So, it turns out that my business slacks and cardigan are actually my witchy clothes. Do you know why? Because it’s a real witch wearing them.
Mickie Mueller is an award-winning and critically acclaimed artist of fantasy, fairy, and myth. She is an ordained Pagan minister and has studied natural magic, Celtic tradition, and Faerie Tradition. She is also a Reiki healing master/teacher in the Usui Shiki Royoho Tradition. She enjoys creating magical art full of fairies, goddesses, and beings of folklore. She works primarily in a mix of colored pencil and watercolor infused with magical herbs corresponding to her subject matter. Mickie is the illustrator of The Well Worn Path and The Hidden Path tarot decks and the writer/illustrator of The Voice of the Trees, A Celtic Ogham Divination Oracle from Llewellyn. Mickie is a regular article contributor to several of Llewellyn’s annuals.
Illustrator: Tim Foley
Witch Parent
Dallas Jennifer Cobb
This article is about being Wiccan or Pagan and a parent. It’s not a “how-to” article, but a personal discussion of the joys and pains of parenting in a mainstream society, maintaining my faith in isolation and changing times, and coming into a different sort of magical community through my child. It is also about what this process has taught me about being Pagan.
Sometimes it feels like there’s a constant choice to be made between “belonging” and being Pagan. With a child in the public school system, Pagan parents often face the challenge of deciding “which” parent to be at any given time: the Pagan parent or the mainstream parent.
But over time, both parenting and mainstream society have taught me profound lessons about being a better Pagan. I have come to see that I can be both a practicing Pagan and a good parent, all at the same time. No longer wondering “which” parent to be, I know I am a “Witch” parent.
Nothing Remains the Same
For many of us, faith is a very personal matter, as is our Pagan practice. We develop our own interpretation of what it means to be Pagan. We seek out like-minded people and take part in circles, rituals, and community gatherings that reflect our understanding of the craft.
Because being Pagan has historically meant being an “outsider,” we are comfortable with being unique and making individual choices about our beliefs, identity, and magical practices. And our magical communities are usually comprised of people who share similar ideas, ideals, and practices.
But once we have children, who we are and how we are changes. This catalyst causes change to ripple throughout our entire lives, changing our Pagan practice and our magical communities.
For many new parents, the change in their Pagan practice and community coincides with the birth of their baby. Perhaps the Moon circles meet too late at night for the baby, imbibing at rituals feels alien for the nursing mom, or the sky-clad Sabbat celebrants don’t seem like an ideal mix with young children. After the birth of a child, many aspects of the Pagan practice and community that were previously unquestioned and accepted can feel unsettling, unwanted, or even unsafe.
Winds of Change
When I had my daughter, I felt very protective. I no longer felt safe at the wild and rollicking Pagan gatherings I used to enjoy so much. I found the imbibing of alcohol (and sometimes drugs) worrisome. I was leery of the blatantly sexual energy that wafted around at rituals. And because I couldn’t change these things—indeed had always previously enjoyed them—I realized that I needed to change.
Drawn to the quiet safety of home and hearth that felt cozy and protective, not just for me but for my baby, my Pagan practice shifted from very communal and community-driven to a solitary, private practice.
My Moon circle disappeared first. Comprised of child-free adults, they wanted to continue to meet at night, often very late at night, and that didn’t work for me as the parent of an infant. While struggling to decide what to do, how to balance my Pagan circle and my parenting, I was told very plainly that children were not welcome in the circle. That made the choice an easy one: I left the circle.
Drawn to the quiet safety of home that felt cozy and protective … my Pagan practice shifted from very communal and community-driven to a solitary, private practice.
Community rituals and Sabbat celebrations disappeared next. Because my circle and therefore my community were mostly child-free adults, I didn’t feel comfortable taking my baby to rituals. Everyone seemed to expect her to be absolutely silent. She wasn’t a cry-baby, but a cooer. Still, her sounds of pleasure and wonder drew looks of scorn and whispers, which drained my energy. And so I stopped attending community rituals and celebrations.
My summer sojourns to witch camp also ceased. Sure, there was a camp that welcomed children, but when I contemplated packing up all the stuff needed for baby and me, along with the reality of camping out with her for a week, I was exhausted just thinking about it. So, I didn’t go.
With a baby only a few months old, I found myself totally alone in my Pagan practice.
A New Path
As a new mother, I became a solitary practitioner, with my home, hearth, and family at the center of my Pagan practice. I created rituals, magical craft, and Sabbat celebrations for my little family. My home became a magical realm, steeped in altars and sacred spaces. I conducted Moon rituals for just myself and my infant daughter. Swaddled in the warmth of my arms, I took her out to meet the Moon. And the Goddess welcomed her, asleep or awake, cooing or crying.
In those early years, with a sleeping or breast-feeding babe in my arms, and later with an active toddler, I worked a lot of solitary magic, casting spells, manifesting, chanting, and celebrating in the comfort and safety of my home. And as
