The Reality of Exclusion: Why I Stopped Seeking Acceptance in Witchy Spaces

In this heartfelt episode, Shivani reflects on the past month, including supporting an incarcerated loved one and navigating a system that fails vulnerable people. They share why they stopped seeking acceptance in ‘witchy’ spaces after experiencing exclusion, gatekeeping, and hypocrisy, highlighting the impact of white supremacy in spiritual circles. Emphasizing authenticity over validation, they urge marginalized individuals to reclaim their power and invite listeners to support their loved one’s post-incarceration stability.

Transcript

Hey everyone, I know it's been a minute since I dropped an episode. It's been about a month. Uh, life has been life ing and I needed to take some time for myself. I've been navigating a lot, processing heavy emotions, and honestly just trying to catch my breath. On top of that, I've been dealing with something incredibly personal.

Um, someone very close to me, someone I very, someone I very much care about. is currently in jail and we're in the middle of legal hearings trying to figure out what comes next. It's been overwhelming to say the least. I am working on raising funds for his release, but right now everything is uncertain, we don't know how things will play out legally, and the waiting is exhausting.

Watching someone you love get caught up in a system that isn't built to protect them, especially when they're neurodivergent and vulnerable, is a level of heartbreak I wouldn't wish on anyone. Every day feels like an uphill battle of advocating, researching, making calls, and trying to keep myself from shutting down under the weight of it all.

Even though his release is still uncertain. We need to be prepared. The focus of the fundraiser is to help secure housing, essentials, help with legal fees, any sort of like bail. Um, my loved ones and I do think he was wrongfully accused. Um, I won't go into more detail about that right now. You can read about it on the fundraiser.

Um, summary. Um, but anyways, and just overall stability for him once he's out. Uh, the system is not designed to support people like him, it's designed to make reintegration as difficult as possible. I refuse to be caught off guard when the time comes. If we wait for a definite answer, we'll already be behind.

So right now, every dollar raised is a step toward making sure They have a real chance when they're free, whether that's tomorrow, next month, or longer. The fundraiser is linked in my Instagram and TikTok bio. A huge thank you to everyone who has already donated, including myself. Your support means everything, every bit helps, and I appreciate it more than I can say.

So if you've been wondering where I've been, that's what's been going on. I appreciate y'all for rocking with me and being patient. I missed doing this and I'm excited to dive into today's topic. Today I want to talk about something I've been reflecting on deeply, why I stopped seeking acceptance in witchy spaces.

This episode isn't just about exclusion, it's about the moment I realized I was done trying to prove myself in spaces that were never meant for me in the first place. For so long I held onto this idea that if I just found the right community, if I said the right things, practiced in the right way, or proved that I belonged, I'd finally feel welcomed.

But time and time again, I found myself on the outside looking in no matter what I did. At some point I had to ask myself, why am I still trying to fit into spaces that don't actually see me? That's what we're unpacking today. The reality of exclusion, the subtle and not so subtle ways gatekeeping shows up, and what it means to finally choose yourself instead of chasing validation.

Let's get into it. In so many spaces, especially spiritual and witchy ones, people love to talk. about community. But the reality doesn't always match the rhetoric. I used to believe that if I just found the right circle, the right people, or the right mentors, I'd finally feel like I belonged. But what I actually found was a pattern.

Gatekeeping, cliques, and an unspoken set of rules about who gets to be accepted and who doesn't. A lot of this comes down to scarcity mindset, the belief that there's only so much space at the table. Instead of seeing inspiration in someone else's growth, some people see competition. They think that if you're thriving, that must mean they're losing.

So they respond with resentment instead of support. Then there's insecurity. Watching someone step into their power forces people to confront their own fears, regrets, or a lack of progress. Instead of sitting with those feelings, they project them outward, ignoring, dismissing, or even undermining the person who's thriving.

It's easier for them to act like your success isn't real than to ask themselves why they feel so threatened by it. And for some, it's about control. If they've always been the authority in the space, the one people look up to, your presence challenges that. Instead of evolving or making room, they'd rather exclude you to maintain their position.

