Tarot Through Time: Healing with Your Past, Present, and Future Selves
- Suzanne
- Sep 21
- 14 min read
One of the quiet wonders of tarot is how it bends time. You sit with your deck, shuffle, lay down the cards—and suddenly, you’re in conversation not just with who you are right now, but with the versions of you who came before and the ones who are still on their way. Past, present, and future sit together on the table, threaded through symbols that don’t obey the clock in the way we think they should.
It can feel uncanny at times. A card lands and you’re transported back to a memory so vivid you can almost smell the air of that moment. Another card points forward, not as a promise, but as a glimmer—a possibility, a shape your life might take if you walk toward it. And then there are the cards that don’t let you drift too far in either direction, pulling you back into your own chest, into the steady hum of the present.
Working with tarot this way—through a temporal lens—isn’t about prediction. It’s about relationship. A way of recognising that the self you once were, the self you are now, and the self you are becoming are all part of one unfolding story. Healing happens when those selves are allowed to meet. When the past is acknowledged without shame, the future is invited without pressure, and the present is honoured as the place where both can rest.
This piece is an exploration of that process: how tarot helps us make peace with the child and the shadow behind us, how it lets us listen for the voice of the self ahead of us, and how it reminds us that the only ground we can ever truly stand on is the present moment. Along the way, we’ll look at practices that let you step into this conversation more fully, and we’ll return to the Healing Tarot Framework as a way of keeping this work gentle, safe, and sustainable.
Because if there’s one thing tarot knows about time, it’s this: it doesn’t move in straight lines. It moves in circles, spirals, and stories. And you’re allowed to meet yourself at every point along the way.
What Do We Mean by “Versions of Ourselves”?
Before we leap into past and future selves, let’s pause for a moment and get clear on what we’re really talking about when we use that phrase. It can sound a little slippery—like we’re imagining an endless lineup of alternate realities or shadowy doubles waiting in the wings. But versions of ourselves aren’t distant strangers. They’re you. They live in memory, in possibility, in the body you carry through today.
Your past selves are the ones who lived through experiences you no longer inhabit but still carry. The child who learned to tiptoe around conflict. The adolescent who tried on identities like costumes, figuring out what fit. The younger adult who loved boldly, or made mistakes, or pushed through heartbreak and somehow got you here. These selves don’t disappear when you outgrow their circumstances. They stay with you—in beliefs, in reflexes, in habits that whisper, this is how the world works.
Your future selves are not fully formed people waiting on the horizon, either. They are the versions of you that exist in potential, shaped by the choices you make now. The self who has learned the lesson you’re struggling with today. The self who carries wisdom your present mind can barely imagine. The self who has already lived through things that currently feel impossible to face. When we talk about meeting your future self through tarot, we’re talking about tuning into that possibility—not as fate, but as guidance.
And then, always, there is your present self. The one reading this now. The one shuffling the deck, asking the questions, making the decisions. This is the only self you can actually inhabit. The present is the meeting point, the ground where past echoes and future whispers land. Without the present, you can’t access either.
When we use tarot through this temporal lens, we’re not conjuring fantasy versions of ourselves. We’re recognising that identity is layered, that time leaves its mark, and that healing means being able to turn toward each version of you with presence. The past self doesn’t need fixing—they need witnessing. The future self doesn’t need worship—they need a path to walk. And the present self doesn’t need to carry it all alone—they need the company of who you’ve been and who you’re becoming.
Seen this way, tarot becomes less about fortune-telling and more about relationship-building. A way of letting all your selves sit at the same table, so you don’t have to exile the old, or chase the new, or forget the now.
Meeting the Past Self Through Tarot
There’s a particular tenderness that arises when the past shows up in a reading. Sometimes it comes as a whisper—an image that stirs a faint memory, a card that reminds you of a season long gone. Other times it hits like a wave, carrying you straight back into a moment you thought you’d outgrown or buried. Either way, tarot has this uncanny ability to fold time, to bring your past self to the table and ask: Are you ready to sit with them for a while?
