The Two-Sentence DM I Saved: From Silent Untagging to Clarity
The 8:06 a.m. Tag Notification, and the Heat-in-the-Face Spiral
You laugh in the group chat like it’s fine, then privately untag yourself and check back later to see if you got re-tagged—like you’re running a tiny reputational audit.
Taylor said that to me with a half-smile that didn’t reach her eyes, and I could almost feel the shape of the moment in my own body: the micro-jolt of seeing your name attached to something you didn’t choose.
She’s 27, London, early-career marketing—client-facing enough that “who might look me up” is always humming in the background. When she arrived, she still had that Monday-morning posture: shoulders slightly braced, like her body was waiting for a notification to tell it what to be embarrassed about.
“It’s so stupid,” she said, sinking into the chair opposite me. “I’m not trying to be a diva. I just don’t want that photo on my name.”
I asked her to take me into the exact scene, not the summary. And she did.
8:06 a.m. in her London flat: still under the duvet, phone screen too bright, air cold enough to make your toes curl. The phone is warm in your palm. Instagram flashes: You were tagged. Her face goes hot. Her stomach tightens like she’s about to be told off. She taps through the whole carousel, scanning for hazards, untags herself, then lies there listening to her flatmate’s kettle click on—trying to look “chill” even though her shoulders are locked up around her ears.
“And then,” she added, almost annoyed at herself, “I check again on the Tube. Like… just to see if I’m re-tagged. It’s like I can’t leave it alone.”
The embarrassment she described wasn’t abstract. It was physical—like being caught in a spotlight you didn’t consent to, with your skin prickling while you pretend you’re fine.
“I get it,” I told her, keeping my voice gentle and clean. “You want to be easygoing and liked. And you also want your name treated with basic respect. Those two wants can tug against each other hard.”
I paused, then made our shared goal explicit—because clarity starts there. “Let’s make a map of this. Not to judge you, not to villainize your friends—just to get you out of the loop and into a boundary that actually holds.”
Choosing the Compass: Celtic Cross · Context Edition
I’m a Paris-trained perfumer by background, and one thing scent taught me early is this: when the air is messy, you don’t fix it by holding your breath. You change the conditions. Tarot works the same way in my practice—it’s a way to name the conditions of a situation, so your next move isn’t powered by panic.
I had Taylor take one slow breath with me—not as a performance, just as a nervous-system handbrake. Then I shuffled while she held the question in plain language: “They keep tagging me in bad photos—how do I set a boundary without making it weird?”
“Today we’ll use the Celtic Cross · Context Edition,” I said. “It’s ideal when the issue has an internal-to-external chain: your immediate freeze response, the group vibe that pressures you, the deeper fear underneath—and then the exact communication opening that changes the pattern.”
For you reading this, that’s why this spread is so practical for an Instagram boundary. It doesn’t just say ‘be confident.’ It shows where you stall, why you stall, and what will actually move the situation forward with the least drama.
I also flagged three positions so Taylor wouldn’t feel lost in symbolism: “The first card is the first ten seconds after you see the tag. The card above the center shows what ‘fair’ would actually look like as a rule you can stand behind. And the outcome here isn’t fate—it’s the healthiest boundary style you can repeat.”
Reading the Map: How the Cards Describe a Boundary Loop
Position 1 — Presenting situation: the concrete moment you get tagged and how you typically respond in the first 10 seconds
“Now flipping,” I said, “is the card that represents your presenting situation—the first ten seconds after you see the tag and what you do automatically.”
Two of Swords, upright.
In modern life, this card looks like: You see the tag notification while you’re still in bed. Your face gets hot, your shoulders tense, and you do the silent fix: tap the post, scan every photo, untag yourself, then pretend nothing happened in the group chat. You keep the peace externally while your brain keeps working overtime internally.
Two of Swords is Air energy in a stalemate—protection through non-decision. Not “I don’t care,” but “I care so much I can’t move.” Upright, it’s balanced on the outside and braced on the inside. The blindfold isn’t ignorance; it’s a coping strategy: if I don’t name it, I don’t have to feel the awkwardness.