I experienced this firsthand when I announced, announced my podcast. Some folks in the witchy community didn't just other me or judge me. They actively distanced themselves. Some unfollowed me. Others threw sneak disses in their Instagram stories. And the part that gets me the most, these are the same people who constantly preach about unity, support.

and being in tune with their spirituality. One person in particular, without tagging me or addressing me directly, of course, posted, Are you an influencer or a practitioner? Because I'm confused. And this was right after I had made a post about the characteristics of white supremacy culture, as outlined by Tema Okun in her work, White Supremacy Culture.

When I talk about white supremacy culture, I'm not just talking about blatant racism. I'm talking about a system of values and behaviors so deeply ingrained in our society that many people, including BIPOC folks, uphold them without even realizing it. These traits were identified by Tema Okun, and if you're unfamiliar with her work, I highly encourage you to read her full breakdown at www.

whitesupremacyculture. info. And here's the full list of characteristics. Perfectionism. Sense of urgency. Defensiveness. Quantity over quality. Worship of the written word. Only one right way. Paternalism. Either or thinking. Power hoarding. Fear of open conflict. Individualism. I'm the only one. Progress is bigger.

More. Objectivity. Right to comfort. Now, let's get into how these showed up in my situation. Perfectionism. The idea that there is only one quote unquote right way to practice spirituality. If you don't fit into the dominant group's standards, you're dismissed. This was clear in how people judged my practice without actually engaging with it.

Next, we have either or thinking. That Instagram post was a perfect example of this. The idea that I must be either an influencer or a practitioner completely ignores the reality that people can exist in multiple roles at once. And then we have power hoarding. Instead of making space for new voices, certain people in the community saw me stepping into my power as a threat rather than something that could coexist alongside them.

And then we have fear of open conflict. People didn't confront me directly, they chose sneak disses, unfollows, and passive aggressive behavior instead of honest conversation. Next we have individualism. Instead of seeing my podcast as part of a larger community effort to educate and grow, some people saw me as competition.

They acted as if my success somehow took away from theirs. And then we have right to comfort. Instead of engaging with my post, people distanced themselves because the topic made them uncomfortable. They wanted to avoid discomfort rather than reflect on their behavior. Defensiveness. The vague posting, the shade, the unfollows, that was all defensiveness.

Instead of sitting with why they felt called out, they reacted by trying to shut me out.

So, when I made that post calling things out, the response was immediate. People who claimed to be all about self awareness and personal growth suddenly had a lot of feelings. But instead of sitting with their discomfort, they reacted with distance and exclusion. And that's when that person posted, Are you an influencer or a practitioner?

Cause I'm confused. I knew it was about me. I'm not stupid. So I clapped back. Without tagging them, of course, and said if you think being an activist is just being a social media influencer Maybe you should rethink calling yourself a practitioner. And guess what? Her and her little friends unfollowed me right after Guess I struck a nerve.

The online witch community thrives on aesthetics and optics There is an unspoken expectation that witchcraft should look a certain way. Elaborate altars, perfectly arranged crystals, aesthetic rituals, candles glowing just right, and spell jars that could belong in a Pinterest mood board. If someone's practice doesn't match that curated quote unquote witchy aesthetic or it isn't constantly on display, their legitimacy is questioned.

But here's the thing, witchcraft is not a performance, it's a practice. In the beginning, I played along. I posted my spellwork because I thought that's what people wanted to see. I figured maybe if I show them my process, they'll finally engage. But even then, for the most part, silence. And that silence made one thing painfully clear.

It was never about what I posted. These people were never going to fully see or support me no matter how I presented myself. And that realization hit hard. It brought, it brought me right back to the same question I asked myself before. Why am I still trying to fit into spaces that don't actually see me?

I had already experienced exclusion in the community, the gatekeeping, the silent roles, the either or mentality that dictated who was a real practitioner and who wasn't. But now I was seeing another layer of it, the performance of inclusion without actual engagement. They don't mind me existing in the background.

They didn't mind me playing by their rules. But the moment I stopped performing and started being real, the judgment rolled in. People who once quietly tolerated my presence started pulling away. And that's when I realized being authentic means losing people who only supported the version of me that served them.

