A Hole in the Sun: Cosmic chaos = mental mayhem.
Okay, we’ve all done it — checked our horoscope, read up on our astrological sign, maybe flirted with someone about compatibility: “I’m a Sag, what are you?”
Most of us indulge in it for fun, knowing full well that the stars aren’t actually dictating our fate.
Okay, I must admit — I wanted to believe it. The qualities attributed to Sagittarius are awesome — the optimistic, fearless centaur charging into the unknown, seeking new adventures, free-spirited, independent, and always shooting for the stars!
That girl’s dating profile bio is fire. 🔥 Who wouldn’t want to date her?
But I, on the other hand, am not that cool.
I have an alphabet soup of diagnoses — BPDII, GAD, PTSD, OCD, ADHD — all of which culminate in intense anxiety, depression, and hypomania, among other adorable and fun quirks. But fearless adventurer? Not exactly me.
Although… 🤔 Come to think of it… when hypomanic, I do feel adventurous — optimistic, confident, charismatic, ambitious, and totally unstoppable!
I mean, the DSM likes to call those things “symptoms,” and my psychiatrist feels the need to put a label on everything: “recklessness,” “euphoria,” “impulsivity,” “grandiosity” — while I’d prefer to just call it freaking fantastic!
Unfortunately, with Bipolar Disorder II, those hypomanic episodes are rare. The bouts of depression are more frequent and longer lasting, and obviously, they have more to do with brain chemistry than the position of the planets at the moment of my birth.
However, I recently discovered there is one celestial body that does affect human behavior — and no, I’m not talking about werewolves on a full moon!
I’m talking about…
THE SUN.
Before three days ago, the only thing I knew about the sun’s effect on human behavior was that it triggered me to begin having panic attacks in third grade.
Well… it wasn’t the sun as much as it was that one substitute teacher — you know the one. The substitute nobody wants, the one who has a personal vendetta against joy. That was her. And she chose that day to teach us about the solar system.
She informed us, quite casually, that the Sun was a star. A star that would one day die — a catastrophic event that would wipe out life on Earth. She explained that the death of a star is violent, causing the Sun to expand so large that it will engulf the Earth entirely.
(Reminder: I was in third grade.)
Needless to say, I did not take this well, and astronomy hasn’t exactly been something I’ve had a desire to know more about.
Until three days ago.
I suppose geomagnetic storms should have been on my radar, given that last year saw the biggest geomagnetic storm in 20 years — and the first time the Aurora Borealis was visible in Colorado.
But on Mother’s Day, when my dad and I took my grandmother out for a stroll and roll — she uses a wheelchair to get around — we looked up to find the sky exploding in color, a luminous dome stretching from edge to edge. It was breathtaking. A rare, magical moment.
Did I stop to consider what might be causing this sudden celestial light show? Did I wonder about the potential impact of these geomagnetic storms on technology, infrastructure, or — I don’t know — the human nervous system?
Nope.
I just enjoyed the view and moved on.
I much prefer studying people — psychology (which I have my degree in), sociology, philosophy, neuroscience. Anything inside the mind. Nothing beyond the Earth’s atmosphere.
And yet, here I am. Writing about a hole. In the Sun.
The Shift I Couldn’t Explain
I’d been feeling down since January 20th — Martin Luther King Jr. Day and Inauguration Day (read that blog post here). The state of the world had left me feeling hopeless, sad, and anxious. I talked to my dad and my auntie, letting them know I’d need some extra support. I asked them to encourage me to get out of bed every day, to go on walks with Bella (my dog and the love of my life), to eat healthy, and to write — whether it was my memoir, my blog, or just journaling for 15 minutes. Anything to keep me going.
Then, on January 31st, something shifted. My anxiety spiked out of nowhere. By February 1st, I was so gripped with fear I couldn’t leave the house. The next day, the anxiety lessened, but the depression deepened, and with it — like clockwork — came the suicidal thoughts.
But this time, something was different.
It wasn’t just my pain I was feeling — it was everyone’s. It was as if the grief of the entire world settled in my body, my heart aching for all those suffering. Now, I’ve always been an empath. Being around people in distress can overwhelm me. Hearing or reading about tragedies can send me into a spiral, ruminating for days or even weeks about the suffering of others. Some stories still haunt me years later.
And yes… I do still worry about the fate of all Earth’s inhabitants, billions of years from now, when the Sun decides to go out in a blaze of glory — taking us all with it.
But this? This was something else entirely.
I’d never felt this before. It wasn’t just a vague sense of foreboding or an intrusive thought about something bad happening to a loved one — things I, unfortunately, am familiar with. No, this felt bigger, like I was picking up on something real, something happening on a global scale.
The thought hit me suddenly: There’s going to be a rash of suicides.
