One evening, weaving home through city lights after drinks with my husband, a bus stop poster stopped me cold. Dying for Sex, it screamed, with a face I swore was Michelle Monaghan’s. Weeks later, my TV screen corrected me: Michelle Williams, an actress whose quirky, soulful roles I’ve always loved, stars in this raw tale of Molly Kochan, the true story of a woman facing terminal cancer with a bold mission—to unlock her body’s secrets. Based on a podcast, the show hit me hard, its themes of trauma and transcendence mirroring so much of the astrology of the moment. Here’s why it’s more than a show—it’s a cosmic journey.
Dying for Sex, inspired by a podcast about Molly Kochan’s life, drops us into her world at a shattering crossroads: her breast cancer has returned, now stage four and terminal. Haunted by a childhood trauma from age seven that she’s never fully healed, Molly faces a fear greater than death—intimacy. She sets out to experience an orgasm with another person, a milestone she’s never reached despite years of marriage. Leaving her husband, Steve, she rejects his codependent caregiving, which has stifled their passion in favor of keeping her alive. Steve’s need to save her mirrors Libra’s craving for harmony, but it blocks Molly’s Aries-driven quest for self-discovery. This dynamic echoes the Aries-Libra axis, a cosmic clash between independence (Aries, ruled by fiery Mars) and partnership (Libra, guided by nurturing Venus). Mars charges toward desire, while Venus aches for stability—like a seed sparking life versus the womb that cradles it. In Molly and Steve, we see this imbalance play out: he feels too much, shutting down his own creative, sexual energy, while she numbs her fears, becoming his caretaker instead of her own hero. Though we don’t learn Steve’s backstory, Molly’s journey pulls us into the shadows of her past, unraveling the trauma that’s shaped her.
The Venus retrograde in Aries, peaking from March 1 to April 12, 2025, feels like a cosmic backdrop to Molly’s journey in Dying for Sex. Venus, tracing a five-pointed star over eight years, appears to pause and retrace her steps, stirring themes of love, intimacy, and self-worth—perfectly mirroring Molly’s quest to reclaim her body. In Aries, Venus ignites fierce self-love and impulsive passions, urging us to break free from outdated roles or relationships that dim our spark, much like Molly’s bold exit from her marriage. Yet, it also exposes selfish tendencies or suppressed anger, challenging us to balance independence with connection. As Venus shifts into Pisces, it softens into compassion, surrender, and universal love, asking us to heal old wounds through forgiveness or spiritual release, reflecting Molly’s unraveling of childhood trauma. Throughout her retrograde cycle she clashes with Saturn, planet of dampening reality checks and mortal time keeper, Mercury, our planet of communication and alchemy, and the North Node in Pisces, which pushes for healing through feeling and surrender. This retrograde echoes the myth of Inanna, a Sumerian goddess who heard the call of her shadow and descended into the underworld to soothe her pain, which is very much reflected in Molly’s desire to conquer her buried trauma. Venus stations direct in Pisces on April 12th, alongside with an tense full moon in Libra that is conjunct Chiron, the wounded healer. As Libra’s ruler, Venus amplifies this moon’s focus on balancing independence with connection, a theme woven into Molly’s break from Steve and her sexual exploration. This cosmic dance, aligned with the recent Aries-Libra eclipse cycle, underscores the show’s tug-of-war between self (Aries) and others (Libra), reflecting Molly’s fight to be whole. This celestial dance, tied to the recent Aries-Libra eclipse cycle, underscores the show’s tension between personal freedom and relational balance.
Venus in Aries answers to Mars, who lingers in Cancer’s emotional tide during his post-shadow retrograde, a cosmic echo of Molly’s struggle in Dying for Sex. Cancer, ruled by the moon, governs the body, emotions, and nurturing—above all, the mother who fosters life. Molly’s breasts, symbols of care, are overtaken by cancer, a wound mirrored in her fraught bond with her mother. Forced to nurture herself as a child while her mother battled drug and alcohol addiction, Molly faced unsafe spaces that scarred her deeply. This trauma surfaces as she confronts her illness, her body reflecting the pain of a neglected heart, set against Mars in Cancer’s call to heal through emotional truth. Another key aspect of the Mars Retrograde that have been explored as themes in the show has been an opposition to Pluto. Initially with a closing opposition when the two planets were in Cancer and Capricorn, and then two passes with Mars in Leo and Pluto in Aquarius. Pluto is the keeper of Hades, and in an oppositional aspect to fellow malefic planet Mars, all sorts of violence, fear, obsession, shame and humiliation have been played out in the different relationships Molly engages with.
