Out of whack Witch

Maybe that’s what I should have called my blog, because, seriously, I feel like I stay out of whack somehow.

Take for instance yesterday. It was Mabon here on my side of the world. Before the move, I had all these plans for what I would do, how things would be, when we got back out on our own. I’d take walks with my fur-baby. I’d blog more regularly, focusing in particular on all things Pagan, including holidays. I’d plan holiday dinners, even if the kids couldn’t make it…so many things.

It’s been two weeks and I’ve yet to do much of anything. Yesterday was Mabon and it completely escaped me until I got on G+ and saw everyone wishing each other a Blessed Mabon and Happy Ostara.

Granted, I’ve been depressed and worry has played a large part in my life for quite a while now.

Getting out on our own again, which I thought would relieve much of my stress and worry, seems to have just given me different things to worry about.

I’ve felt very alone the last few weeks. I can’t figure out if the distance I feel is internal or external, but it’s bothered me.

It seems that many of my relationships are changing, or have changed, and it’s left me feeling unsure and out of balance. It’s also left me wondering if I should try to reconnect to people in the same ways or if I should just accept the changes and move on.

I’m not generally one for pushing myself on people and one relationship in particular is starting to make me feel like I am. I feel like this person is intentionally creating distance between us and I can’t figure out why. All I know for certain is that the flavor of the relationship is different somehow.

My relationship with my spirituality is changing, too, although that feels like a less drastic change…or maybe it’s a pattern. I have noticed that when I start to feel separated from people and my life, my spirituality often experiences a coinciding shift. Perhaps all the change is radiating from within and what I’m feeling is the ripple effects, although it seems, at least in one case, that the change began with them.

Draco, my husband, is going through a shift of his own.

He has considered himself Pagan almost as long as I have, but he’s struggled over the years with actually walking the path.

For years, I think we both got caught up in jobs, bills, raising Witchlet, friends…it was often hard to find the time for serious practice. I’ve always managed to find my way back but for him, it’s been harder. Granted, over the years, he’s worked consistently and I haven’t, so I have had a little more idle time to fill than he has.

Last night, he told me that he wants to become more involved in seeking out his path and I’m trying to help him get started.

We all know that I can only walk part of his path with him. Eventually there will come a time when he will have to find his own way, but I’m helping where I can.

We’re starting a practice of open discussion on spiritual topics in an effort to help him discover where he currently stands on things. What he knows/remembers/feels, to help him find a starting point.

Paganism requires us to first know ourselves. The particular branch of Paganism he was following before doesn’t seem to fit as well as it did back then, so he is searching for where to go from here. We’re starting from the bottom again with where his thoughts are now on his pre-Pagan beliefs. The next thing for him to tackle will be what he wants/expects to gain from Paganism to see if his needs and expectations have changed.

I’m sure they have. I know mine has. Neither of us are in our 20’s anymore. We’ve both seen and experienced a lot in 20 years. Our needs, values and outlook on life has changed greatly over the years, and in the last few months in particular.

Helping him is also helping me. It’s been a while since I reevaluated my thoughts and beliefs on spirituality. I’ve learned a lot over the years and this is helping me see where and how I have changed as well.

To some, I suppose this would be an exciting time but to us, these kinds of fundamental shifts are often painful…like growing pains. We both see and accept the need for what we’re doing, but that rarely makes the process easier.

At any rate, this is where I am right now. Kind of hanging in the void between shifts.

I feel like The Fool in some ways, one foot hanging in the unknown and one on the ledge, unable to see what’s before me.

Change is often scary. Sometimes that next step can leave you feeling like you’re in free-fall in your life and in yourself, and that’s how I feel just now, like I’m in free-fall.



Snuggling with my demons…


Getting over the past is hard.  It is likely one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do.  It’s a work in progress.


I carry a lot of baggage around from my past.  It’s not been pretty.  I’ve battled drug abuse, alcohol abuse and endured many types of personal abuse.  The road map of my life has often ventured into some of the darkest places I could have ever imagined, and I’m still trying to fight my way out of some of them.

Sometimes, I think I have found my way out, only to realize that I’m still in the grip of some of the psychological damage that remains from some of the things I’ve gone through.

Learned vs Environmental Behavior

Some behavior really is learned.  Sometimes it’s circumstances that teach us to react in a specific way and sometimes it’s merely learned as a survival instinct.  Trying to learn new behavior is often about as painful as the things that created it in the first place.

