Why are witches called "crazy" and damned? This is a raw look at the spiritual prejudice I've faced, why my Hoodoo practice is non-negotiable, and the boundaries that returned my peace.
Let’s talk about the words they use.
“Crazy.” “Demonic.” “Going to hell.”
These are the shields thrown up by a world terrified of power it doesn’t understand. For centuries, these words have been used as spiritual and social weapons against women, healers, and anyone whose connection to the Divine doesn’t fit inside a sanctioned box.
I’ve heard them. I’ve felt their sting. And for a long time, that sting made me want to fold into myself, to make my magic smaller, quieter, more palatable.
But no more. Today, I’m pulling back the curtain on this prejudice, not for sympathy, but for clarity. To explain why this path is so sacred to me, and to ask you some challenging, necessary questions about your own role in this dynamic.
The Fear of the Unseen: Why They Call Us "Crazy" When someone’s reality is limited to only what they can see and touch, a person who speaks to spirits, reads energy, and works with the power of plants appears… unhinged. It’s a failure of imagination, a refusal to accept that the universe is far more mysterious and magnificent than they’ve been led to believe.
Labeling us “crazy” is a way to dismiss what they fear. It’s easier to pathologize a person than to confront the terrifying possibility that their entire worldview might be incomplete. Damnation is the ultimate control tactic—a threat designed to keep you in line and away from your own innate power.
Why Hoodoo is My Foundation, My Freedom, and My Fight Amidst this noise, my Hoodoo practice is my unshakable ground. It is not a hobby; it is my inheritance and my lifeline.
Hoodoo is important to me because it is the practical magic of my ancestors—the ones who survived. It is the spiritual system born from the need to protect, to heal, and to manifest justice when no other system would. When I work with roots, herbs, and oils, I am not just following a recipe; I am touching the hands of my grandmothers. I am continuing a lineage of resilience. This practice connects me to a history of power that refuses to be erased.
I love what I do because it is real. There is no abstraction. You pray while you work. You speak to Spirit while you blend. The results are tangible: a sense of peace after a cleansing bath, the courage that comes from a protective mojo bag, the clarity that follows a reading. I get to witness people reclaim their power, and there is no greater honor.
A Moment of Conviction: Questions to Sit With Before you scroll on, I invite you to sit with these questions. Be honest with yourself.
1. Have you ever privately (or publicly) called a spiritual person “crazy,” “weird,” or “delusional” because their beliefs made you uncomfortable?
2. Have you ever judged someone, even silently, damning their path in your mind, because it didn’t align with your own understanding of God or spirituality?
3. Do you have a friend who openly practices? If so, do you defend them or stand up for them when people speak against them in your presence, or do you stay silent for the sake of comfort?
There is no judgment here, only an invitation to witness the impact of these thoughts and actions.
My Journey from Sadness to Sovereign Peace I have felt the sharp pain of this prejudice. There have been many days where the loneliness of this path has washed over me. The hardest part has been the private messages from people seeking readings, spellwork, and comfort, who then walk past me in public without a word of acknowledgment. To be used for my gifts but hidden as my friend is a particular kind of spiritual betrayal.
It made me want to withdraw. To shut down my shop, delete my pages, and let my gifts gather dust. The weight of being a secret was crushing me.
But Spirit doesn’t call us to shrink. It calls us to rise.
So, I stopped. I began the difficult, sacred work of setting boundaries. I started to call my power back from every person and situation that treated my divinity as a dirty secret. I learned to say “no” to those who only valued the part of me that served them. And in doing so, I regained my peace.
My magic is not up for public debate. My relationship with the Divine is not a topic for your committee. I answer to my ancestors and my spirit, and that is more than enough.
To those who see me, thank you. Your support is a sacred balm.
To those who don’t, may your path bring you the peace you seek.
And to those on a similar path, feeling the weight of the world’s judgment: Set your boundary. Call your power back. Your peace is waiting for you on the other side.
In Solidarity and Sovereignty...
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