I’m going to be honest, I’ve been in a rut with magick since September. Sure, I do readings and spells for others, but when it came to personal practice, I sat back and I watched it slip away. There was a time when magick was almost an obsession, some may even say it was an addiction, and suddenly, there I was unable to connect for my own self. When I put my own needs on the back burner, I became so burned out, suddenly nothing interested me, and ritual became daunting. I have learned so much about magickal baby steps and am currently on a thirty day “ritual a day” to find what I need and what needs to be burned away. There isn’t always perfect balance, ebb, and flows in our practice- which is exactly how it should be- but being aware and jumping back in is saving my magick in this moment.
About a year ago, I remember the seed moment of feeling lost. I felt like I was losing touch with who I was as a witch, but I was on the verge of rebirthing as the most powerful creatrix I had ever been. Then, nothing happened. I was slowly enveloped by self doubt, imposter syndrome, depression, and I wasn’t sure if any of my witch sisters were just that anymore. By September my self practice was barely a trickle.
I would only do little spells when I wanted something, and each time it felt more hallow then the last time. My final spell in October was for a house my partner and I desperately wanted, and when a cash offer beat us out, I took the whole spell outside and smashed it into a million pieces and cried over it.
I remember the glass pieces flying and scream-crying at spirit. I had to let it out. For all I do for other people, with and all the help I give to the dead, I never asked for anything in return that meant anything like this – why couldn’t you help me this one time? I know, I know, before you say it- spirit wanted better for me and it wasn’t the place I was building with my magick. But, in that five year old version of me’s tantrum, I didn’t want anything else except for what I couldn’t have.
There was a time when every morning I would wake up and cast magick with my coffee. I would let my tarot decks tell me stories, and meditate for hours. I would talk about magick all day till I was blue in the face- annoying all those around me- this I am sure! Who did I become on that cold October day, when I cursed at spirit and called my atheist mother to make her tell me “I told you so.”
My mom did not tell me I told you so either- she told me to put on my big girl pants and that I AM magick. I love her so much for that. I was burned out from working too hard for other people and not having a small simple daily practice to balance the scales. Without self magick and self care I fall apart every time.
So, I came up with this idea- with the help from a friend. A ritual a day for thirty days. I was on the phone with a sister witch, and she quite kindly said I was full of shit, for a long time. God damn I needed that so much. She said every time she talked to me I was so tired and would do something tomorrow- and that was not enough. She mentioned growing a plant from a seed and I brought out my Italian tarot deck.
I came up with an initial elaborate opening ritual that involved planting Calendula seeds, and using my tarot to communicate one on one with my primal ancestors. Without diminishing the potency of my spell by talking about it, I am starting with a question that is seemingly easy, that I will unfold with my ancestors for a month. It’s pretty much an intense month long therapy sesh for me and my ghost fam.
My primal ancestors are the best. They are being suprisingly gentle with me these first few days and we are really connecting. I already feel in my power and it doesn’t feel like a chore at all. I understand that this journey is life long, and I’m grateful to be on the next step of this cycle.
I hope this story of my journey can be of value to you, and I’m excited to share with you as it unfolds! Thank you for taking the time to snuggle up and read my words!