The Damage

I think one of the biggest psychological issues I’ve been left with is the fear of being abandoned by those I love (because it’s happened repeatedly in my past), and walking hand in hand with that is the fear of not being good enough.

Somehow along the path of my life, I learned that if I was deemed “not good enough” by those that I loved, that they would leave me no matter how much I loved or needed them.  This created a “people pleasing” complex that is one of my greatest struggles.

Negative Results

I have an overwhelming need to feel that someone, sometimes anyone, sees me as worthy of being loved.  It makes it hard sometimes to just be myself around anyone.

Although I desperately want to be accepted for who I “really am”, I often hide that person from the world out of fear that I won’t be “good enough”.  That I will be found to be “less than” in some way, and that I will loose the few people I have left.


When I love someone, I love hard.  That often makes me feel vulnerable, which is a feeling I’m not comfortable with.  I was raised to be strong and not show weakness. I was raised to believe that loving people and letting them see the real you, was weakness.  I was taught that the weak are devoured by the strong.  Growing up under the harsh and mostly loveless rule of my mother seemed to reinforce that.

My mother and the pain of not being accepted

In spite of the pain of relationship with my mother, I loved her.  Her self-imposed distance in our relationship was one of the most painful things I endured in my life.

I wanted us to be close.  I wanted her to love and accept me.  That was never to be, as even on her death-bed, she refused to even say the words to me.  I’ve always felt she saw it as a lie she didn’t want to carry with her into the afterlife.  I suppose I understand that much, but the question that haunts me every day, in every relationship I have ever had  with anyone, is why.  What was it about me that made me so unlovable to her?

We all need someone

My husband is a rock for me on this issue.  He has seen my darkest hours.  He has watched me spiral into drug abuse, depression and even complete mental and emotional breakdowns and he still stands by me.  I often forget that when I’m upset or angry and even try to hide myself from him at times because I’m always worried that “this time” will be more than he can handle.

I also consider myself very lucky to have my sister.  She is there for me in ways that I don’t think she realizes.  She’s always been someone I looked up to in my life.  Even though our paths have often led us in different directions and we’ve spent large chunks of our lives apart, I still know I can count on her to be there for me when it really counts and that means more than I can ever tell her.

They are my bright spots in the darkness.  The light that leads me out of my personal hell.  Their love and acceptance of me mean more to me than I could ever say.  They are constantly encouraging me, refusing to let me give up on myself, reminding me that not everyone sees me the way my mom did.  Reminding me that there is hope…and we all need hope…



Why I Write

I think a fellow blogger did a post recently on why they write (I’m thinking it was OM over at Harsh Reality, but let’s be honest, my memory is shit these days, so I could be wrong).

Anyway, it got me thinking about why I write.

I’d love to be able to say it was something noble-sounding, like “I write to teach” or even “to share something with the world”, but I think the truth is a lot more selfish than that and there are more than one involved.


Let’s go ahead and get the worst sounding one out of the way. I write simply because even in a life surrounded by people, I often find myself lonely. I think I mentioned something along those lines in my very first post, although perhaps it wasn’t stated as bluntly.

Another reason is one I’ve heard others use, but that makes it no less true. It’s free therapy…or it could be, if I could ever bring myself to put it all into words…it was back when I was caring for my mother at the end and I wrote on a different blog under a different name.

I do feel like I need therapy, but not the kind they want to offer me where I sit in an uncomfortable chair for an hour talking to someone that probably couldn’t care less about me or my life.

I probably need some kind of group therapy, and if not for my social anxiety, that would be a great idea.

So I write.

I write to release my demons, or to appease them…I’m never quite sure which. I often don’t know if it’s helping or not, I just know I’ve always been driven to write out my pain.  Maybe it helps my demons sleep better at night, I just wish they’d let me sleep, too.

My one less selfish reason is my family…particularly my daughter and Granddaughter.

The way my memory is going…well, I sometimes wonder how much of me will be left when my granddaughter is old enough to begin to really know me. So I write, so that maybe one day she will read my words and perhaps come to know the woman she called “Gammaw” in a different way.

I write for my daughter as well. For the woman that thinks she knows her mother so well but really doesn’t. She’s off living her own life right now, which is as it should be, but no one knows how much longer we have with anyone.

We missed so much in each others lives, perhaps I’m trying to give her the chance to hear it from the source, a chance I never got with my own mother.

Maybe it will only ever be me that reads my story. Maybe I write only for me and my demons. I suppose that’s ok, too, isn’t it?