So, yeah. I’m a witch now. Well that’s not entirely true. I’ve been informed you don’t actually become a witch, you just remember you already are one. And a few months ago, I performed my very first act of witchcraft.

Trust me, I’m very aware of how this sounds. Before you get all weirded out and accuse me of being a devil worshipper mixing questionable ingredients in a smoking cauldron, this witchcraft is a nature-based path that worships the Earth and her energies. “Magic” = energy + intention for desired outcomes. Think the good parts of Norman Vincent Peale’s The Power of Positive Thinking, with less God and Christ, and more living in tune with Nature and her cycles.

I recently found a 7th grade journal entry from my first trip to the Boundary Waters, and if that’s not how a religion is born, I don’t want any part of it. I’ve always believed in the power of energy and intuition, now I’m just finding my own style of spiritual self care + manifestation and calling it witchcraft.

I know, I know. It’s a lot. And a little woo-woo. But I’m cool with your perception of me, either way you choose to slice it. I’m just assigning a fun name to a lifestyle and belief system I already embody.

And frankly, if you find it strange that I worship an entity that provides humanity a place to exist, literally gives us life, nourishes our body, offers a natural playground for our endless entertainment, orchestrates a seasonal (not to mention daily) rotation of magnificent art exhibits for our enjoyment and inspiration, all while we use and abuse her, continually disrespect her needs and gaslight her by turning her cries for help into you’re being ridiculous, I find it strange that you don’t. So I guess we’re even?

Fair warning, hiking thousands of miles through the wilderness a couple of times might uncover a deep connection with the natural world making it difficult not to see her as the ultimate healer.

But if you’re looking for someone to blame (aka credit) for the recent deep dive into witchcraft, it’s a seven-year-old girl. Remember the last super blue moon in August? We can call that the pivot point. My friend Heidi casually mentioned she and her daughter Bea were going to take part in a little ritual Heidi saw on Instagram, as supermoons are ideal times to set intentions. All you have to do is write them down on some bay leaves, chant a little chant thrice, and burn those intentions up, releasing their power to the sky.

That night Bea went to bed in a fur coat. Clearly she’s a professional manifestor. I have zero doubt she’ll realize every intention once she harnesses her power. Ah, to be a kid, wrapping yourself up in a fur coat, willing your future into existence. So innocent, so powerful, so beautiful. I was inspired.

It was late, but I still had time. 

I ran to the grocery store and grabbed some bay leaves, because I am not _{^{(was not?)}} the kind of person who just has bay leaves hanging around. After thoughtful deliberation on the one block walk home, I chose three intentions and carefully scribbled them on the tiny leaves. Clear, concise. Then I listened to Heidi’s Marco Polo like 800 times to capture the verse on paper:

Once upon a moon so blue
I cast my wish, my intention true.
What once seemed so impossible to achieve, 
I now claim, and fully believe.
So mote it be.

I burned the leaves marked with my intentions, while gazing at the super blue moon from my deck. Into the air they went.

Damn. That felt good.

A few mornings later, the first thing I did before I was even awake was google search “things witches need.” By coffee time, there was no turning back. I was a witch.

According to Gabriela Herstik in Inner Witch: A Modern Guide to the Ancient Craft (like I said, I went on a deep dive), being a witch is about freedom. To be who you are, to grow as you wish, to worship in the way you desire. I mean, that sounds nice, right? Now here I am, casually dropping the fact I’m a witch in pretty much any random conversation, one part serious, two parts for the season, three parts in affirmation, all parts for fun. Almost no one bats an eye, pun intended.

Awesome! I’m a warlock! – Gregory from the wine shop.

Oh fun! What kind? I’m a kitchen witch. – Katie from my Village. (Eclectic witch is the answer, for those in the know.)

Yeah, that tracks. – Ford, colleague (back when I was employed) during a Teams meeting while simultaneously sending a link to a metaphysical shop in Seattle I should check out when I’m in the area.

Okay, this is the second time I’ve heard you say something about being a witch. Tell me more please. – Christina, friend via Marco Polo.

I’m slightly baffled at how many people experienced with witchy things as kids. I was discussing my path to baby witch with Alex and Lee a few weeks ago; they shared their teenage adventures with tarot cards, I wondered aloud why I never dabbled in witchcraft in my youth. Then the shame of a bad memory oozed into focus.

Not only did I not dabble, I actively avoided. I’ve had a rough relationship with witches ever since a girl in my 7th grade homeroom class pointed out that I looked like one. I can’t imagine she meant it as a compliment, since back then depictions of witches were usually terrifying creatures with evil cackles and pointy noses complete with inconveniently placed warts. And also, her delivery was more in line with making fun rather than a statement of awe and wonder. 

Thus began my aversion to dressing up as anything, declines to costume parties, and dismissal of all things Halloweeny, especially anything remotely associated with witches, out of fear of drawing unwanted attention to myself for resembling one. I carried that with me all the way through adulthood.

Kids are mean, but adults are meaner. Just ask Mayim Bialik. You know, the kid in Blossom? Though the closest to Jewish I’ve ever been was when an old friend, as a joke only she thought was funny, often referred to me as her favorite Jewish friend in public (you wouldn’t believe how long it took for me to put that one together), I can relate to feeling ashamed of my physical appearance.

But it’s time to reclaim my power. I’m taking back the witch, bitches. I went from feeling shame even hearing the word, to embracing it, embodying it, becoming it. From shrinking away from all things witch, to telling everyone I am one. Because if I own the word, it can’t be used against me.

And that my friends, is some powerful witchy shit.