Mercury retro = That text had 6 rewrites. And regrets

Mercury retrograde returns. Everything feels strange. Plans stall. Words miss their mark. Old patterns resurface. Emotions feel louder. People drift in, then out. You notice the tension in silence. Nothing moves the way it should.

You write. Then delete. Then wait. The message shifts each time through. Too soft. Too much. Too late. You read it like a warning. Each draft tries to protect you. Each sentence is a small risk.

They say Mercury distorts communication. During retrograde, meaning feels out of reach. Messages twist. Calls drop. Emotions scatter. You notice what you usually ignore. Small things carry unexpected weight.

Astrology gives shape to uncertainty. It explains what words cannot hold. It says: slow down, reflect now. It comforts your need for reason. You want to believe it matters. You want meaning behind the noise.

Still, relying too much misguides you. It excuses fear, avoids real truth. Not all mistakes come from planets. Not all silence means the stars. Sometimes confusion is just confusion.

But retrograde invites you to revisit. Not to repeat, but to learn. You see familiar emotional terrain again. Past words echo in new spaces. Some wounds reopen without permission. Some truths never left at all.

You hold back. Rewrite again. Then pause. You want to be understood fully. But not exposed. Not left raw. You crave safety inside each line. But honesty rarely works like that.

Mercury doesn’t cause every failure. It shows what was already fragile. It highlights what slips through cracks. The message wasn’t broken—just uncertain. The silence wasn’t new—just louder.

Still, there’s something in this slowness. Something tender in the stopping. You’re being asked to listen deeply. To speak only when it’s true. To trust discomfort as a teacher.

So if you hesitate right now, let it happen. If you rewrite again, allow it. That pause means you’re paying attention. That ache means you still care. And maybe that’s what matters most.