Taylor gave a tight little laugh, the kind that’s half a joke and half a flinch. Then she exhaled long, like she’d been holding air in her chest without realizing it. “That’s… actually brutal,” she said, still smiling. “Like, yeah. That is exactly what I do.”
I nodded. “And I’m not saying it to be cruel. I’m saying it because you deserve to stop spending your mornings doing damage control before coffee.”
Position 2 — Immediate challenge: the social dynamic that makes the boundary feel ‘hard to say’ (group vibe, teasing, norms)
“Now flipping is the card for your immediate challenge—the group dynamic that crosses your boundary and makes speaking feel risky.”
Five of Wands, upright.
Here’s the modern translation: It’s not just one person—it’s a whole group vibe. A Sunday photo dump hits the chat, everyone’s bantering in the comments, and you feel outnumbered by ‘it’s not that deep.’ You can already hear the jokes if you say anything, so you go quiet and hope it passes.
Five of Wands is Fire as friction—multiple energies competing, no clear leader, and the loudest norm wins by default. In a teasing, anything-goes friend group, boundaries can feel like you’re “changing the rules” for everyone. But this card’s lesson is precision: your boundary lands better when it’s specific and calm, not a lecture about the whole culture.
I watched Taylor’s fingers twist the ring on her hand. “It’s like,” she said, searching for the right words, “if I’m the only one who cares, it makes me feel… embarrassing. Like I’m not built for the vibe.”
“That’s the Five of Wands pressure,” I said. “Not that you’re wrong—just that it’s loud.”
Position 3 — Root cause: the deeper fear about being seen, judged, or excluded that keeps the pattern going
“Now flipping is the card for your root cause—the deeper fear underneath the tag itself.”
The Moon, upright.
In real life, The Moon looks like: 11:47 p.m., brightness turned down, rereading the caption and checking who liked it. Your brain casts an audience—coworkers, an ex, a stranger—and your body reacts like it’s already public humiliation even though you can’t actually know who noticed.
The Moon is uncertainty that invites projection. It’s not “you’re being irrational.” It’s: the data is incomplete, so your mind fills the gap with worst-case PR. This is the moment social media becomes a projection screen for self-image fears.
I kept it practical. “The move here is separating fact from story,” I said. “Fact: you were tagged. Story: ‘Everyone will judge me and I’ll lose belonging if I ask for respect.’”
Taylor’s gaze flicked down, then up again—like she could feel how quickly her brain sprinted ahead of reality. “Yeah,” she admitted. “It’s like… I can’t prove it’s a problem, so I act like it’s not.”
“Exactly,” I said. “The Moon doesn’t ask you to prove your discomfort in court. It asks you to notice what fear is writing for you.”
Position 4 — Recent past: the friendship context and shared-photo culture that set the stage for the current tension
“Now flipping is the card for your recent past—the friendship warmth you’re protecting, and the photo culture that made this emotionally loaded.”
Three of Cups, upright.
Modern life scenario: Saturday turns into Shoreditch at 1:27 a.m., someone shouts ‘group pic!’ and you actually love the messy joy of it. The tags and carousels are how you all stay connected. You don’t want to reject the friendship—you just want consent inside it.
Three of Cups is genuine connection. This matters, ethically, because it keeps the reading honest: your friends aren’t “enemies.” This is about updating the rules inside a relationship you value.
Taylor softened at this card, almost relieved. “I do love them,” she said quickly, like she needed me to know. “It’s not like they’re trying to ruin my life.”
“I believe you,” I said. “And a boundary can be a way of staying close without shrinking.”
When Justice Spoke: Tagging as Shared-Space Consent
Position 5 — Conscious aim: what ‘fair’ and ‘respectful’ would actually look like as a boundary rule you can stand behind
“This next card,” I said, and I slowed down on purpose, “is your conscious aim. What you’re actually asking for, underneath the ‘please don’t make it weird.’ This is the core pivot.”
