On Self and Image

Recently, I’ve been thinking a great deal about how we present ourselves as witches, and especially of the images we curate in online spaces. A new witch poring over social media might deduce that we are all at our altars from dusk to dawn, fumigating animal skulls and grinding herbs until our elbows creak, our candles a constant and unending fire that we tend to day and night. If the thought of this exhausts you as much as it does me, let’s consider for a moment how overwhelmed a budding young witch must feel.

They probably wonder if their efforts can ever be enough when tasked with this unending labor, if they can manage the gargantuan investment of time it would take to dedicate themselves in what they believe to be the necessary degree, if they are comfortable changing their appearance and behavior in so many ways in order to fit in with the occult glitterati they see performing before their eyes. How utterly overwhelming and how misleading these images are when approached without context. And how embarrassing for us when our spiritual practices are mistakenly perceived as a mere trend–or worse–a “lifestyle” (whatever that odd and oft-abused word really means).

Nor am I innocent in all of this mess. As a person who values privacy, the parts of my life I choose to share publicly are limited and curated around my craft, and so many moments that matter to me are not recorded or projected in online spaces. My partner’s long and difficult cancer treatment isn’t there. Those overwhelming weeks spent in hospitals aren’t there. The recent loss of our beloved cat isn’t there. My struggles with anxiety and self-criticism aren’t there. The pile of unfinished projects, the nourishing meals shared with loved ones, the laughter and the glasses of wine, those aren’t there. One might easily mistake us for witches and nothing else, but we are in fact whole people with whole lives. New witches should try to remember that the public images of ourselves that we choose to share are just that: images. Chosen and constructed. A partial picture. They cannot capture whole realities.

But the witch’s mundane moments are real, and they are important. Most of the time, I am not conjuring spirits, analyzing cartomantic spreads, and binding smudge sticks of garden mugwort. Like the majority of witches today, my life is mostly a series of non-ritual moments: perfecting a favorite quiche recipe, tending to my animals, spending time with my partner (who is thankfully in remission and doing very well), shopping flea markets for treasures, cavorting with friends and family, reading horror novels, playing music, and yes, watching television. We’re human. These are the common, everyday moments of my life. And these moments (young witches, really hear me on this) do not contradict the important role of my spiritual practice. Witchcraft is a part of who we are, but it cannot be the whole of who we are.

Modern paganism is perhaps one of the few remaining spaces in which the “lifestylification” of one’s spirituality is still acceptable. Imagine a person who, having recently taken up yoga, begins wearing henna and long linen shirts, casting off all facets of the person they were before, becoming a completely different person overnight? How would we feel about a friend who joins a Christian church and is suddenly unable to hold a conversation without circling back to biblical references? The distaste we feel towards these people is not rooted in their beliefs per se, but in their choice to perform their spirituality as a costume rather than a personal practice. Not only does it look more like obsession than dedication, it cheapens the beliefs we mean to celebrate, resulting in something farcical and ingenuine. If you’ve come to witchcraft recently, please don’t throw away who you are and where you come from. Any spiritual practice worth keeping should fit comfortably within the person you already are. Your perspectives and your rituals may change, but who you are, at your core, should be good enough already. Let me rephrase that for emphasis: you are good enough already, and if the message you receive from more experienced folks in your newfound path does not echo this, walk away from them.

From the perspective of practice and potency, dedication is certainly important, but obsession presents a very real danger, for when our craft is the constant focus at hand, it begins to lose its vibrance. Our charms become nothing more than routine, our words mere recitations, our magics machinery. Stepping away from the altar and into the concerns of the secular is not merely a requirement of the modern world, but a necessary prerequisite for a lasting spiritual practice. What matters is not our ability to engage ritual every day or even every week, but our ability to answer its call regularly over the course of our lives. How many planned rituals did I miss because I was busy helping my partner navigate chemotherapy? Who on earth would care? When it comes to progress in witchcraft, longevity is what matters, for power and awakening come to us slowly, built on experience spread out across the years. Our spirituality helps us weather obstacles and make sense of the lives we already have. It is a well from which we drink and to which we contribute, not an empty space to be filled.

In broader terms, this posturing is all generally strange stuff in the eyes of a folk witch, since most of our ancestors did not even call themselves “witches” in the way we use the word today, instead practicing cunning arts, fairy doctoring, wortcunning, and so on, traditions that survive in the charms and rites we keep, now commonly grouped together under the umbrella of folk craft. Historically speaking, witchcraft is not a title our ancestors chose, but one that chose them, a name we choose to embrace in remembrance and understanding of the practitioners of the past who suffered for it, a name we work to rescue that comes with both power and a price.

I hope that young witches are able to see beyond the staging and posturing of online images. I hope they are able to allow their spirituality to fit within their lives alongside all of those other meaningful moments, to sacrifice no part of themselves in order to live the life they desire, to grow in spiritual power while they also grow in many other kinds of fulfillment. Life is very big, after all, and our spiritual practice need not cannibalize the time we offer to our loved ones, our careers, our hobbies, and yes, even our tragedies. In reality, the time we are able to spend in the practice of our art waxes and wanes with the demands placed upon us. We have all skipped a ritual night due to exhaustion or distraction. We have all rescheduled a full moon working because we simply were not in the right headspace to perform it with focus. As witches, we are both worldly and otherworldly, and between these, we must find a careful and deliberate balance.

Let us remember that the message at the core of the old craft is not that we are unworthy or inadequate. On the contrary, folk witchcraft is empowering and affirming. It teaches us that our knowledge and power, our tools, our spiritual allies, and the entirety of our craft is rooted in who we are and where we come from, meaning our ancestors, our homes, and our cultural heritage, whatever those things might be for us–the unique milieu that makes up who we already are and how we got here. We are not supplicants, after all; we are witches.

The truth is that we’ve no need to prove ourselves. We need only be ourselves.