I Don't Think I'm a Very Good Witch

I don't think I'm a very good witch, and the more I think about it, the more I realise I'm actually quite alright with that.

It's not that I don't love witchcraft. I really do. I've spent an unreasonable amount of time reading about herbs, folklore, old beliefs, tarot, moon phases, mythology and all the strange little traditions that have survived through the centuries. I have shelves full of books, jars of things I bought because I was convinced I would use them, crystals that I sometimes forget I own and enough candles to probably see me through a minor power cut. I can happily lose an entire evening down a rabbit hole about some obscure piece of folklore that nobody asked me to research, and then wonder why it is suddenly midnight.

And yet, if you looked at the way I actually practise witchcraft, you might wonder whether I qualify at all.

I forget things. I don't always remember the full moon. I have bought herbs with very good intentions and then forgotten about them until I find them months later. I've started rituals and abandoned them halfway through because I've remembered that I need to put the washing on, and there have been plenty of evenings when the most witchy thing I've managed to do is make myself a cup of tea and go to bed.

For a while, I thought that meant I wasn't doing it properly.

The witch I thought I was supposed to be

When you first become interested in witchcraft, it is very easy to develop an idea of what a witch is supposed to look like, particularly when so much of what we see online is beautifully presented. There are the candles, the crystals, the dried herbs in little glass jars, the handwritten grimoires, the tarot cards laid carefully across old wooden tables and shelves full of books that somehow always look as though they have been there for a hundred years.

I love that aesthetic, if I'm honest. I really do. Give me an old book, a candle, some dried flowers and a slightly battered wooden table and I'm probably going to be very happy.

But somewhere along the way, I think it's easy to start confusing looking witchy with actually having a spiritual practice.

There is a strange pressure to have the right things, know the right things and practise in the right way, particularly when you are constantly seeing other people's beautifully curated versions of witchcraft. You can start to feel as though everyone else has a perfectly organised altar, an impressive collection of herbs and a deep understanding of every moon phase, while you're standing in the kitchen wondering where you put the rosemary.

I've definitely fallen into that before.

I've looked at somebody else's practice and thought that perhaps I should be doing more, learning more or making more of an effort. Perhaps I should have a proper altar. Perhaps I should keep a better Book of Shadows. Perhaps I should actually remember when the moon is full instead of discovering it the following morning because somebody has posted a photograph of it.

Then I remember that this is supposed to be something I enjoy.

I forget the moon

This feels particularly embarrassing considering I have an entire website called Moonlit Archives.

I love the moon. I love learning about lunar traditions, reading about how different cultures have marked the months and seasons, and noticing how the light changes throughout the year. I can spend hours reading about lunar folklore, but that doesn't necessarily mean I know what phase the moon is in every evening.

Sometimes I look outside and think, that's a beautiful moon, without knowing whether it is waxing, waning, full or somewhere in between.

And actually, I'm beginning to think that's okay.

Perhaps I don't need to perform a ritual every time the moon reaches a particular phase for it to have meaning to me. Perhaps sometimes I can simply notice it. I can stand outside for a few minutes, look up and appreciate it without needing to turn the moment into anything more complicated.

There is something quite lovely about allowing a thing to be meaningful without feeling as though you have to do something with it.

I don't have a ritual for everything

I think modern witchcraft can sometimes make us feel as though we ought to turn every ordinary moment into a ritual.

I understand why, because there is something beautiful about bringing a little intention into everyday life. Lighting a candle before you journal, making tea with herbs you've grown yourself, pulling a tarot card in the morning, taking a bath with carefully chosen ingredients or preparing something according to the season can all make an ordinary moment feel a little more special.

I enjoy those things too.

But I don't want to feel as though I've failed spiritually because I ate dinner without blessing it first, or because I made a cup of tea simply because I fancied one rather than because I had carefully selected an herb according to its magical correspondence.

Sometimes I just drink tea.

Sometimes I go for a walk because I need some fresh air rather than because I am communing with nature. Sometimes I light a candle because it smells nice. Sometimes I pull a tarot card because I'm curious, and sometimes the cards stay in their box for weeks because I've forgotten about them.

Perhaps not every ordinary thing needs to become a sacred practice.

Perhaps it is enough to enjoy it.