Justice, upright.
Modern translation, in plain terms: This is the moment you stop trying to be chill and start treating tagging like a consent issue: ‘Please ask me before you tag me in photos.’
Justice is not an argument; it’s a standard. It’s the scales—fairness in shared space—and the sword—clean, accountable follow-through.
And this is where my own diagnostic lens clicked in. I use something I call Social Pattern Analysis: I look for the hidden interaction barrier that keeps a situation repeating. In Taylor’s case, the barrier wasn’t “her friends are mean.” It was a pattern: public pleasantness + private correction. That pattern teaches the group, unintentionally, that nothing needs to change.
I let her sit with that for a beat. The room felt quieter, like the sound had been turned down.
Then I delivered the key insight exactly as it came through:
Stop treating your comfort like something to negotiate, and start treating your tag as a consent issue—Justice holds the scales steady and the sword upright.
Taylor’s reaction came in three waves.
First, a physiological freeze: her breath caught, just for a second, and her hands paused mid-fidget—fingers hovering like they’d forgotten what object they were meant to hold.
Second, cognitive seep-in: her eyes went slightly unfocused, like she was replaying every moment she’d typed “lol it’s fine” while feeling her stomach drop. You could see the mental file folders opening.
Third, emotional release: her shoulders lowered in a slow unclench, and she let out a shaky exhale that sounded half like relief and half like grief. “Oh,” she said quietly. “That’s why I feel so… gross afterward. Because I’m acting like I need permission to want basic respect.”
I nodded, keeping my tone warm but steady. “And here’s the thing: a boundary doesn’t need a courtroom-level justification. It needs a clear standard—and the quiet confidence to follow through.”
Then I anchored it into action, immediately, while the insight was still alive.
“In the next ten minutes,” I told her, “open Notes and write your ‘Justice sentence’ in two versions: 1) Soft: ‘Hey—quick one. Could you check with me before tagging me in photos? I’m trying to keep my online presence more intentional.’ 2) Firm: ‘Please don’t tag me in photos unless I’ve okayed it first.’ Then pick one follow-through you’re comfortable with: (a) untag immediately when it happens, or (b) DM once and ask them to remove the tag.”
Her face tightened for a moment—the old reflex.
And here was the unexpected reaction: not instant relief, but a flash of resistance. “But if I do that,” she said, sharper than before, “doesn’t it mean I’ve been letting them do this to me? Like I’ve been… wrong?”
I didn’t rush to soothe her out of it. “It means you were adapting,” I said. “You picked the strategy that helped you keep connection. That’s not ‘wrong.’ Justice just says: the cost is too high now. And you’re allowed to update the terms.”
I leaned in slightly. “Now, with this new perspective, think back to last week. Was there a moment where this would’ve changed how you felt in your body?”
Taylor blinked, and then she gave a small nod. “Sunday,” she said. “I saw the tag, and I literally held my breath while I scrolled. If I’d had a rule… I wouldn’t have been bargaining with myself.”
That was the shift right there—from embarrassed freeze toward grounded self-respect. Not perfect certainty. A first step into clarity.
Position 6 — Near future: the most realistic next opening to communicate and change the pattern (a message, a conversation, a script)
“Now flipping is your near future—the most realistic opening to speak.”
Page of Swords, upright.
Modern translation: Your thumbs hover over a DM. The phone is warm. The cursor blinks like a metronome. You send one short message instead of rewriting it for an hour: ‘Hey, could you not tag me in photos unless I ok it first?’
The Page is brave-and-nervous energy. It’s not a TED Talk. It’s a first sentence. Upright, it’s Air that finally moves: communication over rumination.
I said it plainly because she needed permission to be imperfect. “It can be a little awkward and still work,” I told her. “Early and simple beats late and emotional.”
Taylor swallowed, then gave a tiny nod—the kind you do when you’re scared but willing. “I can do a DM,” she said. “One-on-one feels… less like announcing I’m the fun police.”
