Gatekeeping or Accountability? What It Means to Truly Call Yourself a Witch
CONFESSION: In 2019, I posted something on Facebook that hit a nerve: “I miss when witchcraft was underground. Now Becky thinks she’s a witch just cuz she buys sage at Whole Foods.”
It went viral.
People laughed, got mad, and everything in between. But behind the humor was a real frustration I’ve carried for a while. The trendiness of witchcraft — the Instagram hashtags, the aesthetic kitsch — has watered it down so much that the practice itself, the meaning behind the magic, feels like it’s disappearing. And yet, here’s the thing I wrestle with: we all start somewhere. Every single witch I’ve known had a “Becky” moment, a first awkward step. I’ve had my own beginner missteps too.
So where’s the line? How do we reconcile these two truths: that it’s okay to start where you are, but also that being a witch means committing to something deeper, something earned?
There’s no one “right” way to begin the craft. Maybe you buy sage at Whole Foods because that’s what’s accessible to you. Maybe you watch a few TikToks, get a Tarot deck, and light a candle while whispering an intention. That’s a start, and I won’t dismiss it. That first spark of curiosity, that pull toward something mystical, is what matters. It’s the call, the moment the veil lifts just enough for you to glimpse that the world is more alive, more connected, more layered than you’ve been told. That’s not something to shame. It’s something to nurture. But here’s the thing about the spark: it’s an invitation, not the whole story.
Witchcraft is not a mood board, and it’s not a vibe. It’s not something you can buy into or self-proclaim without doing the work. The work is what separates magic from aesthetic. The work is what turns curiosity into craft. When you reduce witchcraft to a hashtag or a trending identity, you strip it of its depth. The sage you bought loses its sacredness. The candle you lit becomes just a piece of wax. The spell you copied from Pinterest? It doesn’t carry meaning because it isn’t connected to anything real — your intention, your energy, or your lived experience. Witchcraft isn’t about the stuff; it’s about the meaning behind the stuff. And meaning only comes from commitment and connection: to yourself, to nature, to the cycles of life and death, to the traditions (whether ancestral or self-made) that give this work roots.
The problem is a system that takes sacred practices, removes their context, and sells them for profit. Becky doesn’t know what she doesn’t know yet. She’s following the spark. Yet, there must be some kind of mentorship— pointing her toward the layers, the ethics, the history, and the deeper work.
Anyone can feel called to witchcraft, but not everyone will stay. Why? Because witchcraft demands effort, and that effort isn’t always fun or glamorous. It’s not just lighting candles and manifesting abundance. It’s shadow work. It’s learning history. It’s sitting with uncomfortable truths about yourself and the world. Beginners deserve encouragement, but they also deserve honesty about what they’re stepping into.
There’s a fine line between protecting the integrity of witchcraft and gatekeeping.
It’s not about saying, “You can’t sit with us.” It’s about saying, “If you want to sit with us, know that this seat comes with responsibility.” Witchcraft isn’t a club; it’s a practice. And practice means showing up again and again, not just for the highs but for the messy, complicated in-betweens. This tension — the need to start somewhere versus the need to earn the title — isn’t something to solve. It’s something to sit with. That’s what witchcraft teaches us: to hold opposites in balance.
To the beginners: start where you are. Follow the spark, make the mistakes, and don’t let the noise of social media make you feel like you’re not enough. But also know that this path asks for more than a passing interest. It asks for your energy, your time, your heart.
To those further along the path: remember where you started. Have compassion for those who are just beginning. But don’t be afraid to hold the line.
The craft deserves reverence, and it’s okay to ask that of others.
There is room at this table for Becky, for all beginners, for anyone who feels the call. But let me be clear: to sit at this table means more than simply showing up. It means coming with humility, with a willingness to listen more than you speak, and with a commitment to self-awareness and self-knowledge.
Witchcraft is not for show. It’s not a title to be worn like a trendy jacket, and pretending to be something you’re not does a disservice to everyone in this sacred space. Those of us who have done the work — who have walked through the grit and the shadow, who have faced ourselves with honesty — will see right through you if your magic is shallow, performative, or unearned. To steal the name of “witch” without meeting its trials is no different than stolen valor. A soldier earns their stripes through battle, not by dressing the part. The same is true for witches. You can wear the symbols, say the words, and post the pictures, but without the inner work, you’re not walking the path. And no one owes a thief any respect.
But here’s the thing: it doesn’t have to be this way. You don’t have to steal what can be earned.
There is power in the real work, in confronting your shadow, in meeting your magic in an embodied way. When you do the work, you don’t have to pretend — because you are it. So, Becky, you’re welcome at the table. But know this: if you talk a lot without saying anything meaningful, if you posture without purpose, if you think this path is about appearances instead of substance, you will be seen. And you will be called out. Not out of cruelty, but because this craft, this life, this lineage, demands integrity.
The question is not whether you can sit here. The question is, are you willing to earn your seat? If you are, you’ll find that those of us who have done the work will welcome you — not because you bought the right tools or said the right words, but because we see in you the truth of the witch: the grit, the humility, the courage to face the deepest parts of yourself and transform. And if you can’t? Well, the craft doesn’t lie. You’ll either rise to meet it — or it will leave you behind.
Becky buying sage at Whole Foods isn’t the problem; the commodification of what is sacred, is. And unless and until Becky realizes she must work toward deepening her self-awareness, she will perpetuate this profaning of all that is sacred. ... and for that I have no compassion or patience.
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