The Ten of Wands: When Hustle Culture Meets the Winter Solstice
Determination & responsibility in the 10 of Wands from Tarot of the Abyss
Let me tell you a story.
There was once a village nestled in a valley, and high above it stood a mountain where the eternal flame burned. When the village fire grew dim, someone had to make the journey to the mountaintop to bring the fire back down, to carry it carefully, steadily, through wind and cold and steep, treacherous paths.
The village elders would gather and ask: Who should go?
And every time, the answer was the same. There was one person, let's call them the fire-carrier, who had proven themselves reliable, committed, determined. They were not one to take tasks lightly, especially meaningful ones. They understood the gravity of what they carried. They could be trusted with the flame.
So they went. Up the mountain, through the biting wind, their arms aching, their breath thin in the cold air. They retrieved the fire and brought it home, and the village celebrated. The hearths were warm again. Everyone gathered around the flame, grateful.
But here's what happened: the next time the fire grew dim, the elders didn't even gather to ask the question. They simply knocked on the fire-carrier's door. Of course it should be you. You're so good at it. You're the only one we trust.
And the fire-carrier, because they understood the importance of the task, because they had never been one to say no to something that mattered, went again.
And again.
And again.
Until one day, the fire-carrier stood at the base of the mountain, looking up at the peak, and felt something shift inside them. Not resentment, exactly. Not even anger. Just... a question:
When does honor become burden? When does being trusted become being trapped? When does being capable mean I'm the only one who has to climb?
The Ten of Wands asks us to sit with this question. Not because the fire isn't important, it is. Not because we shouldn't be the ones to carry it sometimes, we should. But because at some point, we have to ask ourselves: Is this a fair and equitable burden to place on me, again and again? And what would happen if I taught someone else to make the climb?
The traditional 10 of Wands from the Rider-Waite-Smith
The Astrology: Sagittarius Meets Saturn
There's something almost unfeelingly comical about the Ten of Wands appearing in the middle of December. We find ourselves in the final stretch of the year, preparing for the "most wonderful time," and yet so many of us feel like we're embodying this card perfectly: bent over, arms full, struggling under the weight of ten staffs that we're somehow expected to carry across the finish line. One more work deadline. One more holiday gathering. One more gift to buy. One more thing to check off the list before we can finally rest.
The Ten of Wands isn't just showing up randomly in our collective consciousness right now. This card has an astrological correspondence that makes its December appearance almost too perfect, and a little bit ironic.
The Ten of Wands is assigned to the last decan of Sagittarius, roughly December 12-21, landing us right at the doorstep of the winter solstice. And therein lies a contradiction that I think is worth examining.
The Ten of Wands presides over Sagittarius III, where the fiery, expansive, freedom-seeking energy of Sagittarius meets Saturn, the planet of responsibility, limitation, and structure. If you've ever felt the push-pull of wanting to explore and be free while simultaneously feeling weighed down by obligations, congratulations, you've experienced the essence of this decan 🫣
Sagittarius wants to run wild, to say yes to everything, to chase every horizon. But Saturn shows up like the stern teacher reminding us that every yes comes with a cost, every commitment requires energy, and every arrow we shoot is one we have to retrieve.
The result? We end up carrying all ten wands, hunched over, unable to see where we're going because our arms are so full.
The Modern Dilemma: Capitalism's Favorite Card
If there was ever a card that capitalism loves to exploit, it's the Ten of Wands. Our modern culture glorifies the overworked, celebrates the busy, and equates productivity with worthiness. We wear our exhaustion like a badge of honor. "I'm so busy" has become a status symbol.
And nowhere is this more apparent than in the whirlwind of late December.
The holiday season, which should theoretically be about connection, rest, and reflection, has morphed into a frenzied marathon of consumption and obligation. We carry the weight of buying the perfect gifts, attending every gathering, meeting year-end work deadlines, cooking elaborate meals, decorating our homes, maintaining the appearance that we have it all together, carrying the emotional labor of making magic happen for everyone else, managing complicated family dynamics, and fulfilling the expectations we've inherited about what this season "should" look like.
And the wildest part of all: many of these wands aren't even ours to carry.
We've picked up responsibilities that belong to others, expectations that were handed to us by a culture that profits from our exhaustion, obligations that we never consciously agreed to. We're carrying the weight of capitalism's insistence that rest is laziness, that stillness is unproductive, that we must always be doing.
After the whirlwind of 2025, is it any wonder so many of us are feeling the energetic exhaustion that this card depicts?
The Stillness We're Denying Ourselves
A Rocky Mountain Elk weighed down by the burden of their own antlers in The Pacific Northwest Tarot
The Ten of Wands appears at the exact time of year when we are cosmically, spiritually, and biologically meant to be doing the opposite of what this card depicts.
The winter solstice, which falls right at the end of this card's reign, is the longest night of the year. It's the moment when darkness reaches its peak before slowly giving way to returning light. And traditionally, historically, ancestrally, this was a time of profound rest.
Our ancestors weren't out shopping for the perfect hostess gift or stress-baking cookies at midnight. They were huddled by fires, telling stories, sleeping more, doing less. They understood what the natural world was teaching them: that winter is for hibernation, for going within, for conserving energy, for stillness.
The earth itself is resting right now. Trees have dropped their leaves. Animals are in their dens. Seeds are dormant underground, gathering strength for spring. Everything in nature is whispering the same message: slow down, go inward, rest.
But we? We're carrying ten wands through a snowstorm, wondering why we feel so depleted.
The opposition between what the Ten of Wands represents and what the winter solstice invites us into is stark. One is about burden, exhaustion, pushing through. The other is about release, restoration, and surrender.
