Death, The Tower, the Devil, and the 10 of Swords: you know them, you dread them, you avoid them like the plague. These tarot cards give us goosebumps and a pit in our stomachs. But there’s much more than meets the eye here: let’s talk about fear and tarot.
It’s not uncommon for people to avoid readings or divination altogether in case the cards predict something awful. Some even believe the cards themselves are inherently evil. Recently, TikTok’s AlexReadsTarot — with a following of nearly 1 million — announced she’s stepping away from tarot after converting to Christianity.
When a prominent public figure in the witchy community renounces her practice, it raises the question: who are we really speaking to when we consult the cards? The answer is simple: it’s you. Tarot and other forms of card divination are self-reflection tools that tap into your subconscious. Through symbolism, color, and numerology, the cards help articulate feelings that might otherwise be hard to put into words.
It’s a bit like flipping a coin: the moment it’s in the air, you already know which way you’re hoping it lands. Tarot works the same way — the cards just help reveal the truth you already carry.
That said, it’s worth practicing discernment when choosing a reader. The right ones never fear-monger, but they do tell the truth — with warmth and compassion.
In this article, we’re playing devil’s advocate for a handful of the most feared (and misunderstood) cards in tarot. The goal: to leave you with the confidence to embrace them with open arms. Remember, the cards reflect your internal world, not the world around you — they can’t tell you anything you don’t already know somewhere inside.
A tall, skinny tower is struck by lightning in the dead of night, sending two figures crashing into the jagged rocks below. A Tower moment can look like pure disaster, but it can feel like a spiritual awakening once you’re willing to embrace the lesson.
The power of the Tower arrives when you’re able to admit what isn’t working. Instead of fighting to hold together something inherently unstable, let it come crashing down. The less you resist, the easier the transition.
Recall a time the rug got pulled out from under you and your life flipped upside down. You may have been scared or disoriented in the moment, but somehow you survived — and rebuilt in a direction more aligned for you. Hindsight really is 20/20: what felt like a total crash-out was probably the wake-up call you needed. Like a phoenix rising from the ashes, you emerge wiser, able to see exactly what you’re truly capable of.
The Intuitive Night Goddess Tarot deck by Linzi Silverman renamed the Tower card Revolution. Revolutions aren’t pretty — they’re brutal, harsh, and cold. But what’s more powerful than burning down the systems tearing you apart from the inside out? Loving yourself sometimes means embracing the pain of releasing what no longer serves you.
Maybe your boyfriend cheats, forcing a move somewhere new — and in falling in love with yourself, you finally attract the partner you’ve been trying to manifest all along.
Or you get fired from your dream job, take a waitressing gig, and meet your new best friend. Together you backpack across Europe, where you land a job that lets you settle down in Amsterdam.
Or your parents divorce, and you move from coastal California to the humid Midwest. There, you meet your soul tribe, find your calling, and get sober. The lesson: practice gratitude, choose your attitude, release control.
Ten daggers protrude from a figure’s back in the Ten of Swords. It’s a fight scene, sure — but not an ordinary one. It feels deeply personal.
At first glance, it looks like rock bottom. But zoom out and you’ll notice the scene takes place at sunrise. The yellow sky symbolizes hope after darkness, and the figure’s hand rests in a mudra theorized to symbolize surrender and acceptance. Despite the drama, there’s real relief here too.
10s in tarot represent endings. The Ten of Swords promises the worst has already happened — it’s a reminder to pick yourself up. You might be waiting for the other shoe to drop, but you’re already through the woods. One cycle ends, another begins.
When you see the Ten of Swords this way, it becomes a cause for celebration, not dread. You complete the cycle of pain and come out with firmer boundaries and deeper compassion.
Think: an excruciating divorce. Civil at first, then spiraling into petty arguments and a battle over paperwork. But eventually, the house sells, custody settles, papers get filed. Resentment may linger, but suddenly there’s space to do whatever you want. You may have to relearn what safety feels like, but you’ve entered the healing phase — and you’re never going back.
In the Devil card, a half-goat, half-human figure (Baphomet) stares straight ahead, bat wings spread. Two chained figures below represent lust and pleasure — a nod to humanity’s animal nature.
When the Devil shows up in a reading, rest assured: you’re not possessed. This card is about personal power — how you wield it, and where you give it away.
The Devil helps you dismantle addictive tendencies, negative beliefs, and intrusive thoughts by facing what you’d rather ignore. As Kim Krans writes in her oracle deck Archetypes, shadow is “the unspeakable, the unwelcome, the denied.” Denying your shadow doesn’t make it disappear — it just breeds shame. Choosing to see your darkness through the lens of love lets you move toward wholeness instead.
You’re not truly chained to anything — your free will is alive and strong. As Carl Jung put it: “How can I be substantial if I do not cast a shadow? I must have a dark side also if I am to be whole.” The Devil is a reminder that you’re human, and worthy of forgiveness.
In a relationship reading, the Devil can point to overindulgence clouding judgment, codependency, or toxic patterns — either engaging with someone who isn’t good for you, or ignoring your own fear-based behavior.
In a career reading, it may show up when your habits are holding you back: staying up too late, reaching for a drink to cope with stress, or letting a coworker trigger your reactive side.
The Death card is one of the most misunderstood in the deck. The most common question skeptics ask: “Are you going to tell me I’m dying?” The truth: cards don’t work that way. Death is an allegory for transformation — the end is never really the end.
The grim reaper rides a white steed, waving a flag with a five-petaled flower symbolizing change. In the background, the sun shines beyond two towers — a promise that light always returns.
As you age, you go through micro deaths of the self — shedding outdated beliefs and versions of who you used to be. Death teaches you to let relationships, jobs, and old identities dissipate so you can get closer to alignment.
The less you resist, the more you learn about the beauty of detachment. Nothing is permanent — so why not live truthfully and lovingly?
Think of death as a threshold, not a full stop — like a caterpillar becoming a butterfly. She spends her early life in the dirt, eating and hiding from predators, until one day she gets tired and spins a cocoon. She’ll never go back to her old life. When she emerges, she’s an entirely new being — freer and more graceful than she ever was on the ground.