But you know what else it means? Gaining real connections. The ones who see me The ones who understand my practice beyond aesthetics. The ones who respect my voice without needing me to, needing me to package it neatly for them. And those are the people who matter. Support seems to be very conditional in the witch community.

The second I stopped performing for them and started showing up authentically. The reaction wasn't encouraged, it was silence, judgment, and exclusion. And that's because their support was never real to begin with. It was based on whether I fit within their unspoken expectations, whether I played by the invisible rules of who gets to belong and who doesn't.

The truth is, some people only want to see you thrive as long as your growth doesn't surpass their own. The moment it does, that's when you see people's true colors. Authenticity makes people uncomfortable, because it forces them to confront their own insecurities and inauthenticity. Certain spiritual spaces only welcome marginalized voices when they fit into a palatable, non threatening version of spirituality.

They want the aesthetics of diversity, but not the discomfort of real conversation. The second I started speaking openly about white supremacy, cultural erasure, and systemic oppression in spiritual spaces, that's when people turned on me. That's when they felt the need to discredit, diminish, and distance themselves from me.

And it's not just white witches doing the gatekeeping. Some BIPOC witches replicate the very exclusion they once faced. Instead of breaking the cycle, they internalize the belief that power and influence are limited resources. They enforce the same barriers that kept them out, because they've been conditioned to believe that their worth depends on maintaining a higher status than others.

Instead of recognizing that community is about shared strength, they turn it into a competition for credibility, influence, and status. And in doing so, they uphold the same, the very same systems they claim to reject. This ties directly back to what we talked about earlier, the characteristics of white supremacy culture, specifically power hoarding.

which is keeping spiritual knowledge, influence, and platforms exclusive rather than open and collective. Either or thinking, which is the belief that if one person rises, another must fall, instead of understanding that multiple truths and practices can coexist. And then we have perfectionism and right to comfort.

The expectation that marginalized voices should fit a certain mold to be deemed quote unquote valid. I don't need anyone's permission to exist. My power is mine. My path is mine. And no amount of exclusion, gatekeeping, or judgment can take that away from me. Letting go of the need for validation from these spaces has been liberating because now my practice and my voice belong entirely to me.

No more hesitation. No more second guessing. No more trying to fit into spaces that were never meant for me in the first place. I'm done proving myself. I get to exist in my full power, my full truth, without compromise. From here on out, my energy is focused on what fuels me, not on convincing people to accept me.

If you've ever felt like you had to shrink yourself to be accepted, let this be a reminder. You don't. People who make you feel like you're too much were never meant to hold space for you. That is not your burden to carry. If you have been made to feel like an outsider simply for existing as you are, that is not a reflection of your worth.

It's a reflection of their limitations. So keep going. Keep creating, keep existing loudly, the right people will find you. The ones who truly resonate with you, the ones who see your magic, will never need you to prove yourself to them. Because your magic, it is not diminished by people who refuse to see it.

You can question me, you can exclude me, but you will never fucking silence me.

Exclusion isn't just something you notice, it's something you feel. At first, I wasn't sure what was happening. It started subtly, small shifts in energy, the absence of support, the quiet distancing. My first reaction? Confusion. Did I do something wrong? Was I not witchy enough? Then came frustration. The realization that no matter how I showed up, these people were never going to truly support me.

And finally, hurt. Because these were people who claimed to believe in community and empowerment, but their actions told a different story. It wasn't just disappointing, it was emotionally draining. Even when I wasn't actively thinking about it, it sat there, like a background hum of rejection that made everything feel a little less exciting, a little less meaningful.

I wasn't just dealing with exclusion, I was processing betrayal, frustration, and disappointment all at once. But the breaking point? That was when I realized I had started doubting myself. I caught myself wondering, do I need to change? Do I need to prove something to be taken seriously? That realization was both painful and freeing.

Because once I saw it, I knew I had to take my power back. At first, I tried giving them the benefit of the doubt. Maybe I was overthinking. Maybe I was being sensitive. But the signs became too clear to ignore. The unfollows. The indirect shade. The silence. It wasn't an accident. It was intentional. And of course, there were moments of anger.

