The Truth About “Witches”
It was not witches who burned. It was women. Young women. Children. Maiden. Mother and Crone. No woman was safe.
Women were condemned for being:
- Too pretty
- Too smart
- Too outspoken
- Too skilled with herbal medicine
- Too connected to nature
- For having birthmarks
- For having red hair or curly hair or whatever someone else deemed as witch like
- For dancing
- For singing
- For being an attraction to a jealous lover (literally for doing nothing- someone found them attractive and it was her fault)
- For being too loud
- For being too quiet
- For laughing too loud
- For being kind to animals, like cats
- For knowing the cycles of the moon, her cycle…
- For speaking her truth
- the list goes on… go ahead add more in the comments….
the list…
it matters because this is where our witch wound thrives- our own list of unworthiness… to tall, too short, curky hair, straight hair, no boobs, big boobs, a list of why we cant trulylove ourselves. Our fear of living authenticly, intuitively, by our woman- our womb-ness….Remember that every woman was in her grandmother’s womb. Those of us that are women hold this ancient fear deep in our dna. And it is ancient because it did not start in the witch trials. It started long before women are there in all the history books and Bible stoned, raped, cast off…
The brutality the women in the time of the wutch trial experienced was not new- it’s a brutality all our ancestors lived with on some level. Some eras were just more brutal. Read the history books. A woman getting stoned for the same above list by a mad mob was nothing new…
But, during the witch trials it was a hunt… and anyone could be tagged. There was no safe way to play it. Other humans were guven the power to deem anyone else they liked “other” and as humans we did not stand up forceach other no we turned on one another…. Sisters were forced to testify against each other with their children held at knifepoint. Women were subjected to “swimming tests” – if they floated, they were guilty and burned; if they sank and drowned, they were declared innocent. And this was all okay. We never judged those that burned them. We just kept our heads down and mouth shut and tried to survive… we did… because we are still here. This week is the third anniversary of my house fire. My fire wound is deep. My water wound is deeper. I didn’t learn how to swim until I was forced to in order to graduate middle school. To this day swimming out into the deep end of any lake with cool deep black water rises an old and ancient fear within me. I like that fear. It reminds me how far I have come. Imagine choosing to die by beating, or drowning or fire. The ones that made it to the fire were there because they were angry. They wanted to prove a point. To be seen. I, in my past life, or perhaps a great grandmother before me, chose swimming, no sinking, stones in her hem, to die quietly and sink to the bottom. I remember it. Looking up and seeing the sun over the water. Thinking how beautiful it was. And it was beautiful. I hold this memory like an imprint in my soul. It is part of me.
I swim now (because I can) to the deep end and swim back and remind myself- I am safe. It’s safe to be here; To be me; To speak; To laugh; To love; to connect to nature and relish in the beauty of life- laugh, dance and sing. I do all of these things in honor of my lineage who could not. I am alive because they played small- they lived in a world that wanted them to burn. So I now shine my light because I can.
What we now see as the cartoon “witch” – green skin, twisted features, broken body – was born not from evil, but from torture. Broken nose. Hallowed dark eyes from punches to the face. Think of the last bruise you had: Remember that greenish hue as it healed? These women were beaten so bad their faces were green & now – Imagine how painful. These were healers, midwives, and wise women whose bodies were broken by unspeakable cruelty.
Each Halloween, when we see these caricatures,these green witches, remember why ahe was green and had a scraggly broken nose. Remember: they were not monsters, but women. Women whose only crimes were being different, being knowledgeable, being strong.
Why share this? Because knowing our history is crucial as we build a better world. Because these women deserve to be remembered not as witches, but as victims. Because even today, those who are different – the healers, the sensitives, the ones who don’t quite fit in – still face judgment and doubt. There is always a part of me that is afraid to post about my workshop, classes, events. Its hard to put myself out in the public view. To be honest about my psychic medium gifts, my connection to nature, to speak my truth. My witches wound is deep wound. But not deep enough that I will stop. A voice like a whisper is there to remind me- keep going… keep up… that’s why your here.. to be the voice they never had. So I do my best to rise above my witches wound. TO JUST KEEP SWIMMING.
They call it the witches wound because vilified and persecuted ALL women were all afraid to step out of line – for even a second- if they wanted to live…they were forced to lie low, to be small and not seen. And here is the root of the witch wound: playing smal to survive l: women were trained to live/survive by dimming our light. The wounds we carry are mistrust of each other, playing small and quiet to stay safe, fear of speaking our truth and denying the innate healing qualities we possess. We need to Heal the Witch Wound: We need to step up. Reclaim our Magic and Step Into our Power. It is why I do everything I do. Why I post. Why I teach classes. Why I fight that inner wound and rise above….why I swim to the deep end. I am here because of her. The green face witch who lost her life in fire or water because she upset someone somewhere for living/thriving/being.
Let’s honor their memory by stepping into our power. By shining our light. By living life in all its forms laughing dancing singing and celebrating the wisdom, strength, and resilience of women who dare to be different. Let’s reclaim our own power by speaking our truth and tapping into our wisdom. Letting the divine feminine within rise. We do it together.
[Credit: Adapted from writings by Fia Forsström and others]