Molly’s journey in Dying for Sex plunges into the shadows of her subconscious, where a horrific trauma from age seven which has stop guarded her from having a deeply intimate experience with a partner. This wound, buried deep, has kept her from sharing an orgasm with a partner, a wish her husband, Steve, can’t fulfill. Knowing that her husband isn’t capable of rewiring his brain to be able to facilitate this dying wish she has, she embarks on a journey towards having an orgasm with another person, exploring bold sexual kinks with strangers to unlock the pain that’s held her captive, her path lit by a fierce need to reclaim her heart and body.
The freshly initiated nodal cycle, with the North Node in Pisces and the South Node in Virgo, sets a cosmic current for Dying for Sex. These lunar nodes—evolutionary markers where the sun and moon cross—pull us between fate’s comfort and its call. The South Node in Virgo clings to familiar routines, precision, and health rituals, but its shadow breeds criticism, deprivation, and perfectionism. The North Node in Pisces beckons toward bliss, unconditional love, and healing through surrender, yet risks delusion, addiction, the art of self undoing or blurred boundaries. This tug-of-war shapes the collective, nudging us from Virgo’s control to Pisces’ flow. In the show, Nikki, played by Jenny Slate, embodies this tension, her line—“If my system can take it, I’ll get more stoned to forget I have a broken heart”—capturing Pisces’ escape into illusion to soothe Virgo’s aching need for order, a mirror to Molly’s own dance with pain and release.
Core wounds often block us from feeling safe in our bodies, pushing us to seek comfort outside ourselves. To stay connected, we may bury our true desires or emotions, abandoning our own strength to cradle our pain instead. In Dying for Sex, Molly’s trauma mirrors this struggle, her search for intimacy a fight to reclaim her sovereignty, not just her safety, as she learns to honor her heart’s truth over external reassurance.
A stellium of planets in Pisces and Aries, amid eclipses and retrogrades, mirrors Dying for Sex’s raw pulse. Molly’s failing body carries a seed of violation from childhood, yet her will to face it sparks an awkward, funny, and heart-wrenching journey. She sheds her safety nets—routines, savings, husband—chasing surrender over control, a Pisces-Virgo oppositional shift. Her friend Nikki, played by Jenny Slate, becomes a mirror of balanced connection, showing how harmony with others (Libra) fuels our fire (Aries). In one scene, their red and blue New Year’s dresses, a gift to celebrate together, clash when Molly ditches Nikki to pursue a stranger for a fleeting thrill. This captures Aries’ fierce hunt and Libra’s ache for friendship, raising a question: does chasing our desires risk abandoning ourselves? As Molly’s illness deepens, she and Nikki soften into presence, valuing time over expectation, learning that true care lies in savoring the moment, not scripting its outcome—a lesson woven through the show’s heart.
Molly’s journey in Dying for Sex ignites a reclamation of feminine power, long suppressed by toxic masculinity—a cosmic imbalance of Mars and Venus, now shifting as Venus retrogrades from Aries back to Pisces, where she is exalted. In Pisces, Venus merges with Neptune, Mercury, the North Node, and Saturn, weaving a tapestry of healing as Molly enters her final chapter. Through bold sex play and dramatic therapy, she rekindles her body’s wisdom, fostering love that transcends her illness in tender confrontations with her neighbor, best friend, mother, and even Steve. Mercury, ruling the South Node in Virgo and retrograding through Aries and Pisces, whispers through the show’s quirks—like Molly’s dog play experience that goes south during her chemotherapy session, her mother’s flawed care for rescue dogs, and the dramatic puppetry during group therapy that helps her embody the language her body speaks, creating a bridge to her higher self, and thus, divinatory healing.