Anger at the hypocrisy of people who claim to uplift others, but are so quick to tear someone down. But instead of letting that anger consume me, I let it fuel my clarity. I used it as proof that I don't need their validation. And the deeper I went, the more I realized, this wasn't just about them. This was about me.

About old wounds resurfacing. About patterns of exclusion I've faced my entire life. But this time? Instead of internalizing it, I rejected the need to be accepted at all.

Being autistic means rejection doesn't just sting, it cuts deep. Rejection Sensitivity Dysphoria, also known as RSD, makes even small exclusions feel huge because my brain registers rejection as a real threat. It's not just disappointment, it's a full body reaction, like being emotionally burned. It wasn't just about not being liked.

It felt like being pushed out of a space I thought I belonged to.

Oh, sorry guys, um, I became hyper aware of every shift in energy. I started over analyzing interactions, wondering if I did something wrong.

I caught myself spiraling into thoughts like, am I overreacting? Did I misread this? Why does this hurt so much? But my feelings were valid, because RST makes rejection feel 10 times heavier than it might for someone else.

At first I tried rationalizing their behavior, telling myself it wasn't that deep, but the truth, my brain wasn't just reacting to them, it was reacting to a lifetime of exclusion. Once I realized that, I stopped making the rejection a reflection of me and started seeing it for what it was, their own projection.

This experience completely shifted my relationship with my spirit team, ancestors, and deities in ways I didn't expect. At first I was frustrated, like, why am I being tested like this? Why is this happening to me? But over time I realized this wasn't a punishment, it was protection. These people were being removed from my space for a reason.

My spirit team wasn't testing me. They were guiding me away from spaces that didn't align with me. They were showing me that my validation doesn't come from other practitioners. It comes from within. The message was clear. This isn't rejection, it's protection. At first, this whole situation threw off my energy, my intuition, and my connection to my practice.

I felt drained by the negativity. But over time, something unexpected happened. My intuition became sharper. I started trusting myself more. And without the weight of external expectations, I began practicing in a way that felt right for me, without worrying about optics, judgment, or approval. This experience also changed how I protect my spiritual energy.

I became more mindful of who gets access to me. Who gets to witness my practice? Who I share my magic with? My practice is now less about visibility and more about authenticity. And I believe every deity I work with played a role in guiding me through this. Mother Hecate, the goddess of crossroads and transformation, showing me which doors to close and which ones to walk through.

Mother Lilith, the embodiment of rebellion and self sovereignty. Reminding me that I don't need to conform to be powerful. King Hades. Teaching me the power of shadow work, endurance, and knowing my worth even in dark darkness. Ma Kali. Destroying illusions and pushing me into my fullest, unapologetic self.

And my ancestors, they reminded me loud and clear who I am and where I come from.

Looking back, the biggest lesson I've learned is this. External validation is temporary, but self trust is permanent. Communities should never come at the cost of self betrayal. And the people who leave when I step into my power. They were never meant to come with me. The situation didn't break me, it made me stronger.

It reinforced that I am my own source of validation. It reminded me that spirituality is a personal journey, not a performance. It proved that no matter how much people try to exclude me, my power remains intact. I've learned that exclusion isn't just about rejection, it's about redirection. Every person who distanced themselves was clearing the way for people who truly see and value me.

If you've ever felt like you don't belong, if you've ever been othered, dismissed, or made to feel like you have to prove yourself, this is for you. Their rejection is not your reflection. Your worth isn't defined by their opinions. The right people will find you when you stop shrinking yourself for the wrong ones.

Your magic is yours alone, and no one can take that from you. You are not too much. You are not an outsider. You are exactly as you were meant to be. And the people who can't see that, that's their limitation, not yours.

This didn't just hurt, it triggered something deeper. When you've spent your whole life feeling othered, even small rejections feel huge. Again, that's the rejection sensitivity dysphoria. But what I've learned is that my worth isn't tied to who accepts me, it's tied to how I accept myself. I will never be for everyone, and that used to bother me, but now, I don't need to be.

