An Honest Take
I’m still trying not to believe in astrology. I know a Poisson distribution when I see one (a statistical model for rare events, collisions, coincidences that shouldn’t happen but do).
I was born in Reykjavík, Iceland, May 7th, 1982, at 9:14 AM—my celestial fingerprint quietly marked by patterns I cannot dismiss outright.
I live between worlds, having explored layers upon layers of the human condition. They contradict, and they complement.
I’ve written this piece using every tool at my disposal, including AI and my own custom suite of tools—software I developed specifically while writing this book.
My AI journey began at the University of Iceland in 2005, studying neural networks. My mind was shaped by the push and pull of patterns and disruptive insight. I understood bias—not just in machine learning, but as fundamental to being human. When training models, if you don’t reset and reflect, you reinforce the distortions you’re trying to understand.
This isn’t just true in code. It’s true in life.
I first used AI tooling professionally at a leading fintech company—writing technical leadership texts, refining narratives. Little did I know this practice would become a foundation for developing analytical approaches in writing this book. AI tools became instruments for pattern recognition and structural analysis, supporting the iterative process while the core insights emerged from lived experience and embodied wisdom. The technology served as scaffolding for organizing and refining ideas—never as the source of truth, but as a tool for clarifying what already existed within.
Understanding bias from my machine learning background, I’ve worked to ensure this content remains rooted in authentic experience rather than algorithmic generation—keeping it grounded in the soil of lived truth rather than the abstractions of artificial intelligence.
But what brought me to write this?
For years, I’d pushed beyond capacity. Medicated—by prescription, and by my own coping.
Post-COVID heart issues in 2022. Surgeries—abdominal to cardiac catheterization. My health collapsed quietly yet profoundly as Uranus moved into alignment with my natal Sun and Chiron. Yet I remain strong. Resilient.
October 2023 brought a high-stakes promotion process. I got the raise—but complete breakdown followed in February 2024, leaving me unable to function. Diagnosed with severe burnout just as Saturn crossed my Midheaven—the astrological point representing one’s public role and career—this transit symbolically forced me to confront hidden limitations and the unsustainable demands I had placed on myself. I never returned, despite having had a very positive career there.
Already struggling with ADHD, I had been prescribed Elvanse months earlier—in October 2023, while still recovering from surgeries. What was meant to help became the final thread that snapped. Instead of supporting my focus, it pushed me into undiagnosed shimmering psychosis in March 2024. This terrifying climax occurred as Neptune squared my natal Mercury—symbolically dissolving boundaries around my rational faculties—and Saturn squared my natal Uranus, cracking open the last of my internal scaffolding.
Events around my older son’s March 2024 confirmation unfolded rapidly. Sleep deprivation and lack of support deepened my burnout into a crucible from which escape seemed impossible. During this time, I made mistakes. I hurt people, whatever my intentions. I carried regret and suffered wounds—some fresh, others scarred deeply from the past.
I started to travel, because the pain of being in my country was unbearable. I met many beautiful souls and deepened my spiritual journey, raw in sobriety, diffusing my pain while learning to break old patterns. I glimpsed heaven in Portugal—a beautiful retreat center close to Ericeira and further north by a lake surrounded by burning forests, where I practiced Lomi Lomi. In the south, I shared the joy of Irish voices singing songs in the crowded streets of Albufeira. Austria and Mallorca each played their part in weaving new connections.
The writing began in December 2024, during a slow and deliberate process of healing—finding my way back after years of burnout, self-abandonment, self-medication, and blurred boundaries. I’d trained in ISTA, completed Black Butterfly, and other neo-mystical immersions marketed to lost souls in a fragmenting “globalized” world. But I needed something integrated—real and true to myself, my roots, and my knowledge. So I began. My motivation was practical. I needed a coherent, ethical framework before co-creating with others, especially in retreats and facilitation.
But the real work was still to come.
From Austria to Mallorca, each new place helped anchor my fragile steps forward. But Tenerife was different—it carried echoes from my past that demanded deeper introspection. In January 2025, I met a connection on that island heavy with my own history. Past and present collapsed into each other as I remembered other relationships I’d had there: one I had once healed with, and was now learning to heal from. The recursive nature of return—to places, to patterns, to people—became part of my understanding.
I built the book as I built myself—through reading, rewriting, looping ideas through AI tools, writing my own code to support the process, reflecting, iterating, recursing. Saturn’s approach to squaring my natal Mercury in early 2025 demanded intellectual rigor, even amid healing.
Slowly, as the spiral deepened, writing became salvation. Isolation, though brutal, created space to hear the Dragon within—an archetypal echo from Pluto’s depths, representing transformative power born from destruction and rebirth.
Something had shifted. The book was no longer just about creating frameworks for facilitation—it had become something deeper, more essential. Grounded in all versions of myself, it grew beyond my initial motivations into something that demanded to be shared: a light born from shadows, not just for my own healing, but as a beacon for others walking similar paths. The healing reached deep, way beyond recent wounds to patterns rooted in childhood—cycles of breaking that had repeated again and again.
So I kept going. I kept writing. By March 2025—three months in, and a year after my breaking—the words were flowing despite everything. In this process of rebuilding, I slowly let go of medication that had both helped and created immense suffering. I learned that burning anger builds boundaries, but it also burns bridges—a lesson carved deep through months of careful unwinding. I learned that empathy exists for a broken heart, but not a shattered mind—people don’t understand that when the brain malfunctions, the “you” is not you.
From this intense personal unraveling, I learned deeper truths: Language is bias. Meaning is bias. Perspective is bias. Yet, held with awareness—not as absolutes—they become windows into deeper understanding.
From the ashes of collapse, I chose to speak. Not as an authority, but as someone who walked through fire—shattered and ashamed —and returned, once more, carrying a mirror.
I am still healing. Messy. Fallible. Human—and ever Chiron’s student, learning through woundedness toward wisdom.
This book has in many ways been written more through me than by me. Yet, undeniably, I am the thread that wove it together.
Perhaps, in the language of the stars, I was indeed born for this—a subtle whisper from my Taurean Sun conjunct Chiron: my own life reflecting the archetypal pattern of the wounded healer who guides others from the heart of personal pain.
If God does not play dice, this was fated. If we are nothing but wishes at the mercy of randomness, I have been squeezed by distributions on a field of probabilities to produce something rare.
It’s July 2025 now, and the book is out—soft-launched but still evolving. Like any living work, it will remain in development, incorporating feedback from readers in an interconnected loop between author, content, and community. Just as proper software develops through iterative cycles of release and refinement.