Witch, its been rough

Hello again, witches. Gather ‘round the cauldron because today’s ramble is about texting—that modern-day form of communication I somehow manage to be both aware of and terrible at.

I’ll admit it: I’m far better at showing up here, pouring my thoughts onto the page, than I am at keeping up with text messages. Though, to be fair, I have improved. Growth deserves at least a small celebratory candle. Still, I have this habit of vanishing from conversations, not because I don’t care, but because staying consistently connected can feel… heavy. Like an unspoken expectation I’m afraid of messing up.

I’ve always believed the phone works both ways. Once upon a time, I was the one always reaching out, always checking in, always keeping the thread alive. Over time, that energy started to feel unbalanced. After years of worrying I was annoying, clingy, or too much, I learned to pull my magic inward instead. Independence became my shield. I don’t ever want to feel like I need someone in a way that leaves me exposed or uncomfortable, so now I reach out in small, intentional moments rather than constantly.

Thankfully, most of my friends understand. We’re adults navigating busy lives, emotional exhaustion, and the general chaos of being human. There’s an unspoken agreement that silence doesn’t equal distance—it just means life is lifing.

Still, if I’m being honest under the glow of truth, I wonder sometimes if old wounds shaped me more than I realize. Being contacted only when someone was drunk, lonely, or needed something has a way of teaching you to guard your energy like it’s sacred. And it is. But I can’t help but think that without that history, maybe I’d reach out more freely. Maybe I’d let myself get closer without questioning the intention behind every interaction.

The people I do have in my life are forever people. They’ve walked beside me through my darkest nights, when the shadows felt endless and my light flickered. I trust them. I love them. I just wish making new connections—and opening up—felt less like casting a risky spell and more like second nature.

And that’s where you come in. You’re my quiet little coven. Even if you don’t know my real name, you know my truth. You see the real me in ways people in my everyday life sometimes don’t. There’s something powerful about that—about being seen without expectation. It feels like the beginning of something healing.

So if you know me personally and you have my number, this is my soft apology whispered into the universe. I’m sorry I don’t reach out more. I hate feeling like an inconvenience. I hate taking up space where I’m not wanted. Those fears don’t disappear overnight—but it’s a new year, a new cycle, and I’m setting gentler intentions.

Maybe this is the year I reach out more. Maybe it’s the year I trust that my presence is welcome. Either way, thank you for being here. The magic feels safer with you. 🖤✨