realizing it, I slipped out of sight and into a softness I didn’t know I needed. May 1 marked one full year of being “out of the way.”

And then—plot twist—I found out I’m not alone.

I Just Learned I’m In My Second Saturn Square

Apparently, there’s a name for this whole phase I’m in—and it’s not just called “being washed” or “entering your incense era,” though both apply.

It’s called the Second Saturn Square, and it happens between the ages of 36 and 38. It’s basically a cosmic check-in from Saturn (the planet of discipline, structure, and maturity) where the universe is like, “Hey… are you really building the life you want, or just maintaining one that looks good on paper?”

And whew—the timing could not be more perfect.

Everything I’ve been feeling suddenly made sense. The urge to nest. The desire to be alone. The obsession with peace and pacing. The reevaluation of friendships, routines, and goals. The slow detachment from who I thought I had to be, and the slow blooming of who I’m becoming.

This Isn’t a Breakdown. It’s a Realignment.

The second Saturn square isn’t necessarily dramatic—but it is clarifying. You start to realize what’s sustainable and what’s performative. You see what drains you, what fulfills you, and what no longer fits. And if you’re lucky, like I’ve been, you do it quietly. No explosions. No crises. Just a gentle unhooking from who you used to be.

For me, that’s looked like:

• Falling in love with slowness
• Letting go of productivity guilt
• Becoming reclusive without shame
• Romanticizing the small stuff (rainy mornings, good soil, fresh sheets, soup on the stove)
• Choosing intentional peace, not performative healing

I thought I’d spend this past year exploring the world, networking, expanding my brand, doing all the “you only live once” stuff people swear by. And to be fair, I did do a few things—rode the city bus for 10-hour stretches just to watch people and write. Visited the library. Took myself to poetry lounges. Went to the beach. Caught a concert. Took a birthday trip to New Orleans with my best friend and my girlfriend.

But mostly? I cocooned.

There’s a Word for That Too: Cocooning

It’s not laziness. It’s not hiding. It’s healing.
It’s a sacred phase where you go inward to rewire, to rest, to get clear. It’s where transformation starts—not with doing more, but with doing less. Cocooning is the space between identities. Between chapters. Between the shedding and the becoming.

And guess what?

This isn’t something to rush. It’s something to reverence.

So if you’ve been feeling disconnected, low energy, uninterested in performing for the world, or like you just want to be in your garden, in your journal, in your softness—there’s probably something cosmic at play. And it might just be Saturn, quietly pulling you toward yourself.

Where I’m At Now

I don’t know what the next phase of my life looks like yet. But I know I want it rooted. Peaceful. Slow. Spacious. Real.
Not curated. Not exhausting. Not overbooked.

I want joy in the ordinary. Connection without compromise. A home I enjoy. Work that fulfills. Love that doesn’t require me to shrink.

So yeah, I’ve been outside this year… kinda.
But really? I’ve been inside—in every possible way.
And it’s been holy.

Reflection Questions for You:

• Are you in a cocooning phase right now?
• What parts of your life are quietly transforming?
• What are you being called to release or realign?

Gratitude Moment:
Today, I’m grateful for quiet revelations. For learning that what felt like retreat was actually renewal. For rain, for roots, and for the rhythm of coming home to myself.