I've been advised by dozens of people in the past that I need to let go of the labels I use for myself -- sick, disabled, chronically ill, autistic, bipolar -- because they're inherently negative. This post is for all of my sick witches who have been told the same thing, to prove (at least in my own personal experience) that those people are wrong.
I am the witch I am today because of my pain and my disabilities. Honestly, I'm not sure if I'd be a witch at all if I didn't desperately need something like witchcraft to turn to in order to survive my life in my childhood home, a state of being which eventually led me to bury my nose in books about witchcraft when I was in middle school.
The following is a list of things true to my experience that have been the source of pity to others; but they are things that I've drawn my power from:
-Being made to fend for myself
-Developing psychosis
-Experiencing so much death - personal near death experiences and death of loved ones
-Being neurodivergent
-Navigating living with mentally unstable caregivers
-Doctors' neglect of my pain and suffering
To be crystal clear, all of these things still cause me so much pain. These things are major traumas and not sources of strength for me all the time and for many folks. I'm not trying to disrespect the experiences of others who understandably may only see these situations as negative. I am immensely privileged to have gotten to a place where I can also acknowledge and draw strength from the traumas I endured. My trauma and illnesses are painful, but they are also a rich well of knowledge and magick. It's the flame in my heart that makes me magickal, the same flame I ignited decades ago and kept going all by myself (with the help of the universe, of course).
My powers were activated when I was a child, growing up with absent parents and an unstable environment. I found and felt the spark of magick in my backyard, in litter-filled empty lots, on the beach and in my animal companions. I found it in myself as well, as I exerted gargantuan mental effort to regulate myself out of extreme emotional distress, after being punished and locked in my room during meltdowns. I cast circles of protection with stones and small quartz chunks from my neighbors' driveways, and projected my electric imaginative energies into rocks and dolls to imbue them with energies of safety and protection. I sang to myself, tucked away in my dark closet, wearing my "cloak of invisibility" and imagining a portal, protected by a small door only I could fit into by crawling, in the back wall of my closet, leading to a magickal expansive world far away from my house. I'd astrally travel to this place whenever I felt unsafe or was melting down. My ability to disassociate served me well in this way, born from the sexually traumatic experiences I endured in elementary school. I built protective wards around me that succeeded when I had the power to cast them, and I became an eternal defender of others in the process.
My body is small and fragile, but I've managed to physically incapacitate attackers anyway, including my mother. In these moments of threat, particularly when others are victimized, I feel superhuman, like all of my ancestors and guides are exerting their collective strength with me in my efforts to liberate myself and others from harm. The most literal example of this was the time I was hiking in the Himalayas with a group from my school in a study abroad trip to India. I lagged behind the pack, as I usually do (I was crazy to go hiking in my physical state in the first place, but that's for another day), and was left with just one other student and two guides. At this point, I felt so sick that I wasn't sure I would be able to get down the mountain and I was afraid that no one would come back for me. I eventually physically collapsed on my way stepping down off a stone and lost sight of the remaining hiker and our guides. Because of my exhaustion and pain, I had no choice but to rest for a bit. My heart was dangerously pounding, my heart condition triggered by the elevation of the mountain range. My legs hurt so badly that, when I finally got up, I was afraid I would not be able to walk at all. I slowly made my way like a newborn fawn, slowly staggering and continuing to trip over smaller rocks. I eventually came upon the last hiker resting on a large rock overlooking a treacherous, practically vertical pass that divided us from even ground and the road leading to our group's bus. At first, I was surprised I managed to catch up so quickly, but she was clearly as exhausted as I was, strewn over the rock, maybe even more so as she seemed to be near fainting. As I slowly made my way towards her, I noticed the two guides taking pictures with her and posing her to curl against their bodies in inappropriate ways. She looked at me helplessly as they wrapped their arms around her body, laughing, groping her breasts, moving her shirt up and attempting to kiss her. I shouted at them from the distance between us, speeding on my elastic legs, yelling, "hey, what's going on here?" My voice cracked from my dry throat and heavy breathing. Super intimidating. The men encouraged me to take my time, that the girl just needed a break and that they would carry her the rest of the way down the mountain. As I got to the rock she was resting on, out of breath with double vision and coated in a cold sweat, they scooped her up together as she flailed in slow motion in an effort to free herself. She looked at me with desperation and softly pleaded for help. That was when I felt my magick erupt into a volcano inside of me. And all of a sudden, I was swift on my hundred-pound legs, punching and scratching at the men, insisting that I would help her down the mountain, though I didn't know how that was possible with my disabled body down that treacherous pass. They eventually succumbed to me, and then seemed to direct their efforts to attack on the both of us. And just like that, I hoisted this barely-conscious girl onto my back, who seriously outweighed me in pure muscle, and outran the two guides down the slippery mountain pass. I managed to stay on my feet and keep us moving forward, with the girl on my back, as she served as the lookout from behind, telling me to speed up when they got too close. I collapsed once we reached the grass at the bottom of the mountain and, both struggling to get up, we held hands and in a daze wandered back to the bus that took us back to where we were staying. That day, that moment where I felt like a Celtic warrior on a battlefield, was nothing short of magickal. I can thank my years of experience fending for myself for that one.