Working with the past self in tarot isn’t about getting stuck in nostalgia, nor is it about endlessly reopening old wounds. It’s about recognition. The child who once learned that safety came with silence. The teenager who made choices with the resources they had. The younger adult who stumbled, grasped, tried, and survived. These versions of you are not mistakes to erase. They are chapters in your story. And the cards often appear as bridges back to them.
Take a card like the Six of Cups. On the surface, it can look simple: two children, an exchange, a sense of innocence. But when it lands in a spread about healing, it often invites you to revisit a memory—not to rewrite it, but to bring presence to it. You might remember a day when joy was easy, when laughter wasn’t policed. Or you might remember a moment when vulnerability was mocked, leaving a younger you with the belief that feelings were dangerous. Either way, the Six of Cups offers a doorway to meet that younger self where they are still waiting.
Even cards that aren’t explicitly nostalgic can stir the past. The Tower may arrive to show you the old collapses that shaped your foundations. The Devil might echo the habits and patterns you learned in survival. The Star, appearing after these, can remind you that even in the hardest chapters, the thread of hope was never entirely lost. Tarot doesn’t just tell your story—it lets you revisit it, reframed, with the resources of the person you are now.
Practically, this might mean sitting with a card and asking: What version of me recognises this? When in my life did I live this energy most vividly? Write to them, if you like. Or simply close your eyes and picture them sitting across from you. What do they need to hear from you today? Sometimes the message is simple: I see you. I understand why you did what you did. Thank you for carrying me this far. That recognition alone can be profoundly healing.
The beauty of tarot is that it allows you to hold these past selves without collapsing into them. You’re not dragged back into the pain or the chaos—you’re anchored in the present, looking back with compassion. You get to be the witness your past self needed, the steady adult presence who can say, You’re safe now.
And in that witnessing, something shifts. The past doesn’t vanish, but it loosens its grip. The cards give shape to memory, and in naming it, you begin to integrate it. The child, the adolescent, the young adult—they don’t disappear. They walk with you differently: less as ghosts, more as companions whose lessons can finally be carried with gentleness rather than shame.
Listening for the Future Self
If the past self arrives with memories, the future self tends to show up as a shimmer. Less a fully formed image and more a sense, a pull, a voice just out of reach. When we read tarot with an eye to the future, it’s tempting to treat the cards like a crystal ball—“What will happen to me? What’s waiting just around the corner?” But tarot at its most alive doesn’t lock you into a fixed script. It lets you meet the possibilities of who you are becoming.
Think of your future self not as a stranger waiting down the road, but as a version of you already sending ripples backward through time. The part of you who has integrated today’s lessons, who has lived through challenges you haven’t yet met, who carries wisdom you’re only beginning to sense. When a card like The Star lands on the table, it may not be promising a specific outcome—it may be your future self saying, I’m here. Keep moving toward me.
This is where tarot becomes less about prediction and more about alignment. The Magician might not be telling you that success is guaranteed, but rather reminding you that the tools you’ll need are already in your hands—you just have to practice using them. The World may not mean your life will neatly resolve, but it could be your future self reminding you that wholeness isn’t something far away, it’s something that grows each time you honour your process in the present.
Future-self work with tarot asks us to listen differently. Instead of demanding certainty, we lean into resonance. Pull a card about your path and ask: What does this version of me feel like? How do they hold themselves? How do they move through the world? Then, gently, look at your present life and ask: What’s one small step I could take today to live closer to that energy? The cards become less about mapping the exact terrain and more about tuning your compass.
And sometimes the future self doesn’t arrive as fireworks—it comes as a quiet nudge. The Knight of Pentacles may show up, not to dazzle you with destiny, but to whisper: Consistency is the magic. Patience is the path. The Page of Wands may peek in, saying: Stay curious. Keep experimenting. That’s how we get there. These aren’t the glamorous answers, but they’re the ones that make a future self possible at all.
In truth, listening for your future self through tarot is a practice of hope. Not naïve hope that everything will be perfect, but grounded hope that who you are becoming is worth walking toward. The cards remind you that the future is not fixed—it’s relational. Every choice you make in the present is already in conversation with the person you’ll become. Tarot helps you hear that conversation more clearly, so you can shape it with intention rather than drift through it unconsciously.
