I try to live my life in alignment with my values. I don’t always get it right, and I don’t pretend to. But one value I hold close is this: I accept other witches as they are. Not as I want them to be. Not as I think they should be. As they are. It isn’t a rule of the craft. It’s simply a way of moving through the world that feels honest to me. Accepting other witches is part of how I stay grounded.
And the truth is, witchcraft still needs that grounding. We like to imagine that society has fully embraced us, and in many ways it has. But not always. Not everywhere. There have been days when I have been at Witch Chest and people were picketing outside the shop. Days when strangers have stood on the sidewalk handing out religious pamphlets. They have the right to do that, and thankfully it’s rare. But the fact that it happens at all is a reminder that we are still a community that faces pressure from the outside.
Which is why it feels so heartbreaking when witches turn on each other. As long as there are forces trying to tear us down from the outside, we do ourselves a disservice when we start tearing each other down from the inside.
I understand why it happens. Truly, I do. For many witches, the fear runs deep. It’s the fear that if someone else practices differently, it somehow threatens their identity. The fear that if your beliefs don’t match mine, then maybe one of us is wrong. And after fighting so hard to claim the word witch for myself, I understand the instinct to protect it. To guard it. To hold it tightly.
But fear has a way of twisting things. Fear makes us police each other. Fear makes us draw borders around something that was never meant to be fenced in. Fear makes us forget that witchcraft has always been a wide, wild, varied thing. Fear creates a sense of identity loss, but that fear does not support us.
My own turning point came when I witnessed ego take root inside a coven. I saw how easily the craft can be cheapened when someone uses it to elevate themselves instead of their practice. I saw control disguised as wisdom. I saw fear-based leadership. I saw identity policing. I saw spiritual superiority. I saw emotional manipulation. Not just one of these things, all of them. And it left a mark on me. It taught me exactly what I never want to replicate. It taught me what ego in witchcraft looks like up close.
That experience drew a line in the sand for me. I will never use the craft as leverage. I won’t pretend that someone stops being a witch if they do. Witchcraft is still witchcraft if you practice. But the moment it becomes leverage, it becomes diminished. It shifts from something beautiful to something manipulative. And that is not a path I will ever walk. This is my stance on using the craft as leverage.
So, what is the opposite of leverage? Empowerment. Healthy witchcraft empowers. It helps people stand taller, not smaller. It helps them discover themselves, not depend on someone else’s authority. It invites curiosity, not conformity. It creates space, not scarcity. This is the heart of empowerment in witchcraft.
And empowerment, when it matures, becomes sovereignty. Sovereignty is the form empowerment takes when it settles into the bones. It is the quiet knowing that your path is yours. It is the ability to practice without apology. It is the freedom to evolve without asking permission. It is the antidote to fear. This is sovereignty in witchcraft.
Because beneath all the ego and tribalism and gatekeeping, there is a deeper fear that many witches carry. The fear of being alone. Not solitary. Alone. Alone in your experiences. Alone in your beliefs. Alone in your strangeness. Alone in your magick. And when someone is afraid of being alone, they cling to sameness like a lifeline.
But something beautiful happens when a witch realizes they are not alone. When they see the diversity of the craft. When they meet others who practice differently and yet still belong. When they feel the circle widen instead of tighten. What rises in that moment is courage. Courage to trust their own path. Courage to stop comparing. Courage to practice without fear. Courage to belong without shrinking themselves. This is courage in witchcraft.
And when courage takes root, something even more beautiful emerges. Joy. Joy is what becomes possible when fear dissolves. Joy is what rises when sovereignty settles. Joy is what fills the space where comparison used to live. Joy is the sign that a witch has come home to themselves.
And here is the part I love most. A witch who finds joy naturally offers joy back to the community. Not through teaching or leading or performing. Simply by existing. A joyful witch becomes a hearth. A place where others can breathe. A reminder that the craft can feel warm and alive and expansive.
So if you take anything from this, let it be this. You are not alone. You are not wrong. You are not too much or too little. You are a witch because you practice. You are a witch because you choose to be. You are a witch because you know yourself.
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