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When I was 15, I had my first psychotic episode. For about 2 years, I had numerous psychotic episodes that drastically altered the way I see and experience the world to this day. During a time of extreme and life-threatening illness that brought me to the brink of death for one week, I was visited by the Celtic triple goddess The Morrigan, who still communicates with me to this day. She saved my life on the condition that I stop giving up and that I fight with fury like the warrior she made me. After that, my brain chemicals felt altered. I built altars. I reached deep states of meditation and weightlessness after just a minute of focus and closed eyes. Crows, one of the Morrigan's animal forms, surrounded my childhood home from then on, unsettling my parents. My pets picked up on this shift too, and intuitively began aggressively protecting me from my parents (even my immensely brave pet rat, Alistair). I lucid dreamed nearly every day and became a master at visualization. I had prophetic dreams once a week that always came true. Most precious of all, I was completely submerged in the spirit of the warrior, the spirit of every Celtic woman in my bloodline before me who was consumed with rage in life and death for the abuse they were forced to endure. I turned vicious towards my parents, hitting back with my fists and my venomous words. And my blows stung and bruised in the same way that theirs stung and bruised me. I completely dominated them. And while much of the nature of this aggression came from psychotic symptoms I was experiencing, it was the reason I survived and got the hell out. It is my firm belief that my oppressors literally drove me insane, and it helped me tap into the incredibly potent power of the fighter I am today. I haven't lost that spirit, and it has only strengthened through my experiences with spirits and ancestors who have passed. I'm honored to say I'm Crazy.
Multiple times throughout my teenage years, when my health was at its worst, I nearly died at least three times, not counting the time The Morrigan saved me. I have prepared for death and came to peace with my own demise so many times that I became incredibly comfortable with it. I became the death doula of the family, the one who refused to leave a dying relative's bedside as they passed, unafraid of the inevitable and aware of what an important transition time this was for the dying. At this point in my life, being around death is a spiritual experience that reminds there is so much more than just the material world. It taught me the beauty of death, of shedding what no longer serves, and prepared me for the mini deaths in my life, such as my estrangement from my living family of origin. I've also lost many people, loved ones of all ages, and I've probably attended more wakes and funerals than any friend of mine, so I've spent a lot of time thinking about death rituals and the agency of the dying and the body they leave behind. I'm grateful to have one foot in that Other Realm.
Coming close to death myself due to being largely ignored by the medical community, even as I grappled with debilitating pain, I learned that if I wanted to live, I had to buck up and find a way to do it alone. I learned to care for and heal myself in the same loving and precise way I tend to my plants. Being Sick and Disabled is a badge of honor I carry because it is my greatest source of magick (this includes the psychosis I mentioned earlier). It is the reason why I give so many people a sense of support that they feel they can melt into, opening themselves raw and being filled up again in my presence; it's why I'm so good with my animals and plants; it's why the healing arts I offer feel so natural to me; it's why I'm an advocate for those who can't protect themselves; and it is why I am alive. Through extensive research and trial and error, I have used the power of ritual and medicinal herbs to not only manage symptoms but treat the underlying causes. I'm the only person I can fully trust with my health and well-being, and I easily trust my own instincts and take my own word over that of a doctor's any day. This is a godsend considering Western medicine and doctors in general have only led me further astray in my recovery. When I have the capacity for it, I look forward to being more formally educated in herbalism so I can share these remedies with other chronically ill warriors and with you all, my sick witches.
I am the Sick Witch, I am Disabled, I am Neurodivergent, and I am a Survivor. These labels give me pride. With all the suffering, I went through, I earned these labels and the Divinity of my being deserves acknowledgement. Considering what I've been through, I should not have survived -- but I did. My brain is different now. My capacity for empathy is enormous now. My body is different and more communicative, which makes me so much wiser. My traumatic experiences make me an expert on the places and elements that hold true healing powers, that encourage survival and spiritual enlightenment and, eventually, liberation.
It is only the sick witches who have also been to hell and back, who have been told they're broken, that I can truly trust the most. Our magick -- the Magick of Disabled People, Sick people, Queer people, people who are told to just shut up and disappear -- is the most potent magick of all. There is nothing shameful about my body, my experiences and the scars that were left. I'm glad to be in this body, in this mind and in this life. If I wasn't Sick, I wouldn't be a Sick motherfucking Witch in the first place. So I happily accept the labels that others think are negative. They are the ones missing out on the truest form of magick there is. To be a Sick Witch is to be the embodiment of pure and boundless strength...and not everyone feels comfortable in the presence of such power.
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