CONFRONTING WITCHCRAFT JUDGEMENT

A PERSONAL SPELL FOR SOVEREIGHTY

There is still fear around the word Witch. Not because it means evil but because it means power without permission. It means devotion without dogma. It means walking a path that answers to the earth, the elements, the seasons not a pulpit, a priest, or a patriarchal book.

Witchcraft, for me, is personal. It is not performative. It is definitely not aesthetic for likes. It is not some witchy cosplay built for social media validation. It is the language my bones remember. The way I pray with my hands in the soil, with ash on my skin, with breath and blood and moonlight.

This path this craft is my home.Nature is my religion. The Wheel of the Year is my gospel. The wind and the wild are my teachers.

And yet… even now, even still, I’ve been judged. Mocked. Ridiculed. Whispered about. The worst are never the ones who confront you. The worst are the ones who smile to your face and gather in circles behind your back. I’ve had well meaning interventions from a friends who believed I was possessed simply because I dared to show more of myself. “You’ve changed,” they said like witchcraft was a tantrum, not a path I’ve walked since I was a teenager. Yes, I stepped out of the “broom closet” after a brief hiatus, but that only turned the volume up on their whispers.

More recently, because I started speaking openly about what I loved, what I honoured, what lit me up, the worry and judgment began again. I’ve done the work. I’ve grown more compassionate. I understand that, deep down, they might be coming from fear not hate. Still, I never once disrespected her faith. I saw her devotion, and I loved her for it. But she could not offer the same grace in return..

That’s the rub, isn’t it?

The cross nails, blood, thorns can be displayed on walls, necklaces, schools, bumpers… and few bat an eye. Yet a pentacle. A goddess statue. A ritual bowl of herbs. Even a photo of women in ritual garb around a fire sparks fear, accusation, disgust. That tells me everything I need to know about who gets to define “holy.”

It’s not just non believers or outsiders anymore. No the sharpest judgments often come from within the so called spiritual community: ego drenched comparisons, superiority disguised as “helpful advice,” the spiritual gatekeeping and “you’re doing it wrong” brigade. These are the people who should know better.

Witchcraft is not your Pinterest mood board or moon water you forgot on the windowsill. It’s ancestral. It’s visceral. It’s earned.

If you’ve walked this path long enough, you’ll remember when we had to hunt for scraps of knowledge: books hidden at the back of the library, Granny’s whispers in the garden, notes scribbled under the covers by candlelight. Now. Everything is instant and while that can be a gift, it’s also created a lollie scramble of practice. People cherry pick rituals from here and there, call it “traditional,” then have the audacity to tell you you’re not doing it right. Baby, that’s not spirituality that’s ego…

The truth is this. You don’t need to prove your witchcraft to anyone not to the internet, your family, or the white robed spiritualist who thinks your bones are “too dark” for their light. You were not made to be palatable. Why would you want to be. Do you think Gaia cares if she’s “palatable” to all. She just demands.

You were made to remember. To burn. To bless. To reclaim what was stolen, silenced, shamed. You are not a threat because you are dangerous. You are a threat because you are free and that is the crux of it. You cannot be controlled, and there lies their fear. Fear from others who follow the status quo and see you off doing something they can’t tell them how to do.

So let them judge. Let them stare. Let them whisper. Your roots go deeper than their fear. Your flame burns longer than their opinion. This is your craft. Your devotion. Your rebirth.

You’re doing just fine.