When this card shows up for us, it's not just describing our state. It's asking us a question: Why are you carrying all of this? And more importantly, what would happen if you put some of it down?
The Inventory: Laying Out Your Wands
So here's where the work comes in, not the kind of work that capitalism will reward you for, but rather the kind that your soul will rejoice in.
I invite you to take an inventory of your wands: your energy expenditures, your obligations, your commitments. Write them down. Lay them out. Everything that you’re carrying.
Work deadlines. Social obligations. Holiday preparations. Family expectations. Self-imposed standards. The mental load of managing everyone else's needs. The emotional labor of keeping the peace. The pressure of appearing joyful when you're running on fumes.
Write it out on paper.
And then, start asking yourself some questions about each wand:
Is this actually mine to carry?
Did I choose this, or was it handed to me?
Am I doing this out of love, or out of obligation?
What am I afraid will happen if I put this down?
Is this wand serving my highest good, or is it just exhausting me?
Not all wands need to be discarded. Some responsibilities are genuinely ours, genuinely important, genuinely life-giving even when they're heavy.
The Return to Center
When we lay out our wands and really examine them, something magical happens. We start to see clearly again. To remember what matters and begin to come back to center.
And from that centered place, we might begin to ask ourselves a revolutionary question: What if I aligned myself with what this season is actually meant to be about?
What if, instead of pushing through the exhaustion, we honored the invitation to slow down? What if we said no to obligations that drain us and yes to stillness that restores us? What if we gave ourselves permission to do what our ancestors did many years ago, to wind down, to rest and turn inward?
This doesn't mean abandoning all responsibility. It means being intentional about what we carry. It means recognizing that rest is not only productive, it's a necessity. It means understanding that sometimes the most radical thing we can do is nothing at all.
The winter solstice is reminding us that there is wisdom in the dark, in the quiet and the pause. It's asking us to trust that we don't have to earn our worthiness through exhaustion. That we are allowed to rest, even when the world tells us to keep pushing. That stillness is not emptiness, it's the fertile ground from which new life emerges.
The Gift of Release (And the Grace of What We Can't Put Down)
Exhaustion in the 10 of Wands as illustrated in the Yuletide Tarot
If the Ten of Wands has been showing up for you lately, consider it an invitation rather than a condemnation. It's not here to shame you for being overwhelmed. It's here to show you that you're carrying a lot, and to offer you the gift of awareness about what might be possible to release.
But let's be real for a moment: I know that not everyone has the privilege or ability to just put things down. Some are single parents or caregivers who don't have the option to skip responsibilities. Some are caring for aging parents or sick family members, and those wands aren't negotiable, they're acts of love and necessity. Some are working multiple jobs just to keep the lights on. Some are dealing with chronic illness, and the energy it takes just to get through the day is already more than most people realize.
I see you. And this message isn't meant to add another layer of guilt to an already heavy load.
This card is offering you the gift of awareness. Because you can't change what you can't see. And once you see how much you're carrying, once you examine each wand with honest eyes, you might find that there's even one small thing, one tiny seemingly trivial thing, that you can release.
Maybe you can't skip the family dinner, but you can buy the cookies instead of baking them from scratch.
Maybe you can't take a day off work, but you can say no to that one extra assignment.
Maybe you can't delegate the caregiving, but you can let the laundry pile up for another day without judging yourself for it.
Maybe you can't control your schedule, but you can stop returning texts immediately and give yourself permission to respond when you have the energy.
Maybe you can't put down the heavy wands, but you can stop carrying the imaginary ones, the ones made of guilt, perfectionism, and other people's judgments.
The practice here isn't about achieving some Instagram-worthy version of self-care or perfectly aligned winter solstice stillness. It's about finding the smallest, most manageable way to give yourself a breath. Even if that breath is just five minutes in your car before you walk into the house. Even if it's saying "I can't" instead of "I'm so sorry, but I can't, because..." Even if it's letting yourself cry in the shower because at least there, no one needs anything from you.
If you can only put down one wand, put down one wand.
If that wand is as small as "I don't have to make my bed today," then let that be enough.
If all you can do is acknowledge how much you're carrying without being able to change it yet, then let that acknowledgment be a form of self-compassion rather than another source of pressure.
Some seasons of life are just heavy. Some wands are ours to carry, not because we chose poorly, but because we're doing what needs to be done, because we're surviving in systems that weren't designed to support us.
And if you're in one of those seasons right now, the Ten of Wands isn't asking you to perform some magical feat of release. It's simply witnessing you. It's saying: "I know this is hard. I know you're tired and I know you're doing the best you can."
The invitation to align with the winter solstice: to rest, to go within, to wind down, can look a million different ways. For some, it might be a full day of stillness. For others, it might be three deep breaths before getting out of bed. Both are valid. Both are sacred.
You can honor rest even when you can't fully access it by acknowledging that you deserve it. You can honor stillness even in the midst of chaos by finding it in micro-moments. You can honor the ancient rhythm of winter even when modern life demands you keep summer's pace by simply naming the dissonance and giving yourself grace.
And maybe, by examining our wands with honest and compassionate eyes, without judgment, without shame, without the pressure to perform some perfect release, we give ourselves the greatest gift of all: the permission to be exactly where we are, carrying exactly what we're carrying, and knowing that we're still worthy of rest, of peace, of gentleness.
Even if we can only put down the smallest wand. Even if we can't put down anything at all right now. Even if the only thing we can release is the expectation that we should be able to do this perfectly.
Here's to putting down what you can, no matter how small. Here's to honoring what you must carry with compassion rather than resentment. Here's to remembering that rest is not just a luxury, it's a birthright, even when life circumstances make it hard to claim.
What wands are you ready to put down? I'd love to hear what you're releasing this season. Drop a comment or send me a message ❣️