That “How Much Do You Make?” Text—And the Two Sentences I Sent
The TTC Text That Felt Like a Summons
You leave the salary question on read for hours, not to be petty, but because it feels like a tiny court summons in your pocket.
Jordan said that to me on a Tuesday night, voice low on Zoom, like admitting a weird habit. They were 27, Toronto-based, a few years into a real career, and somehow one family text still had the power to yank them back into an old role.
“It happened on Line 1,” they told me. “Heading north. I was standing by the doors with one hand on the pole, and my phone in the other.”
I could picture it: fluorescent lights doing that faint flicker that makes everything look a little too honest; the warm rectangle of a screen that’s been unlocked too long; the clack-and-sway rhythm of the train. And on that screen, a simple line from a parent: How much do you make now?
Jordan’s shoulders had climbed toward their ears just describing it. Their jaw looked set, like they were biting down on a thought.
“I typed the number,” they said, “deleted it. Then I checked my Scotiabank app like… like I needed evidence that my feelings were allowed. Then I put the phone face-down because it felt like it might buzz again.”
The pattern had its own gravity: wanting privacy and autonomy about salary, and at the exact same time fearing that not answering would upset their parents—or make them seem secretive, ungrateful, not a “good adult.”
In my work at a planetarium in Tokyo, I spend my days explaining how orbits look smooth from far away, but up close they’re a constant negotiation of forces: pull, resistance, momentum, correction. Jordan’s story had that same feel—calm on the outside, intense math on the inside.
“I don’t want to lie,” Jordan said. “But I also don’t want to hand them a number they’ll use forever.”
I nodded. “We’re not here to write the perfect text. We’re here to find something you can repeat—something that keeps you in relationship without handing over a data point that doesn’t feel safe.”
“A boundary that fits,” Jordan murmured, almost like trying the words in their mouth.
“Exactly,” I said. “Let’s make a map through the fog—something that leads you to clarity, not more rehearsing.”
Choosing the Compass: A Celtic Cross for Finding Clarity
I asked Jordan to take one slow breath and hold the question in their mind: When my parents ask my salary over text, what boundary fits? Not as a moral dilemma. Not as a courtroom. As a practical problem in a relationship they want to keep.
While they breathed, I shuffled—nothing theatrical, just the steady sound of cardstock and a deliberate pause that gives the nervous system a tiny doorway out of reaction mode.
“Today I’m going to use the Celtic Cross,” I told them. “It’s a classic spread, but it’s especially good for situations like this—where the question isn’t only what should I say, it’s why does this one text hit me so hard.”
For anyone reading along: this is how tarot works in moments like this. We’re not predicting your parents’ next message like it’s weather. We’re separating the layers: the present trigger, the obstacle, the root family script, and the most workable next steps. It’s “card meanings in context,” not vibes in a vacuum.
I pointed to the structure on my table. “The center shows what’s happening in the thread right now. The card crossing it shows what makes a clean boundary feel hard to hold. Below we’ll look at the deeper authority script underneath it all. And on the right side, like a staircase, we’ll climb from your stance to their environment to your hopes and fears—and finally the best integration: a boundary that protects privacy while keeping connection.”
Jordan exhaled. “A staircase sounds better than a spiral.”
Reading the Thread: When One Text Becomes a Whole Story
Position 1 — Present situation: what the salary text is activating right now
“Now flipping over,” I said, “is the card for the present situation—what this salary text activates in your mind and behavior.”
The Page of Swords, upright.
“This is the card of the watchful messenger,” I told Jordan. “It’s not ‘bad.’ It’s alert. Curious. But it can also feel like scrutiny—especially over text.”
I anchored it in the modern scene immediately, because Jordan had already given it to me: “This is you on the TTC, reading tone into punctuation like it’s a Slack message from your manager. It’s the draft/delete loop. It’s your brain running quick simulations: If I write this, they’ll say that. If I say that, I’ll get a lecture.”
Energetically, Page of Swords is Air—mind-speed. In this position, it’s excess Air: too much scanning, too much readiness, like you’re trying to prevent conflict by staying mentally armed.
Jordan gave a short laugh that sounded like it had a bruise under it. “That’s… too accurate. Even a little mean.”
“I know,” I said gently. “But notice what the Page is actually trying to do. It’s trying to keep you safe. The question is: safe from what? Not the text itself—the story you expect to follow it.”
Position 2 — Immediate challenge: what makes a clean boundary feel unsafe
“Now we’re looking at the immediate challenge,” I said. “The part that makes a clean boundary feel hard to hold in the moment.”
Four of Pentacles, reversed.