The people who are meant for me will find me. At the end of the day, they can judge, they can exclude, but they can't stop me from being who I am. They don't get to write my story. I do. They tried to push me out, but all they did was remind me that I don't need their space. I create my own.

After experiencing fake community, the question becomes, what does real community actually look like? The past experiences of exclusion, gatekeeping, and performative engagement weren't just painful, they were revealing. They showed me what real community isn't. And because of what I now have a clearer understanding of what, excuse me, and because of that, I now have a clearer understanding of what true supportive spaces should be.

Real community is about genuine connection, not optics. It isn't performative and it isn't transactional. It's rooted in trust, reciprocity, and respect. It feels safe. You don't have to walk on eggshells or perform a role just to belong. It's reciprocal. Support isn't just given when it's trendy or convenient.

It's consistent. It allows growth. You aren't exiled for not being perfect. Instead, you're given space to learn and evolve. It values you for who you are, not just for what you provide. Real community nurtures your spirit instead of draining it. So how do you find and build spaces that actually celebrate you?

Trust your intuition. If something feels off, it probably is. Pay attention to actions, not just words. A space that calls itself inclusive but doesn't actively uplift marginalized voices isn't actually inclusive. Observe how people engage with you. Are they there for mutual support or only when they need something?

Be intentionable. Be intentional about where you put your energy. Not every space deserves your presence. If a space requires you to shrink, excuse me, I'm sorry y'all, it's literally almost 2am. Um, anyways, if a space requires you to shrink yourself to fit in, it's not your space.

Recognizing when a community no longer serves you. Not every space is meant to be forever. Growth sometimes means outgrowing places that once felt safe. So here are some signs it might be time to step away. When you no longer feel safe expressing yourself without fear of judgment. When you notice double standards.

Certain people are uplifted while others are silenced. When the community starts feeling performative, more about appearances than genuine support. When engaging with that space starts draining you more than nourishing you. You don't owe anyone continued access to your energy. And now I'm going to talk about some red flags in spiritual communities.

Not all spaces labeled community are truly safe or supportive. Some are built on hierarchies, exclusion, and exploitation. Hierarchical power dynamics is when one person or a select group controls everything and discourages questions or challenges. And then we have gatekeeping and elitism. When people act like there's only one right rate, one right way to practice and shame others for doing things differently.

And this does not apply to people who culturally appropriate or participate in closed practices when they are not a part of that culture. Um, so I just wanted to put that out there. Then we have performative allyship, when they claim to be inclusive but only uplift certain voices while ignoring or excluding others.

Lack of accountability, when harm happens do they listen, acknowledge, and change? Or do they gaslight, deflect, and bypass? Then we have transactional support, when people only engage with you when they want something but never show up otherwise. And lastly, financial exploitation. When community leaders, teachers, or so called mentors pressure members into giving money, charge excessive fees for spiritual access, or manipulate people into costly commitments, a real community does not exploit its members.

I've personally experienced spiritual spaces where I thought I could trust someone only to be taken advantage of financially multiple times by multiple different people.

Those experiences showed me that not everyone who claims to be here for you actually is. Not all exclusion looks the same. Marginalized people experience different layers of exclusion based on race, gender, disability, and other identities. Some spaces welcome BIPOC witches, but only on their terms, expecting them to educate others, but never actually listening.

Some communities claim to be LGBTQ plus inclusive, but still center cisgender and heterosexual experiences. Disabled practitioners are often ignored in conversations about accessibility, even in spaces that claim to be inclusive. A truly exclusive community recognizes that oppression is layered. If a space claims inclusivity but only uplifts certain identities, that's not real inclusivity, it's selective acceptance.

A real community makes room for everyone, not just for those who fit into a comfortable, curated, whitewashed version of diversity. A lot of toxic spiritual spaces use love and light rhetoric to shut down real conversations about harm and injustice. When people experience harm, they're told to just raise their vibration or not engage in negativity.

instead of being supportive. Some leaders use this to silence criticism and avoid accountability, shutting down any challenge to their authority. Healing and accountability go hand in hand. If a space prioritizes love and light over addressing harm, that's not healing, it's avoidance. Spirituality isn't about ignoring reality.

