It’s been a long time since I’ve had the courage to watch words appear on my screen, fueled by an inner muse whom I cannot see but feel always around me.
I began this blog over a year and a half ago without any real direction. I knew I wanted it to be like a garden, with seeds of my life spread all over the pages, growing into stories and history shared with whomever wished to be a part of the journey. Soon, it developed beyond me, this force of readership spinning my passion into a how-to blog instead of they way I’d originally seen it; yet, I was excited. People were reading my writings, and it was a joy I could never have imagined.
I was also afraid to post anything else, concerned that my gift of an audience wouldn’t understand. For years I’ve watched Youtubers expand their horizons, chastised by their fans for changing, and I didn’t want to disappoint. Even with my few hundred or so followers, I had a duty. I’d seen a yearning to be taught, and I thought I needed to fulfill that hole. Much like WitchyWords, or other bloggers of her caliber, I wanted to fit into this bubble for my readers- but I found the bubble suffocating. It was hubris, on my part, not only to believe that people would not want to read anything else but to be so caught up in statistics that I lost sight of my purpose.
I will also admit that I was afraid that if I expanded my horizons, those who would take interest in other subjects would be put off by my being a witch. As if my chosen path somehow diminished my life or experiences…it was cowardice, through and through.
In October of last year, after dealing with my mental demons for far too long, I broke. I wish I could say that it was just a moment, a blip on the radar of life, but it was the culmination of denial and repression- and it hit long and hard. I lost all hope. I disconnected from life, not only from this blog, but from the people I love, for months- isolating myself from a world I no longer wanted to live in. For five or so months, I could only move to get out of bed and be a mom, nothing else.
My son, my beautiful son, is the reason I am still here to write this- and he will never know it.
It took until March of this year to start seeing the light, coupled with a radical medicine regime, three months later I can finally feel the wind on my face again and smile. After that, however, came COVID and the riots, and it just wasn’t time. I needed to focus on activism, and the health of my family, and this blog once again took a back seat. I didn’t think I’d ever come back to it- scared to tell you all, anyone listening, that I was broken.
I realize that my brokenness isn’t weakness, but a chemical imbalance that prohibits me from being normal without help. I’ve always relied on the lie that seeking drugs for my health was a crutch, but never took into account how difficult I was making things for myself and those around me.
I’m not neurotypical. I am bipolar, with traits of borderline personality disorder. I have severe anxieties, panic attacks, PTSD, mild OCD, ADHD, along with several other labels that distinguish me from the ordinary. I am an abuse, sexual assault, and narcissist survivor. I have PCOS, Endometriosis, and am now also diagnosed with Celiac Disease, Lactose Intolerance, Chron’s or IBD (not sure which), Rosacea, Psoriasis, and Eczema.
And I don’t list all those things because I’m a victim, I list all those things because they make up who I am. It’s all the things I’ve wanted to write about, all the things I’ve hidden to seem perfect for you, that have held me back. I am a multifaceted gemstone, but I was only showing you all one gleaming side.
In my life, I’ve reduced my collection of Witchy things, revamped my ideas of normal, and begun the long process of healing.
I would love to be able to include all of that here. I want this to be my spiritual garden, which does not just revolve around witchcraft and practicing magick. It revolves around all things spiritual, all things involving my spirit.
I am forever a witch. It is in my blood, in my soul, and in my heart. But I am not only a witch.
And, with your permission, I’d love to begin sharing all of it with you. If it’s not your jam, I completely get it. I thank you for sticking around and reading up until this point.
If it is your jam, well, my love, welcome to my peanut butter- we’ve got ourselves a sandwich. (Yes, my humor is still the same).
Welcome to The Spiritual Garden, all things Spiritual, all things involving the Spirit, all things that I may cultivate and grow. Take a seat, and let’s get dirty, shall we?
Until next time, my friends…