“This is a money boundary that feels… leaky,” I said. “Like a bag with a broken zipper. You didn’t intend to spill anything, but pressure makes it slide out.”
I used the exact life translation Jordan would recognize: “It’s the moment you type the number like you’re handing over your phone passcode. Then, because it doesn’t feel okay to just give the number, you add a whole paragraph—rent, groceries, taxes, future plans—like a defense brief.”
In reversed form, the Four of Pentacles is not healthy sharing. It’s blockage around control: you can’t hold your privacy steadily, and you can’t release information intentionally. The grip slips or tightens—no middle setting.
I let the split-screen contrast land, because it’s the heart of the pattern:
(A) The moment your thumb hovers over Send with the salary number typed—heart thudding, jaw tight—like you’re paying a fee for peace.
(B) The moment you realize it’s not just curiosity. It’s a family norm that treats your finances like group data.
Jordan’s shoulders dropped almost imperceptibly. A quiet “oh” left their mouth, like air escaping a sealed container.
“I’m not trying to be difficult,” they said, eyes flicking away from the camera. “I’m trying to keep something mine.”
“That sentence is a boundary,” I said. “Even before we write the text.”
Position 3 — Root: the underlying authority script underneath the salary question
“Now we go underneath,” I said, “to the root: the deeper family dynamic this question taps into.”
The Emperor, reversed.
“This is the old authority script waking up,” I told Jordan. “When your parents ask, part of you doesn’t hear curiosity. It hears governance. Like you need to submit proof of responsibility.”
I watched Jordan’s face as I spoke; their mouth tightened, then softened. That tiny change is why I love this work—tarot gives language to something that was previously just a body reaction.
In reversal, the Emperor’s energy can show up as control that doesn’t feel collaborative. In this position, it’s blockage around adult-to-adult relating: the conversation snaps back into a parent-child hierarchy.
“I hate that it makes me feel sixteen,” Jordan said. “Like I’m about to get in trouble.”
I had a brief internal flashback—standing in the planetarium dome, pointing out how moons stay in orbit not because they’re weak, but because gravity is consistent. Family scripts are like that too: not always loud, but reliably pulling you into the same track.
“The Emperor reversed doesn’t mean your parents are villains,” I said. “It means the system has a default setting: care expressed through control. And you’ve been responding like you need permission, not like you’re choosing what you share.”
Position 4 — Recent past: the exchange history that makes money feel loaded
“Now we look left,” I said, “to the recent past: prior patterns of giving, support, or obligation that shape how money questions land.”
Six of Pentacles, upright.
“This card has scales,” I said. “It’s the unspoken ledger: who gives, who owes, who gets a say.”
In modern terms, it’s the memory of tuition help, rent help, emergency help—or even just consistent advice and worry—that makes salary feel like shared property. Energetically, the Six is balance when it’s clean, but it becomes pressure when the scales are used to measure worth.
Jordan’s eyes went a little glassy. “They’ve helped. And I’m grateful. But it doesn’t mean… they get admin access.”
“Exactly,” I said. “Precedent-setting is real. Giving someone admin access once makes it feel like you’re taking something away when you change it. But changing access isn’t betrayal. It’s updating the permissions as your life changes.”
Position 5 — Conscious aim: the value you want your boundary to uphold
“Now we go above,” I said, “to your conscious aim: what value you want to uphold in your reply—fairness, respect, adulthood, privacy.”
Justice, upright.
Jordan’s expression shifted in a way I’ve seen a thousand times: the first glimpse of relief that isn’t emotional fluff, but structure.
“Justice is policy,” I said. “It’s the calendar rule you set—No meetings after 5—so you don’t have to renegotiate your life every day.”
I gave them the triad, clean and modern: “Fairness to you. Respect to them. Clarity for the thread.”
Energetically, Justice here is balance in Air: not spiraling thought, but a steady rule. And I said the line I most wanted Jordan to keep: Make it a policy, not a negotiation.
Jordan nodded—an actual physical click. “If it’s policy, I don’t have to… perform adulthood with receipts.”
“Yes,” I said. “Because you don’t owe the number to keep the peace.”
Position 6 — Near future: the choice point you can’t avoid by delaying
“Now we look to the right,” I said, “to the near future: the immediate choice point, and what direction it sets for the conversation.”
Two of Swords, upright.
“This is the stalemate,” I told Jordan. “The blindfold. The crossed arms. The part of you that thinks if I just don’t move, nothing happens.”
And I used the metaphor from their life: “Keeping the message unsent feels like safety, like a drafts folder you can hide in. But it quietly grows the pressure. You check the thread. You check your bank app. Your body stays braced. Neutrality becomes its own choice.”
