A scorpio moon in astrology is certainly a challenging placement mentally and emotionally. The moon represents our mind, our connection to the motherly/feminine energy, and how we feel nurtured and reflect the same to the external world. Ideally, Cancer, Taurus and Pisces moons are the best placements because somehow they are able to find the warmth and emotional comfort in their home, or with one person or the other. They are able to express their emotions easily, and do not necessarily face the constant lessons of abandonment, emotional rejection, betrayal, suffering, etc. Scorpio is a heavily karmic sign, focused on burning through the inner weaves of all the heaviness and grief to gain emotional mastery!

I feel life in intense currents- when something impacts me, it tries to consume me and lingers for a long time. My emotions don’t whisper- they roar and sometimes try to devour me.
Maybe, it sounds dramatic, but for a Scorpio moon, this expression sounds normal. 
Now imagine growing up constantly hearing that you are “too much” — that even a fragment of your storm is excessive. You learn to swallow your whirlwinds whole. You are made to feel ashamed for naming what you feel. And so, the Scorpio Moon retreats, realizing it is safer to lock the depths away, because no one truly knows how to hold them.

When someone lands a blow where I’m the most vulnerable,  I might forgive the person sooner or later, but I never forget how that person made me feel. Be it neglect, abandonment, or being unseen, I carry it with me. I remember how people show up — or how they don’t.
After any significant emotional event, I’ve to sit down with the pain, dissect it, and tend to my inner child — because unhealed wounds don’t disappear; they resurface, no matter how much time passes.
My emotions when stripped bare, can be reactive and petty.

Sometime back, I was crying one morning in my solitude, when I observed my unresolved emotional wounds leaking and wanting to cause havoc and chaos. My unprocessed emotions resemble rebellious teenagers; when I invalidate them rather than respond with compassion, they surface in disruptive ways to gain attention. My crying was a result of a pattern that had shown up every year almost on the same day, but I didn’t want to be petty and lash out, because I already knew the consequences of that behavior.
In all my sincerity,  I asked Swami, “how do I remain composed outwardly when my emotions are surging untamed?”

And Swami, in His gentleness, reminded me:
“Bring the storm only to Me. Lay before Me every unfiltered thought, every emotion you deem unworthy. Do not scatter them before the world.
See your experiences with others as ripples upon water. Let them touch the surface, but do not allow them to sink into your depths. Whatever unfolds in this web of life is temporary — passing, shifting, dissolving.
There is only one bond that is eternal: the one between you and Me. All else fades when viewed from eternity.Detachment becomes natural when you see people and moments as transient waves on emotional waters. When your feelings grow chaotic and unresolved, come only to Me. Weep before Me. Protest before Me. Complain, unravel, even rage — but do so in My presence.
You need not perform goodness or politeness before Me. I am your refuge. I will contain what overwhelms you. I will hold you when you feel you are breaking.
But do not release your storms carelessly into the world. Be authentic, yet light — like ripples that pass without clinging. Let your heaviest emotions, and your most hidden expressions of love, rest with Me. Offer steadiness to the world — but bring your depths to Me alone.”

When Swami comforted me, it felt as though an unseen weight I had been carrying for years quietly dissolved. Something heavy and invisible slipped from my shoulders.

I am often strict with myself, trying to soften my intensity, to regulate the storms within — yet I rarely find a space where I can simply collapse, confess, or melt without being measured. There was a time when I believed I had to present only my most polished, composed self before Swami — a flawless offering, a disciplined devotion. But that approach never sustained our relationship. It felt incomplete.
He is the one place where I long to be utterly real.

In the words of Mirabai — “Giridhar janam maran ra sathi” — Giridhar is the companion through birth and death. I yearn for Swami to be my everything: my refuge, my witness, my closest confidant — the sanctuary I turn to when I cannot even discern the boundaries of my own emotions.

I often see astrologers advising Scorpio Moons to simply “express more,” to speak openly of their feelings, values, and passions. But such advice can feel naïve. When someone has spent a lifetime being misunderstood — perhaps due to karmic imprints or the sheer depth of their inner world — it is neither wise nor safe to expose that intensity indiscriminately. Not everyone has the capacity to meet that depth.

A Scorpio Moon requires a sacred container — a space where sensitivity is not judged, where intensity is not feared, where vulnerability is not weaponized. That kind of safety can only be offered by someone emotionally grounded and deeply compassionate.
For me, Swami embodies that fullness of security and grace. He is the epitome of steadiness, wisdom, and tenderness. And so, instead of scattering my depths before a world that may not hold them carefully, I choose to take them directly to Him.