Witch, its been rough

I’m back, witches, and today we’re stirring up one of society’s nastiest little potions. You know the one: “If a boy is mean to you, it just means he likes you.” Spare me. That’s not love—it’s lazy, toxic conditioning disguised as playground wisdom. And it’s been spoon-fed to girls for generations like poison hidden in sugar.

Enter 5th-grade me. There was this boy who decided his idea of romance was chasing me around at recess and trying to kiss me even after I told him no—over and over again. Picture me sprinting across the blacktop like I’m in Scream while he lumbers after me like a knock-off horror villain.

One day, I’d had enough. I stopped running. He lunged in with all the charm of a damp toad, and I did the only logical thing—I shoved him. And witches, let me tell you… he fell. Not a graceful tumble. Oh no. A flat, dramatic, playground-shaking fall. The gasp from the other kids was delicious. For one glorious second, I felt like the tiny witch queen I was destined to be.

And yet—guess who got in trouble? Me. Not him. Not the boy who ignored my no. Nope. It was me, punished for defending myself, while he walked away like the victim. At ten years old I learned two things: adults don’t always protect girls, and sometimes you have to be your own damn spell of protection.

To this day, I wonder—did he ever learn? Did that fall humble him, or did the adults’ excuses just inflate his ego more? I truly hope karma’s kept him tripping ever since.

So here’s my incantation for you:

✨ No means no.

✨ Stop means stop.

✨ And the next time someone says “boys will be boys,” remind them that witches will be witches—and we don’t run, we push.

Stay sharp, stay sassy, and may anyone who ignores your boundaries end up flat on their ass. 🖤🕯️