It's about facing truth even when it's uncomfortable.

No community is perfect. The real test isn't about never making mistakes, it's about how mistakes are handled. When harm happens, does the community listen to those affected? Take real accountability. Make actual changes to prevent future harm. A community's strength isn't in being perfect, it's in being accountable.

If a space refuses to acknowledge harm, it's not a community, it's a cult of control. Real community doesn't make you feel like you have to earn your place. If you constantly feel like you have to prove yourself or fight for recognition, that's not community, it's an audition. True connection happens when, where you are seen, valued, and respected.

If a space doesn't make room for you as you are, it's not worth your energy. The right people will find you when you stand in your truth. Stop bending to fit into spaces that were never meant for you, because you were never meant to be small.

Some spaces aren't built on support, healing, or mutual empowerment. They're built on control, extraction, and exploitation. And I learned that firsthand. Because community isn't just about who supports you, it's also about who tries to take advantage of you. And in spiritual spaces, where so many of us seek healing, there are people waiting to exploit that vulnerability, especially if you're marginalized.

For those of us who are QTBIPOC, disabled or disconnected from our ancestral traditions due to colonization, reclaiming spirituality isn't just personal, it's political, and that makes us targets. That's why we need to talk about what it really means to decolonize spirituality, reclaim our power, and recognize when so called healers and guides are actually upholding the same white supremacist structures they claim to reject.

So, this situation wasn't just bad. Personal. It was political. A white witch fully aware of my identity as a QTBIPOC and disabled person knowingly used spiritual manipulation and financial exploitation against me. This wasn't just an individual betrayal, it was a direct reflection of how white supremacy operates in spiritual spaces.

White spiritual practitioners prey on marginalized people. White witches position themselves as guides or mentors while gatekeeping knowledge from the very communities those practices originated from. They present themselves as allies or even quote unquote decolonized while still engaging in predatory behavior that mimics white supremacist structures.

i. e. extracting labor, money, and emotional energy from BIPOC while offering nothing in return. Marginalized people, especially those who are disabled, neurodivergent, or in crisis, are seen as easy targets because capitalism and systemic oppression already put us at a disadvantage. They exploit that vulnerability under the guise of helping.

They don't just steal our practices, they sell them back to us at a price we can't afford. while claiming they're helping us reconnect. White supremacy in spiritual spaces is alive and well. Spirituality has been colonized. Many modern witchcraft and healing spaces have erased the origins of spiritual practices while uploading elitism, capitalism, and gatekeeping.

White practitioners profit off closed practices while simultaneously discrediting BIPOC practitioners. When a white witch exploits a QT BIPOC, it's not just a personal issue. It's an extension of the larger history of white people extracting resources from BIPOC communities while maintaining power and control.

This isn't new. It's the same colonial cycle. Demonize our practices, steal them, sell them back to us, and then cry victim when held accountable. White dominated spiritual spaces operate like colonial economies. They take, they profit, and they justify it with spiritual rhetoric. Rhetoric. Rhet rhetoric.

Sorry guys, again, it's almost like 2am. But anyways. White dominated spiritual spaces operate like colonial economies. They take, they profit, and they justify it with spiritual rhetoric. Energy exchanges, karmic lessons, or quote unquote higher vibrations. Capitalism has turned spirituality into a business where white practitioners benefit the most, acting as gatekeepers of wisdom while charging outrageous amounts for courses, mentorships, or energy work that BIPOC historically had communal access to.

This white practitioner drained nearly, and I, and I say this loosely because honestly, I don't remember how much I sent them, sent them. I was under a spell, um, So, but I'm gonna guess 100, 000 from me, not just in money, but in trust, time, and energy. They used fear based manipulation to create dependency, convincing me that without them, I would be spiritually lost.

They went even further, casting obsession spells that, even if not directly aimed at me, deeply affected me due to my OCD, intrusive thoughts, and anxiety. Spirituality should be about liberation, not financial control. They want us to feel powerless because powerless people are easier to exploit. She knew, and she let it happen anyway.

