A Loving Letter to my Christian Family and Friends

This one might be a more difficult post for me to write- and for some to read. However, I want to preface it by saying that every word is written with nothing but pure love for the people I wrote it for. So- here we go.

Dear Family and Friends,

I want to start by saying I see you.

I know you have seen me in the last few years, too. You have seen me skirt around the truth with fear and trepidation, trying to shield you from what I'm sure you probably already well know.

But I see you, too. And have seen you for a long time. I have seen how you flinched at my bachelorette party when I brought out my tarot cards. I have seen how your eyebrows creased when you saw me buy another history book about the Salem Witch Trials. I have seen the pause you took when I brought a book I wanted to you at the bookstore titled, "Christian Witch."

I see that it is hard for you. You remember when I was little, remember how I happily piled into the mini van with my siblings so we could all go on our way to church.

And to my Christian friends- I know you remember how hard I tried. You remember going to the retreats with me, raising your hands with me, singing praise worship songs loud and proud with me.

I am still the same woman who did all of those things.

At the same time, there are parts of me that have changed. We all change, it's a part of life. I cannot tell you if this change is good or bad- it simply is.

So here I am, coming out of the broom closet, revealing myself to everyone I love most and hoping that you can love this version of me, too.

I don't fall under the label of "Christian" anymore- and I haven't for some time. I know you know that. But now it can be out in the open, and we do not have to be afraid of things that simply are.

I know a lot of you already know this, but February 2014 was my rock bottom. An important piece of my psyche had already splintered off by the time that first psychiatrist gave my brain a new label:

Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder.

If you've never gone through it yourself, or known anyone close to you who has gone through it, these words may not sound like a death sentence. They do to me. I cannot speak for everyone, not even everyone who also carries this title, this special brand of neurodivergence, but I can speak for myself. That disorder nearly cost me my life. At the bottom, there, I did not see any point in trying to continue. It was so painful, to have my very thoughts - something I'd prided myself on for my whole life up to that point - my thoughts - completely turn on me. I did not know who I was. I did not know why this thing, this part of me, was ripping out my inner core and laughing at me as it watched the lifeblood ooze from my heart.

Basically - I lost it. I lost my mind. I lost my sense of self. I lost my hope for the future. All of it - gone. Eroded by the intrusive thoughts that whispered in my ear every moment of every day as loud as a fucking fog horn.

Something else I lost was faith.

I know that line will sting. I know you will argue with me. You will say that all I need is to believe, to open my eyes and finally see that God was there all along pulling on the rope that eventually brought me back to the shore.

It's a nice image. And on some level I agree with you. But I do not see it in the same lens that you do. I do not see a grandfatherly figure in the clouds holding the end of that rope, nor do I see Jesus making his way across the churning waves so he could bail me out. I want to be very clear- I have nothing against Jesus - he had beautiful things to say, beautiful ideas.

I just did not feel, when I was at my lowest, any connection to him.

On the contrary- I felt like even my many attempts to think about him were hurting me. My brain twisted prayers into curses in my head, morphed a once-beautiful thing into the darkest of evils. I would step through a church door seeking forgiveness for something I had no control over. My eyes would take in the simple cross on the wall, my ears would hear the gentle music... but my anxiety would spike so high that I'd start sweating, breathing shallow breaths, and ultimately break into a panic so intense I had to run back outside.

I am not saying these things to hurt you. I appreciate everything you did for me. You gave me a beautiful foundation for spirituality that I cherish to this day. My neurotransmitters and necessity simply intervened, forcing me to seek divine connection elsewhere.

I've honestly walked a witchy path my whole life, I just never completely knew it until I spent those three months in Ireland. My brain was still very much broken at the time, but the sharp talons of OCD loosened their grip on the pieces while I was exploring the Emerald Isle.

I lived in a really cute city named Cork. My mind would often race, as it had been doing since February 2014, and as a result I would have days where I felt like I had to get out of my apartment or I'd suffocate from all the noise.

So, I explored Cork. I wandered down the streets, peering into restaurants and cafes, trying a new coffee here and there. With something of a guilty conscience I slunk into every souvenir shop I found, excited to see if I could find something new. One day, though, I stumbled upon a bright purple store.

It was called "The Dancing Dervish-" (I still have no idea what a "dervish" is but that's besides the point). Curious, I stepped inside. The first thing I noticed was the wonderful smell. Incense smoke wound its way through the air. It seemed to tickle that place inside me that has always been fascinated by mysticism and magic. That little part of me had been dormant for so long, kicked and beaten by the OCD.

Then I saw the crystals. My eyes widened. There were pretty rocks- everywhere. Carnelians, blue lace agates, obsidians, citrines... Any stone you could imagine, it was there, and in abundance.

Finally, my eyes found the books. There were not as many books as there were crystals, but there were still quite a few. My eyebrows knit together in concentration. The titles on these books... were like nothing I'd ever seen before. There were books about astral projection, about something strange called tarot (I think it's a card game?), about yoga, about spirit guides... My heart sparkled when I saw the spirit guide book. I picked it up and took it to the shopkeeper, feeling like I was doing something absolutely off limits. Something told me not to care, though, so I handed her my credit card and retreated with the pretty new tome.

I know this probably does not feel as nostalgic or overwhelmingly positive to you as it does to me. I know you are scared- for me, for my future, for my soul. I just want to reassure you - I'm alright. I'm more than alright, I am at peace. I have found something new and exciting that sparks my inner fires. It does not twist the words in my head or threaten me with eternal damnation for every creative bit of evil my brain can cook up. Instead, I get to learn about the elements, about intention, about intuition, about the wonderful power that lives in the words you intend to think about.

That is the greatest freedom my new spirituality has given me.

Intention.

If OCD twists the words of a prayer as I pray to Persephone, the intention is simply not there, so it does not scare me. It does not create a loop of intense shame, bargaining, and compulsion that eventually feeds back into itself and generates a new obsession. It simply goes away. Neither I nor Persephone ever have to think or care about it ever again.

Could I apply this new inner knowing, this breakthrough, to Christianity?

I honestly don't know. Probably.

The difference, though, is the reverence.

I am reverent towards the earth, nature, the spirits, and the divine spark that exists in everything.

I am afraid of God.

I revere the cosmos.

This might make you upset, it might make you cry, it might cause you to be in denial and want to argue with me. That is okay. I just want you to know that I love you. Unconditionally. And I want you to know that I think there is room for both of us in the world, room for both Christians and witches. There might even be a little bit of room for both in our tightknit circle of family and friends.

I want to ask you not to mourn for me. I want to ask you to be happy for me, for I am free. I feel free. I feel uplifted. I feel empowered.

And I know you do, too. I know Christianity is your freedom. And I love that for you. Thank you for trusting in me, for believing in me, and for allowing me to be fully me in front of you, once again. Please, let us run barefoot down the hill towards the lake together, and be happy that we both have peace.

With utterly unconditional love,

Bethany - the Barn Witch.