Witch, Don’t Kill My Vibe: On Language, Identity, and the Power of Naming Yourself

Once upon a time, being called a "witch" could get you burned. Today, it might get you a book deal, a tarot deck, or a wildly popular TikTok following—and honestly? About damn time.

But let’s be clear: reclaiming the word witch isn’t a trend, an aesthetic, or a crystal-core personality trait (even though I do love a good smoky quartz moment). Calling myself a witch was never about looking mystical enough. It was about claiming my own authority in a world that has spent centuries telling women not to trust themselves. Because the word witch has always been less about magic — and more about power.

The Witch Was Never the Problem

Historically, the word witch was used to mark people, mainly women who didn’t fit neatly into acceptable boxes. Women who were too loud. Too wise. Too sexual. Too independent. Too uninterested in male approval. Midwives, healers, widows, outsiders. Women with opinions. Women with boundaries.

The accusation was never really about spells or spirits. It was about control.

And while the stakes look different today — no pyres, no public trials — the impulse hasn’t disappeared. Women are still punished socially for the same things. We’re called hysterical for expressing emotion. Difficult for setting boundaries. Too much for taking up space. Intimidating for knowing what we’re doing. The witch trials didn’t end. They simply rebranded. So reclaiming witch isn’t nostalgia. It’s refusal.

Naming Yourself Is Spellwork

Reclaiming a word isn’t just semantics. It’s spellwork. You see, language shapes how we see ourselves. It teaches us what’s allowed, what’s desirable, and what needs to be hidden. When a word has been used to shame, silence, and control — choosing it for yourself becomes an act of rebellion. Calling myself a witch over 20 years ago, was a moment of radical self-definition.

It meant saying:I trust my intuition. I trust my body. I trust my inner voice more than external validation.

And that’s deeply inconvenient in a system that profits from women doubting themselves.

Witchhood, for me, isn’t about needing permission. It’s about opting out of respectability politics altogether. It’s about no longer trying to be palatable, digestible, or easy to understand. I don’t need to be saved. I don’t need to be explained. And I certainly don’t need to be smaller.

Inner Authority Over External Approval

At its core, reclaiming witch is about inner authority.

It’s choosing gut over guilt. Embodiment over perfection. Self-trust over constant self-surveillance. A witch listens inward first. Not because she’s irrational — but because she knows that intuition is data the system never taught us to value. In a culture that teaches women to outsource decision-making, self-trust becomes a radical act.

This isn’t about rejecting logic or science. It’s about remembering that wisdom isn’t only cerebral. It lives in the body, in cycles, in lived experience. Calling myself a witch was a way of saying: I am allowed to know things without asking for permission.

Rest, Ritual, and Refusal

Modern life is exhausting. Grind culture thrives on burnout, urgency, and the idea that worth equals productivity. Witchcraft — or whatever word you choose for your own practices of presence and care — offers a counter-narrative. It honours cycles instead of constant output. Energy instead of efficiency. Rest instead of relentless optimisation.

Lighting a candle before opening my inbox isn’t escapism. It’s boundary-setting. Making space for ritual in everyday life isn’t cute or frivolous. It’s a refusal to let every part of my existence be swallowed by urgency, capitalism, and performance. In a system that benefits from women being tired, disconnected, and over-functioning, choosing slowness is an act of self-protection. And self-protection, too, is political — even when it’s quiet.

Final Spell

So no, reclaiming witch isn’t about trend-following or shock value. It’s about remembering. It’s about honouring the women who came before us — the ones who trusted their knowing, spoke anyway, healed anyway, lived anyway — and refusing to let their fire be reduced to shame.

So yes. Call me a witch. I’ll take it as a compliment. Because if trusting myself makes me dangerous, if listening to my intuition makes me irrational, if taking up space makes me too much — then witch, don’t kill my vibe.