You don’t even own a tarot deck.
(… but maybe you do)
That’s the thing. You’ve never shuffled cards yourself, never laid out a spread on your kitchen table, never bought crystals or lit candles or done any of the stuff that would make this feel “real.” You just… watch. Follow a few readers on TikTok. Have that one account on Twitter whose readings you screenshot when they resonate. Click on the occasional “pick a card” video on YouTube when the algorithm serves it up and you’re anxious and it’s 11pm and you just need something to calm the noise in your head.
It’s not like you believe it. Not really. It’s entertainment. It’s comfort. It’s just… something to do when you don’t deal with the unknown well and prayer feels like talking into a void.
Except.
Except you’ve noticed that you check certain readers before you pray. That when anxiety hits, your thumb scrolls to their page before your heart turns to God. That you’ve started making decisions based on what “resonated” from a reading instead of asking Him what He thinks.
And lately there’s been this uncomfortable feeling. This quiet conviction you keep pushing down. This sense that maybe “just watching” has become something else entirely.
The Drift You Don’t Notice
Here’s how it usually happens:
You’re going through something hard. Anxious about a decision, a relationship, your future. Prayer feels slow. God feels silent. And someone shares a reading that speaks directly to your situation with eerie accuracy. You feel seen. You feel guided. You feel like someone finally understands what you’re going through.
So you follow that reader. Then another. Then you start checking their pages when you’re stressed. Then the algorithm learns what you like and starts feeding you more. Pick a card readings. Daily energy updates. “Messages from your guides.” And before you know it, you’ve built a whole spiritual practice around content consumption that you never consciously chose.
The substitution is so gradual you barely notice it happening.
You still pray. Sometimes. But you check readings first. You still believe in God. Technically. But you trust your favorite reader’s insights more than you trust His silence. You still call yourself a Christian. But your spiritual life has quietly reorganized itself around strangers on the internet telling you what’s coming next.
And it all feels spiritual. Seeking guidance feels holy. Wanting clarity feels responsible. What’s wrong with wanting to know what’s coming?
I thought the same thing. For years.
What I Didn’t See Until I Was Out
I wasn’t just a watcher. I was deep in it. Creating content, doing readings for others, genuinely believing I was helping people connect with divine guidance. I had enough Christian background to blend the language seamlessly. Enough genuine seeking to be convincing. I prayed before every reading, asking God to guide what I was doing.
And the Holy Spirit kept nudging. Gently at first. Then persistently. Until I couldn’t ignore the question He was asking: Who are you actually trusting?
The answer was uncomfortable. I was trusting the cards. The readers. The content. The feeling of “this resonates.” I was trusting anything that gave me immediate clarity, immediate comfort, immediate relief from not knowing.
Prayer didn’t give me that. Prayer required waiting. Required sitting with uncertainty. Required trusting that God would speak in His timing, not mine. And my anxiety couldn’t handle that. So I’d outsourced my need for guidance to sources that would actually answer when I asked.
But, really, in reality, I wasn’t seeking guidance. I was seeking control. I wasn’t looking for God’s wisdom. I was looking for information that would let me manage my anxiety without having to trust Him.
And that’s a completely different thing.
The Question Underneath the Question
When you click on a reading, what are you actually looking for?
Be honest. Not the surface answer (“guidance,” “clarity,” “entertainment”). The real one.
Usually it’s this:
You want to know what’s coming so you can prepare. So you can protect yourself. So you can stop feeling so out of control in a world that keeps throwing things at you that you didn’t see coming.
That’s not a bad desire. Wanting to feel safe isn’t wrong. Wanting guidance isn’t sinful.
But here’s where it gets complicated: God doesn’t promise to tell you what’s coming. He promises to be with you when it does.
“Trust in the LORD with all your heart; do not depend on your own understanding. Seek his will in all you do, and he will show you which path to take” (Proverbs 3:5-6, NLT).
That verse used to frustrate me. Show me the path? When? How? Just tell me what to do! But notice what it’s actually saying: Trust. Don’t lean on your own ability to figure it out. Seek His will. And He will guide you.
Not “He will give you a preview of coming attractions.” Not “He will eliminate uncertainty.” He will guide you. Step by step. In real time. Through relationship, not information.
Tarot readings give you information (or the illusion of it). Prayer gives you presence. And presence, it turns out, is what you actually need. Even when every anxious part of you is screaming for certainty instead.
Why “Just Watching” Isn’t Nothing
I know. You’re not the one doing readings. You’re not the one claiming to channel spirits or read energy. You’re just watching. Just scrolling. Just clicking when the algorithm serves it up.
But think about what’s happening in those moments.
You’re anxious? You need peace? And instead of bringing that need to God, you’re bringing it to a stranger’s content. You’re training yourself, video by video, post by post, to look for guidance somewhere other than the One who actually knows your future and loves you enough to walk you through it.
The issue isn’t really the cards. It’s where you’re going when you’re scared. It’s what you’re reaching for when you need comfort. It’s the habit you’re building, the reflex you’re strengthening, every time you scroll to a tarot reader’s page instead of opening your Bible or just… talking to God.
Jesus said something about this that I keep coming back to: “Keep on asking, and you will receive what you ask for. Keep on seeking, and you will find. Keep on knocking, and the door will be opened to you” (Matthew 7:7, NLT).
Keep on asking. Keep on seeking. Keep on knocking.
