Astrology and Mood: How Celestial Patterns Influence Our Emotions
There was a time when I kept my fascination with astrology separate from my clinical work. Like many in my field, I was trained to see science and soul as separate languages. I didn’t talk much about the moon cycles I tracked religiously or the planetary patterns I noticed echoing through my clients’ emotional lives.
But over time, I began to notice something: people were already living in rhythm with the cosmos. They were asking about timing, alignment, and meaning. I started getting questions like, "Which planet placement focuses on my needs?" because they were trying to understand themselves in a deeper, more symbolic way. Intuitively, they sensed there was more to healing than just labels and protocols.
Eventually, I let astrology take a seat at the table.
Astrology, when approached with respect and nuance, is not a substitute for therapy. It is a symbolic language that reflects the emotional and spiritual cycles we all move through. The Moon may not cause your tears, but it can mirror the quiet swell of feelings you’ve been holding. Saturn won’t create your challenges, but its presence often signals a call to maturity, responsibility, and deep inner growth. These patterns don’t define us—they reveal us.
This blog is my love letter to those of you craving something deeper. To those who feel that therapy can hold both science and soul. And it’s why I believe, without hesitation: astrology belongs in the therapy room.
Why Astrology Belongs in the Therapy Room
Saying “I use astrology in therapy” is still a quick way to get a side-eye at a psychology conference.
There’s a quiet (or sometimes not-so-quiet) assumption in clinical spaces that astrology is unscientific at best and manipulative at worst. I’ve heard the criticisms. I’ve read the papers. I know what gets said behind closed doors. And yet—here I am, a licensed psychologist who also talks about Saturn returns with clients. Not because I think the planets are pulling our puppet strings, but because astrology gives us a language for things that often go unnamed in clinical work: timing, symbolism, soul.
Carl Jung, a pioneer in depth psychology, believed astrology was a way of speaking to the unconscious through archetypes. He saw meaningful coincidence, or what he called synchronicity, between celestial events and psychological states. Not cause and effect, but reflection. Mirror, not mechanism. I’ve found that to be profoundly true in the therapy room. Someone going through a Pluto transit doesn’t need a lecture on defense mechanisms. They need to know they’re not crazy for feeling like their life is crumbling so something new can be born.
And look, we all saw what happened during the pandemic. Everything cracked open. People were isolated, anxious, questioning everything. And in that existential void, astrology came rushing back in. Not in a light-your-sage-and-forget-your-problems kind of way. In a “help me make sense of what the hell is happening” kind of way. According to recent research, interest in astrology spiked dramatically during that time, especially among people who were already experiencing mental health challenges. People turned to their charts, their horoscopes, even to memes—because it gave them something to hold onto when everything else was slipping through their fingers.
And who am I to invalidate that? If someone tells me that Mercury retrograde is messing with their head, I don’t correct them. I ask them what’s feeling out of sync. I ask if they’ve been having communication breakdowns, or tech issues, or feeling mentally scattered. Because maybe astrology is just giving them permission to slow down and pay attention to something they’d otherwise ignore.
Also, in Western psychology has only one worldview. In Vedic traditions, Chinese medicine, Indigenous healing systems—astrology is baked into how people understand their emotions, their health, their timing. If we only validate tools that come from the West, we’re missing out on a whole spectrum of meaning and wisdom.
So yes, astrology belongs in the therapy room. Not as a diagnosis. Not as dogma. But as an intuitive tool that helps us track emotional weather and honor the deeper story behind our symptoms. It helps us ask better questions. And honestly, sometimes it helps people feel seen in a way no intake form ever could.
Which Planets Affect Your Mood?
These five planets show up again and again in conversations around emotional and psychological shifts. Here’s what they’re all about, according to research and tradition.
The Moon
If there’s one celestial body that earns its title as “emotional core,” it’s the Moon. It rules over our instincts, subconscious reactions, and, frankly, all the stuff that bubbles up when we’re not looking. In multiple sources, the Moon is tied to shifting moods, especially during its waxing and waning cycles.
During a new moon, some people feel a sense of reflection or isolation. It’s a quieter emotional tone, but for some, it can veer into loneliness or self-doubt.
As the moon waxes, there tends to be an increase in energy, sometimes anxiety.
The full moon? That’s when everything peaks. People report emotional overload, sleep disruption, mood swings.
And when the moon wanes, the mood drops too. It’s a time of letting go, but it can bring fatigue or low motivation.
The Moon doesn’t cause your emotional chaos, but it might line up with it in a way that helps you understand what’s unfolding.
Mercury
Mercury rules thought processes, clarity, and communication. When it’s direct, you might feel mentally clear, articulate, on top of things. When it goes retrograde, three or four times a year, it’s another story entirely. People report communication mishaps, tech failures, and a general mental fog.
It’s not magic. It’s that you’re probably more scattered, more likely to misread a tone in an email, more prone to overthinking. Mercury retrograde often serves as a mirror for overstimulation and burnout. It’s not telling you to panic. It’s reminding you to slow down.
Venus
Venus deals with love, pleasure, and yes, self-worth. In its retrograde phase, old relational wounds tend to resurface. People rehash breakups, reevaluate friendships, question their value. According to Celestial Code Wisdom, Venus transits often coincide with emotional reevaluation, particularly around intimacy and how we see ourselves in relation to others.
If you suddenly find yourself spiraling about your worthiness in love, check Venus. It may not explain everything, but it can offer a context that helps you get curious instead of self-critical.
Mars
Mars is about action, energy, and anger. It’s your inner fire, and like any fire, it can warm or burn. When Mars is active, some people feel hyper-motivated or driven. When it’s in retrograde or making harsh angles in your chart, you might feel frustrated, short-tempered, or just plain exhausted.
People often describe Mars retrograde as hitting the gas and the brakes at the same time. You want to move forward, but nothing seems to flow. That tension can build into anxiety, burnout, or even physical agitation. It’s a good time to watch your stress levels and maybe not start five new projects at once.
Saturn
Saturn is not gentle. It’s the planet of responsibility, structure, and slow growth through challenge. In therapy, it often correlates with long-haul emotional themes: depression, loneliness, resilience. Your Saturn return (which hits around age 29 and again around 58) is frequently described as an existential audit. According to several studies, people often report increased anxiety, heavy introspection, and major life restructuring during these periods. But Saturn might feel harsh, but it’s also honest. It asks you to grow up without losing your soul.
Cautions Along the Way
Astrology is a powerful tool, which means it can be misused. The same way therapy can become a crutch, astrology can become a trap.
I’ve seen people become dependent on it—checking horoscopes obsessively, stalling on decisions because of transits, blaming their chart for every emotional spiral.
Over-identifying with difficult placements can reinforce helplessness. Some people even fall into what researchers call fortune-telling addiction—a pattern of compulsively seeking reassurance through astrology, often at the expense of developing their own internal compass.
Others use astrology to bypass hard truths. Instead of processing grief, they’ll say, “Well, I’m a Cancer moon, so I’m just emotional.” That’s not healing. That’s outsourcing accountability.
This is why I anchor astrological insight in grounded clinical work—shadow exploration, nervous system regulation, honest emotional inquiry. Astrology can open the door and guide us, but they don’t do the work for us.