Energetically, this is blockage in Air: too much protection, not enough decision. The card doesn’t shame you. It just tells the truth: not responding is still responding—just slower.
Jordan swallowed. “So I need a default. Not a perfect one.”
“That’s the move,” I said. “A boundary you can repeat on a tired Tuesday.”
When the Queen of Swords Took the Phone Back
Position 7 — Self (Key): the version of you who can deliver the boundary cleanly
I let myself slow down before turning this card. The air in the call felt quieter, like both of us knew we were approaching the hinge of the whole reading.
“Now flipping over,” I said, “is the self-position: the version of you who can deliver the boundary well, and the communication style to embody.”
The Queen of Swords, upright.
“This is your boundary voice,” I said. “Clear. Calm. Not pulled off course by guilt.”
Then I gave Jordan the micro-dialogue, because the spread had practically asked for it:
Inner Emperor (old rulebook): “Prove you’re responsible.”
Queen of Swords (adult you): “I’m responsible. I’m not sharing the number.”
At my planetarium, I teach kids that light from a star can travel for years and still arrive clean—because it doesn’t try to carry the entire galaxy in one beam. That’s my Light-Year Communication lens: when there’s a generational gap, you don’t fix it by sending more data. You fix it by sending a signal that can survive the distance.
For Jordan, the “signal” wasn’t the salary. It was: I’m okay. I’m an adult. I’m still close to you. And you don’t get to audit me by text.
Setup: You’re on the TTC home, re-opening the thread for the sixth time. You’ve typed the number, deleted it, checked your banking app, and now your jaw is tight like you’re about to defend a thesis—not answer a text.
Delivery:
Stop treating their text like a demand you must satisfy, and start answering like the Queen of Swords: one clean line of truth, delivered with steady self-respect.
I didn’t rush the silence after that. I let the words sit in the space between us like a settled snowglobe.
Reinforcement: Jordan’s reaction came in layers. First, a tiny freeze—their breath caught, and their eyes went still, like the mind had stopped mid-scroll. Then the cognitive part landed: their gaze unfocused for a second, as if replaying every draft/delete they’d ever done, every paragraph that tried to buy peace with detail. Finally, the emotional release: their shoulders sank, not dramatically, but unmistakably; their jaw unclenched; they let out a shaky exhale that sounded like relief mixed with grief. “But if I do that,” they said, voice tight, “won’t they think I’m shutting them out?”
“Warmth isn’t the same thing as access,” I said. “The Queen holds both: a clear limit and an open hand.”
I leaned in slightly. “Now—use this new lens and look back at last week. Was there a moment, even a small one, when you could’ve answered differently and your body would’ve felt different?”
Jordan blinked hard. “Sunday night,” they said. “I wrote a whole budget paragraph. If I’d had a clean line… I think I would’ve slept.”
“That’s the shift,” I said softly. “From treating a text thread like a courtroom to standing in your own adulthood without needing to pass a financial audit. That’s moving from second-guessing into steadier self-trust.”
Position 8 — Environment: the family money norms you’re pushing against
“Now flipping over,” I said, “is the environment: the parents/family context and expectations surrounding money disclosure.”
Ten of Pentacles, reversed.
“This is legacy—rewritten,” I told Jordan. “A multigenerational script that says ‘family shares everything,’ but it doesn’t match how you want adult privacy to work.”
Energetically, it’s imbalance in Earth: security norms that used to make sense in one era can feel intrusive in another. This isn’t about blaming your parents; it’s about noticing that the system treats money like a proxy for safety and credibility.
I used my other astronomy lens—Galactic Gravity Analysis. “In orbit models,” I said, “the biggest bodies shape the path. Family elders often set the ‘gravity’ of what’s normal to ask. Your work isn’t to destroy gravity. It’s to choose your own stable orbit—close enough for connection, far enough for autonomy.”
Jordan nodded slowly. “So… I’m not crazy for wanting the boundary. I’m just changing the orbit.”
“Exactly.”
Position 9 — Hopes and fears: the argument you’re rehearsing before it happens
“Now flipping over,” I said, “is hopes and fears: what you’re trying to prevent, and what you want to protect.”
Five of Wands, upright.
“This is the inner group chat of competing opinions,” I told them. “You want to stand up for yourself, and you also want to avoid a messy fight.”
Energetically it’s excess friction: imagined debate, pre-emptive defense, bracing for pushback that hasn’t happened yet.
Jordan made a face. “I rehearse it like a negotiation. Like if I anticipate every angle, I’ll be safe.”
“That’s the Page of Swords again,” I said. “But if your text reads like a defense brief, it’s probably too much.”
