Witch, its been rough

Hello, my wicked little coven and beautifully cursed companions. Yes, yes, gather closer to the cauldron. I know I vanished again. One moment I was here, the next I dissolved into the ether like a spell spoken wrong under a full moon. Tragic. Mysterious. Slightly dramatic. Entirely on brand.

But the truth is less theatrical and more necessary. I needed to retreat. Not a cute “light a candle and journal once” kind of reset, I mean a full spiritual hibernation. The kind where you pull your energy back from the world, lock the doors of your inner temple, and sit with your own ghosts until they stop screaming. So I did exactly that. No audience. No performance. Just me, my thoughts, and a few metaphorical demons pacing in the corner.

And now I’ve returned. Slightly feral. Slightly wiser. Definitely still sarcastic.

Today’s potion we’re brewing is a strange one. Self pride. I know. Feels illegal. Like something you’d get hexed for in another lifetime.

Because if you know me, you know I can hype everyone else like they’re the chosen one, then turn around and treat myself like I’m the villain of a prophecy I didn’t even sign up for. I’ve spent years picking myself apart like it was some kind of ritual. But lately, I’ve been trying to rewrite that spell.

Carefully. Awkwardly. With a little resistance.

I’ve been letting myself admit that I’ve done hard things. Big, terrifying, life altering things.

Like leaving behind everything familiar for a job. Do you understand the level of chaotic magic that takes? To pack up your entire life, your comfort, your routines, and step into the unknown with nothing but anxiety and blind determination? Because I do. I lived it.

And I didn’t do it during a peaceful, glowing chapter either. I did it while carrying grief, stress, and the kind of emotional weight that makes everything feel heavier. So no, my weight loss journey during that time was not some aesthetic transformation montage. It was survival. It was choosing to keep going when everything in me wanted to collapse into the void and stay there.

But here’s where the magic shifted.

That move changed everything.

My new job feels like stepping into a space that was actually meant for me. I’m not constantly drained. I’m not shrinking myself to be tolerated. I’m thriving. Thriving like a plant that was dying in the shade and finally got dragged into the sun, blinking, confused, but very much alive.

People notice me here. In a good way. Not in the whisper behind your back, “let’s dissect her existence for entertainment” kind of way my last job specialized in. That place felt like a cursed little pocket dimension where maturity went to die.

I had managers gossiping about me, deciding I must be faking being sick just to avoid work. Because clearly my master plan in life was elaborate illness cosplay. Incredible theory. No notes.

And yet, the universe has a sense of humor.

Because I ended up in a position many of them couldn’t reach. A job that requires passing a polygraph. Truth, quite literally, had to vouch for me. So no, I wasn’t faking. I was fighting something they didn’t have the depth to understand.

And now? I’m somewhere better. Somewhere healthier.

And suddenly, my body isn’t in constant battle mode.

It’s almost like when you remove yourself from a toxic environment, your entire being starts to heal. Shocking, I know.

My weight loss journey, once chaotic and cursed, is finally starting to feel like growth instead of punishment.

I’m down 85 pounds.

Eighty five.

That’s not just weight. That’s layers of stress, pain, survival, and old versions of me that I’ve shed piece by piece.

And it didn’t come from a spell jar or a whispered incantation. It came from persistence. From continuing even when I was exhausted, discouraged, or doubting myself. It came from choosing me, over and over again, even when I didn’t feel worthy of that choice.

I’m still on the path. Still evolving. Still a work in progress.

But I’m no longer at war with myself.

And that feels like its own kind of magic.

A lot of this journey was forged in grief. Losing my mom didn’t just hurt, it cracked me open and dragged me into a darkness I didn’t know how to navigate. There were days I felt like a ghost in my own life, just drifting through the ruins of who I used to be.

But I didn’t stay there.

I clawed my way back. Slowly. Messily. With tears, distractions, comfort shows, and small moments of light that felt like spells keeping me anchored. I found pieces of myself again, sometimes in the most unexpected places.

And now when I look at myself, I see someone changed.

Not untouched. Not unscarred. But transformed.

Someone younger me would look at like a legend in the making. Not because everything turned out perfect, but because I endured and still chose to remain soft where it mattered.

Because that’s the part I’m most proud of.

I didn’t let the darkness turn me cruel.

I didn’t become the villain, no matter how easy that would have been. I still have a heart that cares, that loves, that shows up for people. It’s a little haunted, a little stitched together, maybe held in place with emotional glue and stubborn will, but it’s still beating.

And that? That’s powerful magic.

So if you’re out there, somewhere between healing and unraveling, feeling like you’re stuck in the middle of your own dark forest, hear this.

You are not lost forever.

You are not broken beyond repair.

You are not the shadow you’re currently walking through.

Sometimes the most powerful thing you can do is retreat. To rest. To gather your energy and protect your peace like it’s sacred, because it is.

And when you’re ready, you rise again. Not as who you were, but as someone deeper, wiser, and far more powerful than you realize.

Be proud of that version of you. Even if you’re still becoming them.

Especially then.

Because one day you’re going to look back at this version of yourself and realize something incredible.

You didn’t just survive the darkness.

You learned how to wield it.