Once I went to a medium, because that’s the sort of thing I do, and she connected to my deceased friend who kept telling the medium to tell me that I’m a witch. The medium admitted this to me bashfully at first, then dove headfirst into defensiveness saying, “Her words, not mine, take it for what you will, I’m not sure.”
I guffawed and lit up, feeling affirmed and also amused at the bizarre stigma of “witch”, especially coming from someone who is literally talking to dead people.
You’re a witch too, lady, like it or not. And it’s a thing to be celebrated!
I’m new to the world of witchery and I’m always unsure how much of it is like, me reclaiming something feminist that has been used to burn and oppress women of yore, or me practicing my long-hidden but deeply-felt spirituality, or me on the !~cutting edge~! of cultural (white) urban outfitters feminism. Like, I don’t know pagan history, I don’t know anything about Wicca, so me calling myself a witch is actually probably fucked up somewhere along the line.
But, also, although I don’t practice an organized, studied witchery, I am always engaging in magick. I don’t use spells, but I have quiet, private inner rituals and prayers that come before sleep and before reading tarot or giving Reiki.
I use my witchery to intuit my way through life. I use it to heal the people around me. To me, being a witch means healing. It mean’s knowing. It means wisdom. It means seeking justice. It means power.