The more I learn, the less I seem to know

There is another slightly funny problem I've discovered the further I've gone into all of this: the more I learn, the more I realise how little I actually know.

You start with something that seems wonderfully simple. A herb, a goddess, a seasonal festival, a particular ritual or an old piece of folklore. Then you pull on one little thread and suddenly you're reading medieval manuscripts, Roman writers, Victorian folklore collectors, modern Pagan authors and somebody's obscure book from the 1970s that you now desperately want to find.

Then you discover that something you thought was ancient isn't quite as ancient as you were told. A tradition turns out to have a much more complicated history than the version you've seen repeated online, or a magical correspondence that appears everywhere turns out to be a much more modern addition than you realised.

I actually love discovering these things, but sometimes it does make me feel as though I shouldn't talk about anything until I've read absolutely everything there is to read about it.

I'm learning to let go of that.

You are allowed to be curious about something without being an expert. You're allowed to learn as you go, change your mind when you discover something new and say that you don't know when you genuinely don't know.

In fact, I think saying I don't know is probably one of the most useful things you can do when exploring something as complicated as folklore, magic and belief.

Maybe I'm not supposed to be a very good witch

Perhaps the problem is the idea of being a good witch in the first place.

What would that actually mean?

Would it be someone who performs rituals every day, knows every herb and its properties, can identify every tarot card instantly and has a beautifully organised altar? Would it be someone who follows a particular tradition closely, knows exactly what they believe and can explain their entire spiritual practice without having to stop halfway through and say, "I'm still figuring that bit out"?

Or could it simply be someone who finds meaning in these things and enjoys learning about them?

I think I'm much more comfortable with the second idea.

I don't think witchcraft needs to be an exam that you eventually pass. There isn't a minimum number of candles you need to own, a certain number of rituals you have to complete each month or a point where you've finally learnt enough to be allowed to call yourself anything.

And thankfully, nobody is coming round to inspect my herb cupboard.

What witchcraft actually looks like for me

When I stop worrying about whether I'm doing it correctly, I realise that my relationship with witchcraft is actually quite ordinary.

It looks like reading old stories because I want to know where they came from. It looks like growing herbs and becoming disproportionately excited when something actually survives in the garden. It looks like noticing the moon, collecting books, learning about the plants growing around me and becoming fascinated by the stories people have told for hundreds of years about trees, animals, weather, death, luck, love and all the strange things they believed existed just beyond the edge of the known world.

Sometimes it looks like a candle and a little bit of quiet. Sometimes it looks like pulling a tarot card when I feel like it. Sometimes it looks like baking something seasonal or walking through the garden and noticing what has changed since last week.

And sometimes it doesn't look like witchcraft at all.

I think I'm starting to be okay with that.

Because when I look at what actually draws me towards this whole world, it isn't really the idea of becoming the perfect witch. It is the curiosity. It's the stories, the history, the questions, the little pieces of folklore that have somehow survived and the feeling that there is always another thread to follow.

That is probably why I ended up creating Moonlit Archives in the first place.

Still figuring it out

I'm still figuring out exactly what I believe, and I suspect I will be figuring it out for a very long time.

There are things within witchcraft that I connect with deeply and things that don't really speak to me at all. There are traditions I find fascinating without feeling any desire to practise them, ideas that I enjoy exploring without knowing whether I believe them, and plenty of things where my honest answer is simply that I haven't decided yet.

I don't think that makes the whole thing less meaningful.

If anything, I think it makes it more interesting.

Perhaps I don't need to have everything neatly labelled. I don't need to prove that I'm a witch, and I don't need to practise every day or know everything there is to know about folklore and magic before I'm allowed to call myself curious about it.

Maybe I can just keep learning.

I can keep asking questions, keep finding strange little stories hidden inside old books, keep growing herbs that may or may not survive, keep pulling tarot cards when I fancy it and keep finding meaning in the things that speak to me.

And if my witchcraft sometimes looks like an elaborate ritual and sometimes looks like sitting on the sofa with a cup of tea while I read about medieval folklore, then I think I'm probably happy with that.

Because perhaps being a witch isn't really about getting everything right.

Perhaps it's about staying curious.

And if that's the kind of witch I am, I don't think I'm doing too badly after all.