The intensity of it scared me. So I called my best friend.
Her response? “Maybe you’re feeling that way because of the hole in the sun.”
“… The what?”
I assumed she’d fallen down another doomsday prophecy rabbit hole on YouTube.
… but instead of roasting her (yet), I googled it myself.
And sure enough —
A HOLE. IN THE SUN.
The Science Behind the Hole in the Sun (and did you hear about Rogue Tractors?)
Now, I’d love to say that my deep, existential distress on February 2nd led me to pour over astrophysics journals, but no — I did what any reasonable person would do when confronted with A HOLE. IN THE SUN.
I Googled, “Hole in the sun.”
And here’s what I learned:
The Sun is constantly shedding particles into space, an endless stream of charged solar wind. But sometimes, the Sun’s magnetic field opens up in a region known as a coronal hole — a dark, cooler patch in the solar corona where these solar winds escape much faster than usual. When these high-speed solar winds reach Earth, they slam into our planet’s magnetosphere, triggering what’s called a geomagnetic storm.
NASA explains that these storms can range from mild disturbances to major solar events, with the potential to interfere with satellites, power grids, and even the Earth’s magnetic field.
Normally, these storms don’t make the news, but every now and then, they cause a bit of chaos.
Take last year, for example. The biggest geomagnetic storm in two decades sent a dazzling display of the Northern Lights as far south as Florida. Sounds beautiful, right? It was. But it also caused tractors to go berserk.
No, really.
According to The Times a solar storm disrupted GPS signals so badly that some self-driving tractors stopped working entirely. Others, as one very confused farmer reported, just… went rogue. (As if farm equipment wasn’t already terrifying enough.)
And it’s not just tractors — these storms can mess with power grids, disrupt satellites, and even scramble high-frequency radio signals used in aviation and military operations.
But as much as I’d love to write an entire piece about Tractor Uprising: Solar Storm Edition, there’s another side to this story — one that affects more than just farm equipment with a mind of its own (sounds like a premise for a Stephen King novel).
The Part That (Unfortunately) Affects Us
It turns out, geomagnetic storms don’t just disrupt technology — they wreak havoc on human physiology, too.
Scientific studies have linked geomagnetic activity to increased cardiovascular events, including a slight uptick in strokes and heart attacks. Some research suggests that shifts in Earth’s magnetic field can trigger seizures in people with epilepsy. Other studies indicate fluctuations in blood pressure, melatonin levels, and even sleep disturbances during periods of high geomagnetic activity.
But it’s not just sleep cycles or heart rates getting thrown off — geomagnetic disturbances can also influence brain function and emotional regulation. One study published by The United Nations Office for Outer Space Affairs (UNOOSA) found that geomagnetic storms impact the brain’s bioelectrical activity and psychophysiological state, affecting stress levels, cognitive processing, and emotional balance. Basically, when space weather goes haywire, so can our nervous systems.
Research has also found a correlation between geomagnetic storms and an increase in hospitalizations for psychiatric conditions, suicide attempts, and suicide rates. One study published in The British Journal of Psychiatry found that in the weeks following intense geomagnetic storms, hospital admissions for depressive episodes spiked significantly.
Other research published in the Journal of Environmental Research and the Journal of the American Heart Association suggests that geomagnetic activity may also disrupt serotonin and melatonin production — the very chemicals that regulate mood and sleep cycles.
In simpler terms? Solar storms scramble more than just satellites — they send our minds a bit off-kilter, too.
So, while I initially thought I was having some kind of collective premonition of global suffering, it turns out… I may have just been experiencing a particularly crappy side effect of space weather.
And honestly? I’m still not sure which is worse.
But either way, I wanted to give a shoutout to anyone else who might be battling a case of the space blues — and to all those who have loved ones struggling with mental health.
Now is the time to reach out — whether you need help or can offer it. The effects of geomagnetic storms on mood disorders can linger for weeks, so if you’re struggling, you are not alone. It will pass, even if your brain is currently lying to you and saying otherwise.
Ride this wave of space wind, ask for help if you need it, and don’t act on the impulsivity and despair that the Sun — of all things — is throwing your way. These episodes of depression are as temporary as… the sun.
I understand it’s not easy — I’ve been there. In fact, I am there. And as annoying as it is to hear — you cannot trust your thoughts any more than you can trust the Sun.
Because the thing is… you will feel better. You will see your thoughts change when the veil of depression lifts. And things really will get better.
…Until, of course, the Sun kills everyone.
But, you know. Billions of years from now.
So, in the meantime? Please reach out if you need help — whether it’s to a loved one or a professional. And if you’re in crisis, call or text the Suicide & Crisis Lifeline at 988. You can also visit their website.
Please remember, you’re not alone. The universe told me so.
Love and Peace.
