Discovering My Pisces Pitfalls
Earlier this year I realized my Pisces traits were drowning me. I’d say “yes” to everyone’s requests then panic when deadlines piled up. Couldn’t decide what to eat for dinner without overthinking how the shrimp might feel about being cooked. Classic zero-degree Pisces mess. One Tuesday I missed three important calls because I was daydreaming about underwater cities while reorganizing my bookshelf by color. Enough was enough.
Implementing the Four Fixes
First I tackled decision paralysis. Grabbed a dollar-store timer and gave myself 90 seconds for every choice. When my barista asked “oat milk or regular?” I nearly cried imagining cows versus oats. But when that beeper went off, I blurted “BOTH” like my life depended on it. Spilled coffee everywhere but it worked.
Next came reality anchoring. Set phone alarms labeled “EARTH CHECK” every two hours. First time it buzzed during yoga class, I fell out of tree pose trying to remember my social security number – totally missed the point. Now I keep a rock in my pocket. When the alarm rings, I squeeze it while naming three things I smell. Yesterday I announced “wet dog, burnt toast, and existential dread” in the grocery line. Got weird looks but kept me grounded.
For boundary building, I practiced saying no to small things first. When my neighbor asked to borrow my hedge trimmers, I whispered “my trimmers… they have social anxiety” and slowly closed the door. His confused face haunted me for days but my tools stayed put. Big win.
Finally, emotional distancing was brutal. Started muting group chats for 4-hour blocks. When Linda sent that viral video of singing cats at 3am, my phone stayed dark. Next morning I found 73 unread messages debating feline talent. Felt like I’d missed a funeral but my stress headaches disappeared.
The Messy Results
Three months in, I still cried during sunscreen commercials and named houseplants after Greek gods. But actual improvements happened: finished projects before deadlines, remembered to pay bills, stopped apologizing to parked cars I almost bumped into. That rock in my pocket? Polished smooth from constant squeezing. My therapist calls it progress. I call it survival.
Would this work for every fish out there? Probably not. But if you’ve ever canceled plans because Mercury was in retrograde and your goldfish looked sad – try squeezing a rock before giving up. It’s cheaper than therapy.
