Recently, I received two questions through the feedback section on my site. They are simple at first glance, but powerful after I sat with them:
How have your views on magic changed over time?
And
What’s a mistake you made as a beginner in witchcraft?
I don’t take questions like this lightly. Magic isn’t just something I practice, it’s something I live. These answers are honest, personal, and maybe a little messy. That’s the only way I know how to write truth. So here goes:
I used to think magic lived in storybooks. In robes and wands and chosen ones.
Like so many kids, I fell in love with Harry Potter young. The world, the friendships, the promise that if you were different enough, maybe magic would find you. And it did, in a way. I still love the stories. I still rewatch the films and re-read the books, but always secondhand, always gifted or thrifted. I can separate the art from the author. Such a bitter woman doesn’t own my nostalgia. She doesn’t own the comfort those stories gave me when I had no map for who I was.
But my magic? It isn’t from her pages.
I come from deep Christian roots. We went on a haunt once as teens. It was one of those local ghost-hunting nights where you sneak around the back roads hoping for chills. After that, my mom had bedroom radio blessed by a priest because it wouldn’t stop turning itself on. Full volume. Music blaring from speakers that weren’t even hooked up. Power cords unplugged. It’d still play. I thought it was kind of cool. She thought it was a demon. I guess we both believed in something.
Friends
Years later, it wasn’t a book or a priest that pulled me deeper, it was friends. Witchy ones. Queer ones. Friends who handed me crystals without laughing, who let me stand in their circles and fumble the words. I started reading. Studying. I found Wicca. Then, I watched it fall away as I followed the older trails back to pagan roots. There were Appalachian whispers, bloodlines, and broken bones. And yes, herbs my grandmother used without ever calling it witchcraft. I built something of my own. My own form of justice. My own kind of holy.
But if there’s one thing I wish I’d learned sooner?
Stop talking too damn much.
Or lightly put:
Don’t tell people everything.
That’s the beginner mistake I made: I opened up too much, too soon. I was so eager to be understood. I wanted to be known in this new light. I didn’t realize what I was giving away. In witchcraft, anything can be used against you. Anything.
Don’t tell them your full name and date of birth. Don’t tell them the name you practice under and, never make that name something easy to guess. Never tell them your protections. Your wards. Your sealing methods. Your undoings.
They don’t need to know how you anchor your energy.
They don’t need to know which gods, spirits, or ancestors you speak to.
They don’t need to know how to unravel you.
Even the spells I share aren’t the ones I use for myself. Because what works for me has locks built into it. Layers. Hidden keys I’ll never give away. These are just beginning stepping stones that work as is or that you can build into your own.
Your magic is yours.
Keep some of it close. Keep some of it sacred.
Let them think they know the path you walk, but never show them the map.
Have a question for me? Drop it below, through the feedback page, or send it by email to poeaxtry@gmail.com. I love hearing from you.