Molly’s journey ignite a fierce reclamation of feminine power, long suppressed by toxic masculinity—a cosmic dance of Mars and Venus finding balance. Venus’s retrograde, tracing from Aries’ fire back to Pisces’ depths, where she’s exalted, mirrors Molly’s path to wholeness. In Pisces, Venus joins Neptune, Mercury, the North Node, and Saturn, marking Molly’s slip into life’s final chapter. Here, love transcends her failing body as she confronts her neighbor, best friend, mother, and reconnects with Steve—each bond deepened by her bold exploration of sex and therapy. Mercury, ruling the Virgo South Node and retrograding through Aries and Pisces, weaves its trickster thread, echoing in Molly’s playful yet profound healing, a testament to her surrender and rebirth.
Venus in Aries plays off the brash and confronting, the obscene and the heated in love exchanges and ways of making money. Mars rules fornication, and loves fast, hot, kinky trysts. Mercury in Aries has a brazen tongued and doesn’t think before he speaks. Pisces is soft and flows, poetic and allegorical in nature. Mars, who rules this Venus Retrograde So many of Molly’s exchanges are blunt and stunted as she stumbles her way through sex with strangers. We meet her in her final act at her hospice posting, where she starts to experience the euphoria and hallucinations of the closeness of death. She has formed a bond with her across the hall neighbour who has seemingly stopped caring about life in his messy eating habits and failure to dispose of his trash in a tidy way. Again we see the shadow side of Virgo being exhibited, where healthy habits and routine have gone out the window as a result of abandonment and loss of love. We come to learn that this man is actually deeply caring and deeply submissive. He loves being told what to do and being humiliation. Molly and guy begin to embody the shadow sides of Mars and Venus in a role play dynamic to unlock the wounded parts of themselves and bring healing and pleasure as a soothing balm. As Molly dies she is brought back to life in a game of chicken with Neighbour Guy, aka Rob Delaney (he isn’t even a named character!), as they beat the abuser that has managed to wedge himself inside her and taunt her, preventing her from feeling completely safe to have a deeply intimate experience with another person. She has evolved past her wound, into a rebirth and off on a transcendent journey to meeting her freshly healed soul devoid of boundary and limitation.
Venus in Aries ignites bold, brash encounters—love and money tangled in heated, unfiltered exchanges. Mars fuels quick, fiery trysts, while Mercury in Aries speaks without restraint, sharp and shameless. Pisces, though, drifts in gentle, poetic currents. Molly’s stunted, awkward flings with strangers mirror Aries’ blunt edge, all impulse and stumble. At hospice, her final act unfurls—a haze of euphoria and visions as death nears. There, her relationship with her neighbor across the hall, a man adrift in Virgo’s shadow: messy eating, trash piled high, routines lost to grief and abandonment, reaches its crescendo. Beneath this chaos, he’s tender, submissive, craving guidance and care. Through a role-play based around deprivation and limitation, they channel Mars and Venus at their rawest—unlocking shame and humiliation weaving healing and pleasure into a soothing balm. In her last moments, Molly faces the abuser buried deep within, a taunting shadow that’s barred her from true intimacy. With her neighbor—Rob Delaney, unnamed yet vital—she confronts it, breaks free, and transcends in euphoric orgasm. In this little death, she becomes reborn, her soul soars, boundless and healed, and a couple of days later, surrounded by Nikki and her Mom, she transitions into her next iteration.
Pisces, the final sign in the Zodiac embodies the transcendence of death, while Aries represents the raw vitality of birth as we enter this earthly plane. Shortly before Molly dies, Steve visits her, sharing that his new partner is expecting. He mentions his research, noting that a newborn cannot distinguish itself from its surroundings for the first few months of life. We emerge from the Piscean realm, where we are one with the universe, to assume a physical identity—capable of hearing, seeing, feeling, smelling, and touching. The purity of birth becomes clouded by expectations and attachments, shaping how we should feel, act, and exist within our families, communities, and relationships. Yet, the freedom of death offers a return to the source, a chance to heal, reflect, and begin anew. Perhaps life is a merely a cycle of learning and healing, woven with the joy and pain both bring.