Position 7 — Self-position: your internal stance and self-trust level when you imagine saying the boundary out loud
“Now flipping is your self-position—what happens to your confidence when you imagine sending the message.”
Strength, reversed.
Modern translation: You type the boundary, then add ten disclaimers—‘lol sorry,’ ‘I’m being annoying,’ ‘I’m just in my head’—until the message disappears under its own apology. You delete it, and tell yourself you’ll handle it next time.
Reversed Strength is courage turned inward. You can manage your feelings privately, but you hesitate to take up space publicly. The energy isn’t a lack of strength—it’s strength being spent on self-silencing.
I kept my voice kind, not dramatic. “This is where you practice ‘soft but firm,’” I said. “One calm sentence. No over-explaining. The lion doesn’t need you to wrestle it; it needs you to keep your hands steady.”
Taylor’s shoulders lifted like a reflex, then dropped. “I literally write messages like they’re legal documents,” she said, almost laughing at herself.
“That’s your nervous system trying to buy certainty,” I replied. “But a boundary isn’t a perfect argument. It’s a standard you can repeat.”
Position 8 — Environment: the public visibility factor of social media and the friend-group norm around sharing and tagging
“Now flipping is the environment—the spotlight factor.”
The Sun, upright.
Modern translation: This isn’t just between friends. It becomes attached to your name and searchable. It’s bright, public, and fast—like being put on display without approving the framing.
The Sun is exposure. And in this spread it speaks directly to a truth I wanted Taylor to hear without shame: you can’t solve a visibility problem with invisibility strategies.
Untagging silently is an invisibility strategy. It reduces discomfort for the moment—but it doesn’t change the rule that keeps creating the discomfort.
Taylor looked at the card and made a face that was half recognition, half annoyance. “It’s like my brain thinks it’s a meeting room vibe check,” she said. “Even if no one cares.”
“Right,” I said. “And you don’t need to prove that they care. You get to care because it’s your name.”
Position 9 — Hopes and fears: the private mental loop about being judged or losing connection if you speak up
“Now flipping is hopes and fears—what happens at 1 a.m. when you’re alone with your phone.”
Nine of Swords, upright.
Modern translation: 1:13 a.m. becomes a checklist: reread caption, check likes, check story views, zoom into your face, imagine coworkers/exes, refresh, refresh, refresh. You’re hoping to feel safe and unbothered, but your mind tries to achieve safety by rehearsing worst-case reactions.
Nine of Swords is Air in excess—thinking so hard it turns into self-punishment. I didn’t pathologize it; I made it interruptible.
“When this starts,” I told her, “ask one grounding question: ‘What’s the evidence that a respectful boundary ends the friendship—versus simply updates the rules?’”
Taylor pressed her lips together, then nodded once, firm. “There isn’t evidence,” she said. “It just… feels true.”
“That’s The Moon feeding the Nine of Swords,” I said softly. “And Justice cuts through it with something cleaner.”
Position 10 — Integration outcome: the healthiest boundary style to embody and repeat (guidance, not prediction)
“Last card,” I said. “This is your integration—what it looks like when you embody the boundary style that actually changes the pattern.”
Queen of Swords, upright.
Modern translation: This is the one-line policy you can paste without reinventing it every time. You say, ‘Please don’t tag me unless I approve it,’ and the next time it happens, you calmly repeat it—without apologizing.
The Queen doesn’t escalate; she clarifies. She’s calm tone, clear rule, no emotional-labour paragraph. She’s also the antidote to “I have to make it cool enough.”
I gave Taylor a phrase to keep in her pocket: “Repeat, don’t explain.”
She breathed out, and this time it sounded like space opening up. “That feels… adult,” she said. “Like I’m not begging. I’m just stating.”
The One-Page ‘Justice Sheet’: Scripts, Follow-Through, and a Scent Anchor
I pulled the whole spread together for her in one narrative—because this is how tarot becomes actionable advice, not just a pretty mirror.