And when you sit quietly with a card, feeling into the energy of the self who waits ahead of you, there can be a deep reassurance: You make it. You grow. You keep becoming. That’s not prediction. That’s encouragement from the self who knows.
The Present as Anchor
It’s tempting, when working with tarot, to lean heavily into either the nostalgia of the past or the intrigue of the future. We want to understand where we came from, or we want to glimpse where we’re going. But if we linger too long in either, we risk losing sight of the only place we can actually live: the present.
The present self is not glamorous. They’re the one paying the bills, making the phone calls, remembering to eat lunch. They’re also the one who sits down with the deck, trying to make sense of it all. This is the version of you who carries the weight of your past and the longing for your future, and sometimes that’s no small task. Which is why the present deserves its own attention—not as a placeholder between “then” and “later,” but as the anchor that holds it all.
Tarot constantly draws us back to this truth. Even in spreads where we’re explicitly asking about past and future, the middle card—the one that represents the “now”—is the heartbeat of the whole reading. It’s the lens through which memory is understood and possibility is shaped. Without the present, the other two collapse into abstraction.
Working with the present self through tarot means asking: What do I need in this moment to hold both what has been and what is to come? Sometimes the answer is practical—The Four of Pentacles reminding you to manage your resources today, so the future feels steadier. Sometimes it’s emotional—The Page of Cups asking you to feel into your tenderness right now, not waiting until it’s convenient. Sometimes it’s existential—The Hanged Man saying, Pause. Don’t rush. This moment matters too.
The present self is also where healing actually takes place. You can revisit your past with compassion, but the act of offering comfort happens now. You can listen for the voice of your future self, but embodying that wisdom happens now. All the integration, all the action, all the subtle shifts that add up to transformation—they happen here, in the present body, with the present breath.
And the gift of anchoring in the present is that it stops time from feeling like an adversary. You don’t have to outrun your past, and you don’t have to chase your future. You can hold them both lightly while returning to the truth that this moment—however imperfect—is where all your selves meet. Tarot, in its quiet way, teaches us to honour that. Every shuffle, every spread, every pause to look at an image is a chance to return to presence.
The present self is not just the bridge between past and future—it’s the hearth. The place where memory and vision come home to rest, and where healing has a body to live in.
Tarot in Practice: Meeting Your Selves on the Table
It’s one thing to reflect on past, present, and future in theory, and another to actually sit with the cards and let those versions of you speak. Tarot doesn’t need elaborate rituals to do this kind of work—just presence, curiosity, and a willingness to hear what arises. But there are ways to shape your practice so it feels safe, grounded, and nourishing rather than overwhelming.
One gentle entry point is to frame your spreads as conversations across time. Instead of pulling cards for “what happened” and “what will happen,” try asking: What does my past self want me to remember? What does my present self need right now? What is my future self inviting me toward? Laying those three cards side by side creates a dialogue, a way of listening to each voice in turn without privileging one over the other. It can be humbling to realise that all three selves often point to the same theme, just in different languages.
Journaling can deepen this work. After pulling, take a moment to let each version of you write a sentence or two in response. Let the past self speak in the first person—I felt… I believed… I carried… Let the present self respond with what’s true in the body right now. And then let the future self answer as if they were looking back with kindness—You’re on your way. Keep steady. Here’s what I know now. It doesn’t need to be long or polished. The point is to give form to voices that often go unheard, to allow time to fold into dialogue rather than fracture into silence.
You might also try a small ritual of embodiment after a reading. If your past self appears weary, light a candle as a marker of acknowledgment: I see you. If your present self longs for steadiness, choose one small action that brings you into your body today—a stretch, a meal, a slow breath. If your future self feels radiant but distant, place their card somewhere visible, not as pressure but as encouragement: a reminder that possibility is already in motion. These gestures may seem small, but they are how tarot becomes less about ideas and more about lived healing.
