A Witch within
When I was 12 years old, I was ready to leave the church. My mother, very well intentioned had sent me to bible camp and Sunday school as often as she could. And while I had nothing against Jesus or the concept of God, I hated church. Why? Because simply put - it was BORING. I was also becoming increasingly aware that certain people weren’t exactly welcomed or accepted by the church, and that really bothered me. So I decided I needed a way out.
The problem was, I knew telling my mother, “Church is boring,” probably wasn’t going to get me very far. I needed a better argument.
So naturally, I did what any reasonable 12-year-old would do: I started researching other religions.
My thinking was simple. If I changed religions, surely my mother couldn’t force me to go to church anymore, right?
Enter Wicca and Paganism.
Magic?
Ghosts?
Fortune telling?
Nature worship?
SIGN ME UP.
I eventually found an ad in the Georgia Straight advertising for a 13th member of a witches’ coven. So, obviously, I responded.
And just like that, I was sneaking off to meet a group of strange and wonderful women for ceremonies, spell casting and all sorts of things that would probably have made my mother beyound nervous. Eventually, she found out. Apparently, sneaking out of the house to cast spells with a coven of women wasn’t something she was willing to simply “let me explore.” So she did what any concerned mother would do. She invited the High Priestess to our house. I was THRILLED.A real-life witch was coming to MY HOUSE.
The High Priestess arrived wearing a lacy black dress, with backcombed black hair, enormous silver jewellery and enough black eyeliner to make a raccoon feel underdressed. My mother nearly fainted. But to her credit, she invited her in. Keep in mind, my mother was no prude by any means but this all completely new territory to her. We all sat down in the living room, and my mother got straight to the point: “Is my daughter really a… witch?”
The High Priestess told me to stand up and draw a pentagram on the floor. I did. In the direction I knew I was supposed to.
Then I stepped into the middle of my imaginary pentagram, looked at the High Priestess and smiled.She looked at my mother and said: “Yep. She’s a witch.” And that was apparently the official diagnosis.
To this day, I have absolutely no idea what convinced her. Maybe it was the pentagram. Maybe it was my confidence. Maybe she just didn’t want to disappoint a very enthusiastic 12-year-old. Whatever it was, it worked. I was a witch. And, more importantly, I was officially excused from church.
My mother wasn’t exactly thrilled about the spell casting or the Ouija boards I started bringing into the house, but according to the High Priestess, I was a witch and there was apparently nothing she could do about it. Eventually, my mother accepted my newfound spirituality and reduced my church attendance to Christmas. Honestly? I considered that a win.
Witchcraft and Wicca eventually turned out to be a teenage phase, but my fascination with the supernatural never went away.
And as it turns out, my mother was pretty supernatural herself. She had gifts she didn’t really understand. They frightened her, and rather than embrace them, she tried to hide them. I didn’t inherit the exact gifts she had but I did inherit some of my own. And over the years, I’ve learned that sometimes the most interesting part of having a gift isn’t simply discovering what you can do. It’s helping someone else discover what they can do. That’s a big part of why I’m here.
So whether you’re curious about tarot, intuition, the supernatural, or just wondering if that weird feeling you’ve been having is actually trying to tell you something…
Welcome.
You’ve come to the right place.