Capricorn Rising
Or the Curious Case of Benjamin Button
Being a Capricorn rising feels a bit like living life backwards: too serious too young, growing lighter with age. Saturn rules Capricorn and he’s not generous at the beginning. He gives results, not shortcuts. But once he does, you age like wine that finally hit the right decade.
Let’s start simple. Your rising sign is the one climbing the eastern horizon when you were born. It shapes how the world meets you and how you walk into anything new. In my chart, that sign is Capricorn, ruled by Saturn, the planet of responsibility, time, and structure.
The Old Soul in a Young Body
Capricorn risings are the old souls disguised as children. The kids who spoke like tiny professors, the ones who found more comfort with grandparents than with classmates. I was that child: quiet, observant, too serious for playground politics. Think Matilda with a resting “please don’t disturb my peace” face.
Once, at the beach, I was floating in total silence when a girl popped out of the water and squeaked, “Do you want to be my friend?”
My Virgo sun and Capricorn rising merged into one instinct: I disappeared underwater like a startled seal. Not my proudest moment, but painfully accurate. My family called me “little lemon” because I didn’t give hugs on demand. I wasn’t cold. I was selective.
Teenage Years: Existential Girl Era
Adolescence didn’t soften things. I tried to blend in and failed miserably. While everyone else was falling for boys, I was falling for philosophy. Weekends meant writing poems, reading Nietzsche and Plato, and interrogating reality as if I were on payroll. My friends’ boyfriends called me “the weird one who talks about philosophers and doesn’t kiss anyone.” Fair assessment.
The First Lifetime
My first real relationship began at nineteen. He was nine years older, a Scorpio (of course), and a man who loved books more than people. We were together almost a decade. Classic Capricorn rising meets 6/2 profile: the role model in training, spending the first life phase in trial and error.
The Saturn Years
By thirty-three, I’d lived multiple versions of myself. I’d been married and divorced. I’d lived in Spain, England, Greece, Indonesia, Mexico, and Colombia. I had a painfully boring office job where, in true Capricorn rising fashion, I met a soul-friend fifteen years older. I became a digital nomad. I co-founded a startup with a toxic ex. I went through three serious relationships, each one mirroring wounds I hadn’t healed.
Everything collapsed: marriage, identity, structure, home. Saturn demanded reconstruction from the ground up.
Those years were messy, painful, transformative, and sacred. Therapy, trauma, loops, awakenings. Each return to the same lesson nudged me out of the loop and into the spiral.
The Climb to Wisdom
Now, at thirty-four, I feel the second life phase of the 6 line settling in, the climb to the roof, the integration phase. Saturn has softened. What used to feel heavy now feels like clarity. 2025 is a 9-year, and I was born on a day 9, in month 9 of 1991. Nine marks completion, endings, transcendence. No wonder this year feels like closing a chapter that started long before I had words.
The Gift of Saturn
So here’s to the Capricorn risings: the babies who enter life as elders, and the adults who finally learn how to laugh. The ones who don’t collapse when Saturn knocks, because we were born knowing how to rebuild.
And yes, the bone structure is part of the package.
With love,
Maria Luisa.