“Here’s the story the cards are telling,” I said. “You get tagged (Two of Swords) and you freeze, because your group has a teasing norm where the loudest vibe wins (Five of Wands). Under that, your brain projects an audience and turns one photo into a whole identity verdict (The Moon). You actually love your friends and the shared-photo culture (Three of Cups), which is why you’ve been trying to solve it quietly. But your conscious aim is simple fairness—consent and respect around your name (Justice). The next opening is a short DM (Page of Swords). Your self-trust gets shaky and wants to over-apologize (Strength reversed), especially because social media is bright and public (The Sun). The fear is the late-night reputation audit (Nine of Swords). The resolution is Queen of Swords: one clean sentence, repeated, with consistent follow-through.”
“Your cognitive blind spot,” I added gently, “is thinking the boundary needs to be ‘earned’ with the perfect reason. It doesn’t. Your transformation direction is exactly this: shift from managing discomfort privately to making a clear, respectful request with a specific boundary and a follow-through step.”
Then I gave her a compact set of next steps she could actually do between Pret and the Central line.
- Write Your Two-Sentence Boundary DMIn Notes (or Notion if that’s your thing), save one script you can paste: “Hey—quick one. Could you check with me before tagging me in photos? I’m trying to keep my online presence more intentional.”If you start adding disclaimers, stop after the first reason. Your goal is clarity, not persuasion.
- Choose One Consent-First Tag RulePick a rule that’s easy to repeat: (A) “Ask before tagging,” or (B) “Don’t tag unflattering photos.” Decide which one you’ll use with everyone.Keep it consistent. Consistency is kinder than mixed signals—especially in a group chat.
- Decide Your Follow-Through (No Announcement Needed)Choose one action for next time: “If I’m tagged without asking, I’ll untag myself straight away,” or DM once: “Would you mind removing the tag from that one? Appreciate it.”If your chest tightens, do it in two stages: phone face-down, 3 slow breaths, then follow through when you’re steady.
And because my work lives at the intersection of sensory psychology and practical boundaries, I added one optional support tool that fits Taylor’s reality.
“If sending the DM makes you shake,” I said, “use a scent anchor the way you’d use a playlist before a hard meeting. One spray of something woody—cedar, vetiver—on your wrist. Not to ‘perform confidence,’ but to give your nervous system a consistent cue: I’m safe enough to be clear. Think of it as professional presence enhancement with woody accords.”
“And for the spiral after a tag,” I continued, “a quick cleansing citrus—bergamot, grapefruit—can help you reset the mental loop. It’s not magic; it’s a sensory interrupt. Social energy renewal with cleansing citrus sprays.”
Taylor laughed, this time without bitterness. “So I’m literally… setting my boundary and my sillage,” she said.
I smiled. “Exactly. First impression calibration through sillage control. Your online presence shouldn’t spill farther than you consent to—emotionally or digitally.”
A Week Later: The Quiet Proof (and the Bittersweet Aftertaste)
Six days later, Taylor messaged me. Not a paragraph—just a screenshot of a DM she’d sent.
“Hey! Could you not tag me unless I ok it first? Thank you.”
Under it, she wrote: “It was awkward for literally 12 seconds. She said ‘oh my god of course,’ and that was it.”
The change wasn’t that the internet became kind. The change was that Taylor stopped treating her comfort like a group vote.
She also admitted something that made me trust the transformation even more because it was honest: “I slept through the night for the first time in ages,” she wrote, “but I still woke up and thought, ‘what if I’m being dramatic?’ And then I was like… no. And I made coffee.”
That’s the Journey to Clarity in real life. Not a personality transplant. A small loosening. A new default.
Because when you want to protect your image and still belong, it can feel like you’re holding your breath—staying ‘chill’ out loud while your body goes tense the moment your name gets attached to something you didn’t choose.
If you treated tagging like shared-space consent instead of a popularity test, what’s the one clean sentence you’d want to be able to repeat—without apologizing for it?
