The Narrow and Winding Path: The Intimidation of Writing About Witchcraft
Author’s Note: The content of this blog reflects my personal experiences and perspectives on magic. Witchcraft is a deeply individual practice, and my approach may not align with everyone’s beliefs or traditions. I encourage readers to explore, question, and adapt what resonates with them. Nothing shared here is meant to serve as absolute truth or professional advice. Trust your intuition, do your own research, and walk your own path.
Writing about witchcraft is difficult. Not because I lack knowledge. I have spent years—decades—immersed in my craft, researching, practicing, refining my understanding. But distilling all of that into a single post? That is another challenge entirely.
Witchcraft is not just a set of spells or correspondences neatly organized into categories. For me, it is a worldview, a framework, an entire way of interacting with the seen and unseen. It is layered, nuanced, personal. And trying to put even a fraction of that into words—especially for an audience of other practitioners, all with their own diverse experiences and foundations—feels like walking a narrow and winding path.
Every time I write about magic, I wonder: How will this be received? Not just in terms of agreement or disagreement, but in comprehension. Language is an imperfect tool. The same words that make perfect sense in my own framework might be read through a completely different lens by someone else. Will they see the metaphor in a spirit-world experience, or will they take it as a literal, physical event? Will they understand that I’m describing my personal approach, or will they assume I’m making a universal claim?
I can’t control how my words will be interpreted. And that has always scared me. I can only do my best to express my meaning clearly, but there will always be gaps—differences in experience, intention, and understanding. That uncertainty is daunting.
Witchcraft is too big to fit into a single post. Even a single concept—like spirit work, my approach to veiling, or how I choose my spell curios—could take volumes to fully explore. Every time I try to explain something, I feel the weight of all the things I can’t fit in: the necessary context, the exceptions, the alternative approaches, the warnings, the history, the practical applications. No matter how much I write, it will always be incomplete.
It’s tempting to say nothing at all rather than risk saying something that feels unfinished or lacking. But silence does not serve my craft, nor does it serve those who might resonate it.
So, I remind myself: clarity over perfection. Nuance over absolutes. Thoughtfulness over fear. I will never be able to give every possible context, every possible interpretation, every possible nuance in a single post—but that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t try. Writing about witchcraft, like practicing it, is an act of weaving—threading my knowledge, my experience, and my intuition into something that, though never complete, is still meaningful.
I may not always know how my words will be received, but I know that they matter. And that is reason enough to keep writing.