And remember: not every session needs to dive deep. Sometimes the most healing practice is simply pulling a card in the morning and asking: Which version of me is speaking through this image today? You might find your child self peeking out through a Page, your weary past self murmuring through the Nine of Wands, or your wiser future self shining through The Star. Even brief encounters like these weave a sense of continuity, reminding you that all your selves are part of one unfolding story, and none of them need to be left behind.
Tarot practice through a temporal lens isn’t about getting the “right” answer. It’s about creating space for dialogue. Each card is a seat at the table, each shuffle a chance to say: Past, present, future—you all belong here. Let’s listen together.
Holding Past, Present, and Future in the Healing Tarot Framework
The beautiful (and sometimes overwhelming) thing about working with time in tarot is that it opens a lot of doors at once. Past memories, present challenges, future longings—they can all arrive in a single reading, tugging you in different directions. Without some kind of container, it’s easy to feel scattered. That’s where structure becomes medicine, and why I lean on the Healing Tarot Framework to hold this kind of work safely.
You might remember, in my piece on what we really mean by healing, I described healing as less of a straight road and more of a cyclical process: reflection, development, integration, growth, return. The framework was born out of that rhythm—a way to give tarot readings a shape that mirrors how healing actually unfolds in lived time.
When you apply this framework through a temporal lens, something powerful happens. The past self is given space in the reflection stage, not to dominate the reading, but to be witnessed with honesty. The future self belongs to the development and growth stages, showing you where your energy is reaching. And the present self becomes the anchor in integration and return—where the insights of past and future are woven into what you can actually live today.
This rhythm keeps the work balanced. It prevents you from slipping into nostalgia loops with the past or spinning into fantasy with the future. Every reading becomes less about time-travel escapism and more about weaving a fuller sense of self, across time, into the present moment.
The framework also helps soften the pressure. You don’t need to “fix” your past self or “become” your future self in one reading. You only need to meet them, listen, and carry what is useful into the now. Over time, this gentle repetition builds trust—your past selves stop feeling like ghosts, your future selves stop feeling like mirages, and your present self feels less alone in carrying it all.
Think of it like holding a conversation in a circle, rather than trying to manage three voices shouting over each other. The Healing Tarot Framework is the circle—it ensures each self has a turn to speak, while also reminding you that the conversation always comes home to the present.
In this way, tarot becomes not just a tool for insight, but a companion through time. A way of honouring the versions of you who got you here, leaning toward the ones you’re becoming, and giving your present self the steadiness they need to keep walking.
Closing Reflection: Time as a Circle
Tarot has a way of reminding us that time is not as linear as we pretend it to be. Lay out a spread, and suddenly your child self, your present self, and your future self are all sitting across from you, each with something to say. Healing begins when we allow those conversations to happen—not rushing past the old, not clinging to the not-yet, but letting them all meet here, in the only place we ever truly have: the present.
The cards don’t erase the past, but they can soften it. They don’t hand you the future, but they can make it feel less like a stranger. And in the middle, they remind you that you’re already living the thread that ties it all together. The you who is reading the cards is also the you who survived yesterday, and the you who will grow into tomorrow.
When you approach tarot through this temporal lens, the deck becomes less of a fortune-teller and more of a time-companion. A witness to who you’ve been, an echo of who you’re becoming, and a mirror for who you are now. It doesn’t rush you. It doesn’t scold you. It simply holds up the story and asks: Can you see yourself in all of this? Can you let each version of you belong?
And maybe that’s the heart of it. Healing through time is not about rewriting history or controlling destiny. It’s about weaving together the fragments of self until you feel less divided, less at war with who you’ve been or who you think you should be. Tarot offers a quiet way to do this—one card at a time, one self at a time, one moment at a time.
So the next time you shuffle your deck, perhaps pause before asking about outcomes. Instead, ask: Which self wants to speak with me today? What do they need me to know? And then listen, not as though you’re consulting an oracle, but as though you’re catching up with an old friend—or writing a letter to the person you’re becoming.
Because in the end, time is not a line you move along. It’s a circle you’re always part of. And tarot, in its quiet wisdom, knows how to draw that circle wide enough to hold all of you.
Ready to go deeper into healing and intentional growth through tarot? Explore The Healing Journey, our step-by-step guided experience for transformation.
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