Full Moon in Capricorn: What My Exhaustion is Teaching Me About Worth and Rest

The moon moves through us, whether we notice or not. With or without our permission, its pull governs the tides of the oceans, the quiet rhythms of the earth — and the internal cycles of every woman. From the waxing to the waning, the full to the new, each phase mirrors something in us: a time to reflect, to release, to grow and to begin again.

The full moon, in particular, is like a mirror that calls our name. It shines light on what’s masked or hidden, pulling it to the surface for a chance to bring awareness, healing and a chance for renewal and transformation. The full moon offers death to our illusions not in a punishing or overwhelming way, but to offer truth. 

Working with the energy of the full moon doesn’t require elaborate rituals or perfectly timed ceremonies. You don’t need crystals, candles, or a list of things to release (though those can be beautiful tools if they speak to you). What the moon truly asks of us is simple: presence. To pause long enough to feel what’s rising. To listen. To be honest about what’s no longer sustainable. Her power isn’t in what you do — it’s in what you allow. Transformation happens when we soften, when we stop resisting what we already know, when we surrender to what’s ready to shift. The full moon offers you clarity, healing, and release — not through force, but through quiet invitation. You only need to receive her.

Each full moon carries a unique tone depending on the zodiac sign it moves through. The moon reflects the emotional and energetic themes of that sign, offering us an opportunity to explore those qualities within ourselves. It’s not random — it’s intentional. When the moon is full in a particular sign, it spotlights the lessons, challenges, and growth connected to that sign’s energy, inviting us to reflect, release, and realign accordingly.

This month, the mirror was the Full Moon in Capricorn — and what it reflected back to me was raw.

It surfaced something I’ve danced around for years: my complicated relationship with doing and having.

Capricorn energy is often linked to discipline, structure, success, ambition. It’s the archetype of the one who climbs, who builds, who works. And while those qualities have served me in many ways, they’ve also hardened something in me. They’ve built an inner belief that in order to have anything — love, peace, money, rest — I must work tirelessly for it.

And not just work. Overwork. Overdo. Overgive.

This moon asked me to feel the cost of that belief.

I’ve built a life around doing — constantly achieving, supporting, nurturing, creating, and holding space for everyone and everything. But the truth is, this has reshaped my nervous system in ways that punish stillness and make rest feel unsafe. Somewhere along the way, I began to subconsciously associate receiving with overextending. My body learned that in order to have, I must first exhaust myself — that ease must be earned, and rest must be justified. And so no matter how much I do, it never quite feels like enough to deserve softness. Even in my most generous, productive moments, I feel a quiet dissonance — as if my worth is always on the line, one undone task away from disappearing. This isn’t just a mindset. It’s a pattern etched into my body, one that this full moon is asking me to unlearn.

Because beneath it all — beneath the habits and beliefs and nervous system patterns — lives a deeper wound: the ache of never feeling like enough. Even when I’ve done enough, there’s still a voice in me whispering, More. You haven’t earned ease yet. A part of me still believes that if I am not constantly proving my worth, I will not be worthy of having what I need. That I don’t deserve to live in ease, in overflow, in peace — unless I’ve suffered for it. And so, without meaning to, I recreate struggle. I manifest lack. I unconsciously withhold softness from myself, over and over again, as punishment for a wound that was never mine to carry. But I see it now. And what I see, I can choose to heal.

I ask myself about the origin of the system that upholds these beliefs. The truth is, the mind wants to find the reason — a singular explanation to make sense of the ache. Maybe it began in childhood. Maybe it was passed down through bloodlines, etched into my DNA, woven through ancestral memory and survival. Or maybe it spans lifetimes, shaped by stories I no longer remember. But I’m beginning to see that the search for the root can become its own kind of trap — another way I stay entangled in the wound. The more I try to trace where it began, the more I bind myself to it. And yet, anything that rises is not here to define me — it’s here for its clearing. The full moon isn’t asking me to solve puzzles around my wounding. It’s asking me to feel what’s ready to be released. And though I feel the pull to overanalyze, I know that’s not the way through. This time, I’m choosing surrender. I’m choosing to trust the wisdom of what’s surfacing — to work with the moon’s energy not to dissect the pain, but to release it. Not to grasp it through trying to understand, but to let go.

