In and Out of the Broom Closet

I began practicing witchcraft when I was thirteen years old. I didn’t know anything about it, in fact I was a devoted Christian little girl growing up. I went to Sunday school, and I said my prayers before bed. My best friend at the time was a Mormon, and when she found out about me calling myself a Wiccan, boy did she try to change my mind. She told me it was devil worship, that the devil was tempting me and that's why I was feeling so connected to the craft.

I lived in a small town growing up. There were only a handful of kids my age around town and we all lived within walking distance of each other. This was how I spent my summers, riding my bike around town and hanging out with friends in our small town. One day, a friend told me she wanted to try a spell. I was intrigued and drawn to this idea. I agreed and told her we could go to my house to do it since she didn’t have her own room and I did.

When we got back to my house, my friend emptied her bag onto my bedroom floor. I shut us in my room with my dog. In the bag were candles, a rosary, and a brass cross with Jesus on it. I wasn’t sure what we were going to be doing with those tools, and my friend seemed to realize at the same time that we had no idea what we were doing. I shooed my dog out of my room, but not before my mom had noticed. She asked me, “What are you doing? Why are you kicking the dog out?” to which I panicked and replied, “Well I don’t want him to start a fire.” My mom came into my room then and saw the supplies on the ground, we had made a circle with the candles and were just about to light them.

“Oh, you’re doing a spell!” exclaimed my mom, and I had no idea then what to say. I expected her to tell me to put it all away, that I didn’t know what I was doing (and I didn’t), but she didn’t say anything of the sort. Instead she said, “No candles, your room is far too messy to have open flames.” And she walked away. Just like that. No further mention of the witchcraft I was about to practice.

My friend and I, encouraged by our lack of scolding, pulled out my laptop to look up how to do a spell. This was where my journey officially began. We found a Youtuber named TipToe Chick and watched her video Is Wicca Right for You. TipToe became my virtual mentor, though we only corresponded a handful of times. I watched every video; I drank in the knowledge and wisdom she offered. I learned my craft from her.

I never had to hide from my mom, and for that I am forever grateful. She took me to the library to check out books on witchcraft. I wanted to know how to do it right and I wanted to be able to do it well. Our town didn’t have a library, so we would drive to the nearest city, which was still only around 30,000 people. The library had a scarce amount of books on witchcraft, but I took them all anyway and read as much as I could.

I started working at the local Kmart as soon as I turned 16. With almost every paycheck I was buying tools and supplies to nourish my craft. I bought all the books I could find, and spent hundreds on athames, wands, candles, herbs, oils, cauldrons, mortar and pestles, and crystals. Some of those things I still have to this day. If you asked me if I regret buying all those things, I don’t. Some of it I still have and use. I remember how excited I’d get when I got something new in the mail to focus my craft on next.

Owning my own apothecary became my main goal for my adult life. I was going to call it the Dark Moon Apothecary. When a man I was with bought a house, I had my own space I called my “witchy room.” In this room I had everything I could ever need. I had a desk, a futon, a chair, an altar table, and all the shelves and cupboards I would need to keep my supplies. This was the closest I ever came to opening my shop. I had recipes and labels; I had a tax ID number for the state I was living in. Everyone at my job knew I was a witch, everyone in my life was supportive and being a witch wasn’t just something I did as a hobby, it was who I was to my core.

I ended up leaving that relationship after a year of engagement. I realized he wasn’t at all who I thought he was, and I learned the difference between accepting someone’s faith and tolerating it. I moved out of my magickal witchy room and into a two-bedroom house on my own. That was when my witchy room became my whole house. There wasn’t a part of my house that wasn’t full of witchcraft. I was the happiest in that space that I had ever been up to date. I continued feeding my addiction, but my store was put on hold. By this time in my life, I had met a few other witches and occasionally had them over for the Wiccan holidays.

It was with these new friends that I found even more of myself. One friend and I had a “Witchy Tuesday” every week where we would go to the local metaphysical shop and read each other’s tarot cards. We would take long hikes in the woods to center ourselves. This was the peak of my spiritual connectedness. One day, during a meditation, I found my spirit animal. I was deep into the guided meditation, and I wish I knew what the meditation was. I remember it so clearly, my little otter coming to greet me in the meadow.

After these beautiful days I began to feel restless for a bigger life. A life in a city bigger than 30,000 people. I wanted more than the job I was giving my soul to. So, at the first opportunity I decided to move to a new city in a different state. This opportunity was a guy I’d met online who was quite taken with me. I knew in the beginning that I wasn’t in love, but I was so ready to start a new life, I didn’t care. I thought perhaps feelings would grow. I was more than a little manic at the time.

Darkness consumed me after that. The transition was hard, money was always tight. I didn’t have the resources to continue my path the same way I had been practicing it before. I still tried to have my witchy room, but it was also a storage room and I never got time just to myself. I was in a relationship that drained me emotionally, and I was stuck. I didn’t tell anyone about my practice, because it was dwindling and there wasn’t much to say anyway. Most of my tools were left unopened in boxes I never unpacked.

Then, I got the news that TipToe had died. I felt the loss acutely. She was who I turned to when I needed to dip my toes back into my craft but couldn’t find the motivation to do anything physically but open my computer and turn to her videos. Thousands across the world were devastated. Our mentor, our teacher, died. I stopped everything. I didn’t want to practice anymore. The depression I was already constantly under mixed with the utter existential dread I now felt was unbearable. I didn’t have it in me to be wrong about what happens to us after we die, so I put up spiritual walls.

I was in this funk for over two years. I still had the aesthetic of a witch, so if friends came over they could tell I was the witchy friend, but my practice was halted. I was blocked. I finally got the courage to end the relationship I was in and got my own apartment once more. I tried to get my practice back in full swing and dedicated part of that one-bedroom apartment to my witchy supplies, I created an altar again. After a few months I was even celebrating the full moon again. I was finding myself again slowly, but I still felt the block. I wasn’t feeling the connection I used to feel, so I began writing again. I would find a spot in the woods and spend hours trying to get my connection back. It took time to heal. It took time to feel connected to my craft again. But that leads me to now.

I met a viking man. On our first date (which was supposed to be a hook up and nothing more), he asked me about my altar. It had been a while since I had spoken about my craft to anyone, and it was nice to explain what tools were made for and what I use them for. It was almost uncomfortable to be sharing such an intimate part of myself with someone I had just met and had no interest in seeing again. I couldn’t help it though, he was helping me take down the wall; and he was listening to me. Really truly paying attention.

I’ve never had to hide my craft. I’ve always been open if people ask, or if it comes up in conversation. I can still feel the block sometimes that kept me disconnected those few years and I’m still working on tearing it down, but I have finally started actively practicing again. I am making witch bottles, homemade charcoal incense, meditating, reading my cards, and doing spell work again.

I have been in and out of the closet, and through the years faced my own battles where my spirit was blocked from even myself. I never let go of my craft, but there were stretches of time I was more talk than practice and that happens. The moon waxes and wanes and so do we. What matters is that even after the darkest night, I found my way back to my craft and feel like the best version of myself.