Marriage, Motherhood & Magic: A Reflection
Remembering the Old Path
There’s something about reaching this season of life that makes the air feel different, as if the wheel of the year is turning within me.
The children are grown, the house is quieter than it once was, and the marriage that began in youthful hope has weathered both its bright days and its shadowed ones. I’ve been a wife and a mother for so long, tending, giving, making sure the hearth was never cold. But somewhere along the way, I realized I’d been hearing a whisper all these years, one that I never truly silenced.
A calling. A remembering.
The Quiet Arrival of Witchcraft
Witchcraft didn’t arrive in my life like a bolt of lightning. It crept in gently, like ivy climbing up old stone.
It was there when I lit a candle at the end of a weary day, when I pressed herbs between the pages of a book, when I noticed how my spirit rose and fell in rhythm with the seasons.
For a long time, I thought it was just curiosity. Now I know it was something deeper — my blood and bones remembering where I come from.
I feel the echo of ancestral women who came before me: those who kept the fires alive through winter nights, who whispered to unseen powers, who knew the language of plants and seasons long before such things were written down. They speak to me still — through rosemary simmering in a pot, through the creak of oak branches outside my window, through the smell of bread rising in my oven.
Marriage as a Teacher
Life, of course, has had its tides. Marriage has had its easy laughter and its hard silences, its effortless love and its deliberate tending.
It has taught me that love is not a single unbroken line. It is a weaving — strong threads of passion and joy twisted with strands of hardship and doubt. Some seasons carried us effortlessly; others demanded daily choice, steady rowing.
Through the lens of witchcraft, I see these cycles as sacred. Even the waning times are not endings, but shifts. Love doesn’t vanish — it transforms, waits, and grows again.
The Cycles of Motherhood
Motherhood has carried me through the sweetest moments of my life and the hardest. From the warmth of little arms around my neck to the ache of letting go.
There is magic in the growing — and just as much in the releasing. Learning that my children are not mine to keep, but souls entrusted to me for a time.
Here too, I see the Wheel of the Year: planting, tending, harvesting, and letting the field rest. Witchcraft has softened the edges of that ache, reminding me that my role as mother doesn’t end. It transforms, just as the seasons do.
Returning to Myself
What I’ve found isn’t about becoming someone new. It is about returning — to myself, to the hearth, to the lineage that hums in my veins.
I am no longer the young woman I once was, but I feel steadier now, rooted more deeply, listening more closely. Each candle I light is both prayer and conversation. Each meal I prepare is an offering. Even sweeping the floor or pouring tea has become a ritual, binding me back to who I’ve always been.
So here I am, walking forward with open hands and a quiet heart. Not with all the answers, but with a willingness to listen — to the land, to my ancestors, to the warmth of the hearth, and to the magic that has always lived within me.
A Blessing for the Journey
Maybe you’ve felt this whisper too — that call back to the old ways, back to yourself. If so, may this season guide you gently into your own remembering.
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