That’s relationship language. That’s “stay in the conversation even when it feels like nothing’s happening” language. It’s the opposite of clicking on a video for a quick answer and moving on with your day.
Prayer is slower. Less immediately satisfying. But it connects you to Someone who actually knows what’s coming, who actually loves you, who’s actually capable of guiding you through whatever’s next. Readings connect you to content that makes you feel better for fifteen minutes until the anxiety comes back and you need another hit.
What Helped When I Stopped
When I finally walked away from all of it (the cards, the content, the readers I’d followed for years), the hardest part wasn’t the stopping (though it was hard). It was the anxiety.
I’d trained myself to reach for readings whenever I felt uncertain. That reflex didn’t disappear just because I’d made a decision to stop. The algorithm kept serving me content. My hands kept wanting to scroll. The 11pm anxiety kept showing up, demanding something to calm it down.
But what actually helped was…
First, I had to acknowledge what I was actually feeling. Not spiritualize it, not shame myself for it, just name it: I’m anxious. I don’t know what’s going to happen. I hate not knowing. That’s where I am right now.
Then I’d pray. Not fancy prayers, not the “right” words. Just honest ones. “God, I’m scared. I want to click on that reading so badly right now. I don’t know if You’re even listening. But I’m choosing to bring this to You instead of to them.”
And then (this is the hard part) I’d sit with the silence. Not fill it with more scrolling. Not distract myself immediately. Just… be there. Uncomfortable. Not knowing. But not reaching for something else to fix it.
Some nights I’d read Psalm 131. It’s short. Three verses. But it’s specifically about learning to be okay with not knowing: “I have calmed and quieted myself, like a weaned child who no longer cries for its mother’s milk. Yes, like a weaned child is my soul within me” (Psalm 131:2, NLT).
A child who’s learned to be comforted by presence instead of demanding to be fed. That image wrecked me. Because that’s what I wanted. To be okay with God’s presence even when He wasn’t giving me information. To trust Him without needing a preview of what’s coming.
I’m still learning it. Some days are harder than others. But the reflex is weakening. And what’s growing in its place feels more solid than any reading ever gave me.
If This Is Hitting Close to Home
Maybe you’re reading this and recognizing yourself. The late-night scrolling. The tarot readers you check before you pray. The justification that watching isn’t the same as doing. The quiet conviction you’ve been ignoring.
I’m not going to tell you what to do. You already know. The Holy Spirit is good at His job, and if you’re feeling that nudge, that uncomfortable sense that something needs to change, it’s not coming from me.
But I will tell you this: it’s possible to stop. It’s possible to retrain the reflex. It’s possible to learn to bring your anxiety to God instead of to content. Not perfectly. Not without slipping sometimes. But possible.
And the presence you find when you do? It’s better than predictions. Slower, yeah. Less immediately satisfying. But deeper. More real. Something that actually holds you instead of just distracting you until the next anxiety spike.
You might need to unfollow some accounts… block them, actually. Clear your watch history so the algorithm stops feeding you. Maybe tell someone you trust what you’re trying to do so you’re not white-knuckling it alone.
You might slip. Click on a reading. Feel the guilt. That’s okay. God’s not done with you. Come back. Start again. This isn’t about perfection. It’s about direction.
And if the anxiety is bigger than just a spiritual discipline issue (if you’re dealing with OCD or panic or something that needs professional help alongside spiritual support), that’s wisdom, not weakness. God works through therapists too.
Where I’m Still Learning
I’d love to tell you I’ve got this figured out. That I never feel the pull anymore, never notice when the algorithm tries to serve me content I used to consume, never have nights where uncertainty feels unbearable and I wish someone would just tell me what’s coming.
But that would be a lie.
What I can tell you is that the more I practice bringing my anxiety to God instead of to content, the more I actually believe He’s there. Not because the uncertainty disappears. It doesn’t. But because something else grows. Something that feels less like information and more like… I don’t know. Being held.
There’s this whole section in Philippians about anxiety that I keep returning to. Something about God’s peace guarding your heart and mind. I’m still sitting with what that actually means, what it looks like practically. Maybe that’s where I’ll go next.
But for now, here’s what I know: the God who made you knows what’s coming. He’s not going to give you a preview. But He is going to walk through it with you. And learning to trust that, step by step, is harder than clicking on a reading.
It’s also the only thing that actually satisfies the ache underneath all the scrolling.
If You Want to Try Something Different: Next time you feel that pull (the anxiety spike, the thumb hovering over a reader’s page, the urge to click on whatever the algorithm just served you), try this instead:
If it’s late at night and you can’t sleep: Put the phone in another room. Literally. Then talk to God out loud, even if it feels weird. Just tell Him what you’re actually worried about. You don’t need fancy words.
If you’re spiraling about a decision: Before you click on a tarot reading, ask yourself: “What am I actually afraid of here?” Name it. Then ask God to be with you in that fear. Not to fix it. Just to be with you.
If you catch yourself mid-scroll: Don’t shame yourself. Just close whatever app you’re on and take three slow breaths. That’s it. You can pray if you want, but even just interrupting the reflex is progress.
If you slip and watch anyway: It’s okay. You’re not starting over from zero. Just notice how you feel after, and remember that feeling next time the urge hits.
No perfection required. Just one small interruption the next time it happens.
See what shifts.