She was fully aware of my mental health struggles. That intrusive thoughts and spiraling obsession were already battles I fought daily. Instead of stopping the spellwork, or even warning me about it, she let it continue. She didn't care how it affected me. This wasn't negligence, this was knowing harm. She watched me struggle and she did nothing.

She knew exactly how my mind worked, exactly how my intrusive thoughts would spiral, and she still let it happen. That's not just selfish, that's cruel. And if you're listening to this, she who shall not be named. You should be in jail. Financial exploitation of a vulnerable adult is a felony, babes.

Historically, white women have weaponized their perceived innocence to avoid accountability while actively engaging in harm against Black, Indigenous, and other people of color. When they are called out, they cry spiritual attack or claim they are being bullied instead of taking responsibility. This weaponization of victimhood has been used for centuries to uphold white supremacy while erasing the voices of those they harm.

White women in spiritual spaces want to be seen as healers and guides, but when they're held accountable, suddenly they're the ones being attacked. This was not just exploitation, it was a form of violence. What happened to me is a microcosm of how white supremacy functions in spiritual spaces. This wasn't just about money.

This was about power, control, and the deliberate violation of my spiritual, emotional, and financial autonomy. While spiritual practitioners need to be held accountable, white spiritual practitioners need to be held accountable. They cannot keep hiding behind community rhetoric while engaging in predatory, colonizer like behavior.

I do not need to pay for my own liberation. I do not need validation from white practitioners to reclaim my spirituality. I will not allow my power to be controlled, extracted, or sold back to me at a price. This white practitioner took from me, but they did not break me. My spirituality is not for sale.

My ancestors, my spirit guides, my deities walk with me, and I reclaim what was always mine.

I want to be very clear this is not about bashing anyone who seeks spiritual help. There are people, especially victims of violence. Marginalized folks and witches in unsafe environments who cannot openly practice and need practitioners to do work on their behalf. There are people who seek spell work for justice, protection, and healing, and that is completely valid.

Seeking a practitioner's help is not the issue. The issue is when that practitioner takes advantage of their position and exploits the people coming to them in trust. What I'm calling out here is practitioners who manipulate, overcharge, or create dependency instead of empowerment. People who claim to help while draining clients financially, emotionally, and spiritually.

White witches and healers who uphold the same extractive, white supremacist behaviors they claim to fight against. spellwork, protection, or guidance. The shame is on those who prey on vulnerable people under the guise of helping. If there is one thing I want you to take from this episode, specifically my fellow QTBIPOC, it's this.

Your spirituality belongs to you. No one can take that from you. Not a community, not a teacher, not a so called mentor. You do not need permission to exist in your full power. If you have felt excluded, used, or dismissed in spiritual spaces, know this. You are not alone. The right people, the right spaces, the right connections, they will find you.

But first, you have to stop shrinking yourself for the wrongs one, for the wrong ones. Trust yourself. Your intuition is enough. Your voice is enough. You are enough. Set boundaries. Not everyone deserves access to your energy. Protect it. Walk away from spaces that make you feel small. The right spaces will never require you to prove your worth.

Reclaim what has always been yours. Your spirituality, your power, your magic, it's not for sale, and it's not up for debate. I'm done seeking acceptance in spaces that were never meant for me. And if that resonates with you, maybe it's time for you to stop seeking it too. At the start of this episode, I told you about something deeply personal, um, a loved one's incarceration and our fight for their freedom.

This is not just about getting them out, it's about ensuring they have the stability and support they need once they're free. The system is not built to help people like them. It's built to make re It's built to make reintegration as hard as possible. That's why we're raising funds to secure housing, essentials, and everything they need to have a real chance.

If you are able, please consider donating. The fundraiser is linked in my Instagram and TikTok bio. Every dollar makes a difference. And to those who have already donated, thank you so much. Your support means everything.

If you connected with this episode, let me know. DM me, comment, share your thoughts. Let's keep this conversation alive because we don't need to fight for a seat at their table. We can build our own. Thank you so much for tuning into this episode. I am probably going to release a part two of, you know, talking about this kind of stuff, at some point. There's a lot to unpack. Um, but for now, take care of yourself and I will see you next time.