Psyche’s Story

I was born into a working-class Catholic family, the youngest of seven daughters. I grew up in a very rural area of northeast Ohio surrounded by woods, fields, and farms. My family was observantly Catholic, attending Mass weekly as well as partaking in communion, confession, Lent, etc. Being raised in rural Ohio taught me to love nature. Being raised Catholic taught me to love ritual. What do you get when you put those two things together? A Pagan. A witch, to be exact. At least in my case.

At Christmastime every year, my father would pull me onto his lap and encourage me to “wish Baby Jesus a Happy Birthday.” Then his voice would take on a conspiratorial tone as he whispered, “You realize the days have already begun to lengthen, don’t you?” This idea – that in deepest, darkest winter, the days were already getting longer – filled me with awe and wonder. Little did my father know that he was paving the way for me to find Paganism.

I clearly remember running through the woods, breathing in the scent of the earthy forest, feeling charged and excited  . . .  and wishing I could be a witch. I don’t know where this desire came from – perhaps from movies and other media. As I grew older, I put the idea away as a childish notion. I followed my parents’ direction, receiving First Communion and Confirmation and connecting to God to the best of my ability. 

In my early twenties, something rekindled my interest in witchcraft. What that was I don’t recall, but it took hold. At that time, the internet was nonexistent. The few books available on witchcraft often conflated it with satanism, or gave it a Hollywood-style sensationalism. But I held to an inherent belief that there had to be more to it than that. 

When I cautiously mentioned my interest to a friend, she admitted that she shared the interest. She loaned me a book – Witches, by Erica Jong – and there it was in black and white: witchcraft is not satanism. There was no turning back for me. 

Through my research, I had learned that a lot of witches were into herbalism – either for natural healing, or for spellwork, or both. So I did a little digging into herbalism as well. 

One evening I attended a potluck with some new friends and acquaintances. After deviled eggs and taco salad, we went around the room sharing our hobbies and interests. I shared that I was interested in herbalism. One of the women in the room said, “I have some friends who are Neo-Pagans and they could tell you more about that.” By then I knew what a Neo-Pagan was – a follower of any of the contemporary nature-based religions, like Wicca. 

My heart skipped a beat. This was what I’d been waiting for! As folks cleared away dishes and said their goodbyes, I pulled the woman aside.”I need to meet these Neo-Pagan friends of yours,” I whispered. 

I did meet them one crisp autumn evening, not long after that potluck. They became my teachers, my High Priest and High Priestess.

My first ritual was Yule, the winter solstice. The altar boasted holly and pine boughs laid among tall red taper candles. The heady scent of frankincense was in the air. Of course, pine and holly were Pagan decorations long before they got linked to Christmas. And frankincense had certainly been used in religious ceremonies prior to the Christian era.

Although this priest and priestess were my original Craft teachers, it wasn’t long before some ideological differences compelled me to leave their tutelage and begin learning on my own. I started reading everything I could get my hands on. I met other witches and people interested in witchcraft. Soon I was leading rituals for friends, cobbling together what I recalled of my teachers’ rituals and what I had gleaned from books. By and by I formed a coven of my own, occasionally checking back with my original teachers for a little guidance. While undergoing this whole process, I started longing for a formal initiation. And any “ideological differences” that I’d perceived between me and my teachers had pretty well evaporated: I couldn't cite a single significant difference. So I took what seemed like the next logical step. I asked my high priest and high priestess if I could be their student again, and if they would initiate me. They said yes. 

At this point in my story I think it’s important to clarify a few things. A traditional Wiccan training lasts a year and a day at minimum. The resulting ceremony is a first degree initiation, officially recognizing one as a witch and priest or priestess. A witch is typically ready for second degree initiation – to be recognized as a high priest or high priestess – when he or she has demonstrated the ability to lead ritual and pass on teachings to newer coveners. 

I was living in central Ohio when I experienced that first ritual in my teachers’ cozy Ohio apartment. Five years had passed by the time I became their student again, and they were then living in South Carolina. So going to see them for an initiation rite was not just a Friday night affair. It was a days-long trip. 

But I had another request. Given that I was already running a coven – and given that they were living hundreds of miles away – would they grant me first and second degree status within the same initiation ritual? 

This was a most unusual request, but my circumstances were also a bit unusual. After some consideration, my teachers agreed to perform the first and second degree initiation rites together. So, as I like to tell the story, it took me five years to get my first degree initiation, and five minutes to get my second.