Position 10 — Integration: the boundary approach that protects privacy and keeps connection
“Now flipping over,” I said, “is integration: the most supportive boundary approach to practice—how to keep the connection while protecting privacy over time.”
Temperance, upright.
Temperance always makes me think of the planetarium’s lighting board—how you can adjust brightness with a slider instead of switching from dark to blinding in one click. “This card is controlled flow,” I said. “A volume knob, not an on/off switch.”
Energetically it’s balance: enough warmth to soothe, enough limit to protect, and enough consistency to teach the system a new normal.
“Your boundary doesn’t have to be dramatic,” I told Jordan. “It has to be repeatable.”
The Two-Sentence Salary Boundary: Actionable Advice You Can Use This Week
I leaned back and let the spread become one coherent story.
“Here’s what I see,” I said. “A parent’s salary text triggers Page of Swords hyper-alertness—your brain treating one message like a performance review. The Four of Pentacles reversed is the leaky boundary: you overshare to keep the peace, then feel watched. Underneath it, Emperor reversed shows the authority script—prove you’re responsible—and the Six of Pentacles shows why it feels loaded: there’s history, support, an invisible ledger. But you’re aiming for Justice: a fair, adult policy. Two of Swords is your choice point: stop hiding in drafts. And the Queen of Swords is the key—clear, warm, definitive—delivered with Temperance so the whole thing doesn’t ignite into Five of Wands conflict.”
“Your cognitive blind spot,” I added, “is believing the only respectful option is giving the number. That’s the old rulebook talking. The direction of transformation is the one you named: shifting from ‘I owe the number to keep the peace’ to ‘I can offer connection and context without giving a specific figure.’”
“Okay,” Jordan said, a little breathless. “So what do I actually text?”
“We make it a policy, not a negotiation,” I said. “And we make it easy to send when you’re activated.”
I also brought in one of my communication frameworks—my Solar Eclipse Mediation strategy—because family money questions can feel like an eclipse: the emotional light gets blocked, and suddenly everything looks like threat. The three steps are simple: pause (let the shadow pass), align (state your policy), reconnect (offer warmth without access). It’s celestial mechanics, but for a text thread.
- Save a “salary boundary” reply (so you don’t spiral)Open iPhone Text Replacement / your Android keyboard shortcuts and create a shortcut like /salary that expands into: “Love you—I’m doing well and staying on top of my budget. I’m not sharing exact numbers, but I’m stable. How’s your week going?”The point is not perfect wording—it’s removing the draft/delete loop when your nervous system is lit up. Copy/paste beats composing under stress.
- Use the Two-Sentence Salary Boundary (Queen of Swords delivery)Next time they text “How much do you make now?”, send: “I’m doing well and I’m staying on top of my budget. I’m not sharing exact numbers, but I’m okay.”Expect the itch to add context. If you feel that urge spike, treat it as your cue to stop at two sentences—save, don’t explain.
- Write your “Justice policy” + your allowed/not-sharing listsIn Notes, write one line: “I don’t share exact numbers over text; I’m happy to share general updates.” Then make two bullet lists: Allowed (budgeting habits, saving goals in general, job satisfaction) and Not sharing (exact salary, account balances).If they push with “Why not?”, repeat once: “It’s just what feels right for me. I promise I’m okay.” Then change the subject—repetition teaches the boundary.
Jordan stared at the screen for a second, then laughed—this time without the bitterness. “That’s… so much shorter than what I write.”
“That’s the point,” I said. “A good boundary is one you can repeat on a tired Tuesday.”
A Week Later: The Quiet Proof
A week later, Jordan messaged me: “I did the Text Replacement thing. They asked again—‘ballpark?’—and I sent the two sentences. My heart still raced, but I didn’t add a paragraph. And nothing exploded.”
They added, “They replied with a thumbs up. Then asked about my weekend. I feel… weirdly proud?”
It wasn’t a movie ending. It was something better: a small, repeatable proof that their adulthood didn’t require a financial confession.
Clear but still a little tender: they said they slept a full night, but when they woke up their first thought was, “What if they think I’m being distant?”—and then, instead of rewriting their life in their head, they read their saved script once and let their shoulders drop.
That’s what a Journey to Clarity often looks like in real life. Not certainty. Ownership. Justice as policy. The Queen of Swords as tone. Temperance as pacing.
When that “What’s your salary?” text hits, it can feel like you’re choosing between being a good kid and being a whole adult—and your body reacts before you even type a word.
If you could answer with connection but without a number, what’s the smallest, cleanest sentence you’d be willing to repeat next time—just to see how it feels in your body?
