#spoonielife

Somewhere along the way, people started acting like being a witch means you have to burn candles every day, own fifty crystals, wave a wand around, wear all black, and live in a house that looks like a movie set.

If that's your thing, I genuinely love that for you.

But that's not the only way.

For me, being a witch was never something I decided to become. It's how I was raised. It's how my family has lived for generations.

It's in the stories my elders told. It's in the things we don't share outside our home. It's in the recipes, the prayers, the quiet rituals, the respect we give our ancestors, and the way we honor the promises we've made to them.

It's knowing when the seasons are changing before the calendar tells you. It's talking to your plants while you're watering them. It's paying attention to the moon, the rain, the birds, the wind, and the soil because they're all speaking—you just have to learn how to listen.

I don't separate my spiritual life from my everyday life because, to me, they were never separate.

The way I cook.

The way I garden.

The way I care for my home.

The way I make tea.

The way I greet the morning.

The way I remember the people who came before me.

That's all part of my practice.

I don't wake up every day thinking, "Time to be a witch."

I wake up and live.

And that, for me, is witchcraft.

It's not a costume.

It's not an aesthetic.

It's not something I perform for the internet.

It's a relationship—with nature, with spirit, with my ancestors, with my home, and with the life I'm building every single day.

So if your practice is candles, beautiful altars, and moon water, that's wonderful.

If your practice is tending a garden, cooking your grandmother's recipes, praying in your own way, speaking to your ancestors, and living in rhythm with the earth, that's wonderful too.

There isn't just one way to be a witch.

There never has been.

And maybe it's time we stopped confusing aesthetics with ancestry, appearance with practice, and performance with a way of life.

For some of us, this isn't something we do.

This morning however just went bad to worse, the weather is awful, then I was in a car accident (I’m fine, the car isn’t) and now very shaken up. My final day of training g got cancelled and I’m having to wait for my dad to rescue me because I’m stranded due to not having a driveable car.

I’m ready to curl up in bed.

Hope your Fridays are going better.

It's the relief, the instant of recognizing that we won't have to fight so hard anymore, that we're taking ourselves utterly seriously and that we're going to be cared for, even just a little bit, even if it's by ourselves. The past few hours were, in fact, that bad. (I was going to use italics there, but I couldn't stomach looking at the slant, so I chose bold instead. That is how spoonies make our decisions.)

Spoon Depletion

https://www.tumblr.com/fibro-memes/741144825549701120?source=share You know you are tired when you don’t even have the energy to screenshot the cute graphic to link it to the tumbler you found it at. Can I mention how great it is that Tumblr survived the pandemic and is just as bizarre as it’s ever been?