#liminal witch

That kind of conditioning runs deep. The insidious social conditioning that says witchcraft is dangerous… wrong… even “demonic.”

He’s absorbed those stories, that energy, just like anyone raised in a culture shaped so heavily by evangelical fear and control. And I understand that feeling. I lived it once too. More deeply than he ever has to (thankfully). When I was his age, I was taught to believe the craft was something evil. Something that invited demonic oppression, demonic possession and even the devil himself.

But it isn’t.

And now, my children get to have something I didn’t: the space to see something different free of fear. They have the choice to explore their curiosities in an environment that tells them that they are safe, and that it’s okay.

My son worries sometimes - the way children do when they see a door they aren’t ready to walk through - that the spirits who seek me out might find him, too. And maybe someday they will. I've seen the same gift in him that I see in me.

But for now, I am his anchor. I tell him that he is safe, that the shadows aren’t monsters, and that his world is his own to command. I want him to know that the veil doesn’t have to be a source of fear, and more importantly, that he holds the key to his own boundaries. He doesn’t have to open his heart or his sight to anything he isn’t ready for. Not ever, if that is the path he chooses. And that I’ll be right there, holding the light so he never has to navigate the dark alone.

And tonight, the light was particularly warm. Despite his usual apprehensions, he chose to stay. He hovered nearby, watching me arrange my tools like he was trying to solve a puzzle.

“What are you doing?” he asked as I worked quietly, steadily.

“I’m about to go full Harry Potter,” I half-joked, hoping to put him at ease with something familiar to him. Something that softens spell-work and witchcraft, painting it in a not-so-terrifying light.

It seemed to work a little. He giggled at my joke, and even brought his tablet back to pull up the Harry Potter theme music re-mixed as a hauntingly beautiful instrumental for me to listen to while I set up the workstation. He stuck around. Asked questions. And I answered them the way I always try to. Honestly. Gently. Carefully.

I’ve always been firm about one thing: I will never force my path onto my children. Because I grew up in a household where “choice” of belief wasn’t even a concept. As a child, I didn’t have the capacity to conclude that anything aside from what my parents taught me could be the truth.

I know that my parents thought they were doing the right thing at the time. That they were “training up their child in the way they should go,” as their belief had taught them to do. But without realizing it, they stripped my agency away from me. And now, looking back as an adult, I wish I could have been shown that there are other ways to believe. I wish I had been given the ‘OK’ to explore without fear.

So, I don’t tell my children what to believe. I don’t give them answers to memorize. I give them that ‘OK’ to explore. I let them ask the hard questions, and I try my best to answer. None of that “because I said so,” or “God’s ways are higher than ours." None of those bullshit excuses to avoid having to think beyond what we've been told to believe, or to challenge ideas we've been conditioned from a young age not to challenge.

As they grow, my children get to choose their own path whether they eventually want to pick up a candle themselves or simply watch from the doorway. They know the light is always there. And they always have the agency to choose.

And tonight, I got to see that agency in action. My son didn’t just stay to watch. He engaged. He wanted to understand the ‘how’ and ‘why’ of the work I was doing, processing it through his own lens. He admitted he found it “creepy” but also “kind of cool”. He told me he might even want to help me with spells someday. Just not the “scary” ones. Nothing that calls upon or summons spirits, or anything like that. I smiled and told him that was completely fair, and I would never ask him to do anything like that. He’s my priority and I want him to feel safe. Comfortable. Confident and ready if and when the time comes.

Instead, I explained that not everything I do is about spirits. Sometimes these spells and rituals are about setting intentions. About being mindful. About putting our hopes, our wishes, and intentions out into the universe and seeing what grows from it.

The apprehension was still there, but the fear shifted more and more into the realm of curiosity.

My oldest son is a world-builder at heart. He always has been since he was little. He has always been creating and building worlds of his own through games like Minecraft and Roblox. So the idea of “setting the rules” for our own environment clicked for him.

And the best part of all of this was the wisdom of this child.

As I burned the parchment in my copper bowl, we both watched the flame take its time. It caught slowly, smoldering rather than bursting into flame. While I was focused on the energy of the spell, he was focused on the metaphor.

“Maybe it’s burning slow to show us we need to be responsible,” he said. “Like… take it slow and be careful with the money when it comes.”

That wasn’t something I had said. It was an insight that had come to him entirely on its own. Him trusting his own intuition and wisdom already.

And for a moment I just sat there, letting it sink in. Realizing that this is what it looks like when you don’t teach someone what to believe but give them space to think. To interpret and find meaning in their own way.

He looked proud of himself then. And I was proud of him too, as always.