Where do I start? I begin with acceptance — with a willingness to tune into this ancient wisdom that stirs beneath the surface, to be guided by it, and to seek a higher understanding through honest dialogue with my higher self. I start with compassion, not blame. With clear sight — to truly understand the disease of the human mind that plagues us all. It is through awareness and presence that I become witness to myself in real time, holding space for every thought, feeling, and impulse without judgment. This conscious witnessing reveals how deeply this pattern has woven itself into my psyche, into my sense of identity and ego. It shows me the ways I have unknowingly carried this wound as if it were my own truth — when in reality, it is a veil I am learning to lift.

This wounding shows up clearly in my body — especially in a nervous system that often feels anxious, on edge, unsafe. I don’t need to linger here; I know this experience well. Instead, I choose to challenge the body’s resistance with tools that meet me where I am: EFT tapping to release trapped energy, meditation to quiet the mind, writing and blogging to give voice to what’s unspoken, and long healing baths to soothe the spirit. Through it all, rest has become my most potent medicine — the balm that allows my nervous system to soften, my heart to open, and the deep healing to take root.

Stepping into more ease means meeting myself with radical self-love and fierce acceptance — giving myself full permission to come exactly as I am, without needing to fix, perform, or prove. It is here, in this sacred space of permission, that safety begins to take shape. Limitations start to soften and fade, replaced by a quiet trust in my body’s wisdom. Somatic healing guides me through the fog rather than around it, inviting me to feel, move, and release what the mind cannot fully grasp. Instead of bypassing discomfort, I learn to flow with it — to breathe into the tension, allowing transformation to arise from deep within.

I honor the intelligence of this identification — the many ways it has risen in service of survival. It’s shaped itself into patterns, personas, and protections that once kept me safe. And I know it will continue to rise, again and again, in new forms. As the saying goes, “new levels, new devils” — but I no longer see them as devils to fear. I see them as unhealed parts seeking my presence. Because as long as I remain rooted in awareness, anchored in the quiet truth of my higher self, I will always find my way back. These patterns are persistent, but so is my soul. The more I remember who I truly am, the less power they hold. Each return to consciousness is a reclamation — a step further into my freedom.

This is the medicine the moon offers us — not just light, but perspective. Not just illumination, but invitation. A sacred moment to pause and witness what no longer fits, what no longer honors who we are becoming. The full moon reveals with tenderness and truth — showing us the patterns we’ve outgrown and the burdens we were never meant to carry. It calls us to soften, to release the stories that keep us in cycles of proving, striving, and withholding from ourselves. If you’ve been feeling heavy too — if your nervous system feels shaped by the belief that everything must be earned through struggle — I want you to know you’re not alone. So many of us are carrying that same inherited ache. But I hope this moon brought you closer to naming it. I hope you are beginning to see that ease is not a luxury. Rest is not a reward. You do not have to suffer to deserve softness. This moon reminds us that healing begins with remembrance — and that we are already whole beneath all we’ve been taught to carry.

May this moonlight touch the parts of you still hidden in shadow, not to expose them in shame, but to bathe them in truth.

May you feel the softness of your own becoming — the way your body longs to rest, the way your spirit knows the way home.

May you remember that the work is not to become worthy, but to remember that you already are.

And as old stories rise and resistance speaks, may you meet it all with grace — with breath, with presence, with the fierce tenderness it takes to stay.

You are allowed to show up in your fullness, in your messiness, in your healing.You are allowed to rest and still be deserving.

You are allowed to be a work in progress and still be sacred.

Let the moon be your mirror. Let her light remind you: you are not behind. You are right on time.And everything is unfolding — exactly as it should.

With Love

-Aida Camara