It's October, and I can't talk about self-healing and magic this month without talking about witches.
Or, more specifically, the witch wound.
So many people in the healing arts want to be called anything but a witch. I understand that flinch. Even now, centuries after the European witch hunts, there's something about the word that can make people uncomfortable.
It brings up images of persecution, religious judgment, superstition, and women being punished for things they couldn't necessarily control.
But it also brings up something much closer to home.
The fear of being seen as different, or the hesitation before sharing something deeply personal. The instinct to explain away our intuition, or our relationship with things that don't fit neatly into someone else's understanding of the world.
And I want to talk about where some of that fear might come from.
What is the witch wound?
The witch wound is a term used in spiritual and healing communities to describe the fear of being judged, rejected, silenced, or punished for expressing our authentic selves, particularly our intuition, spiritual beliefs, sensitivity, or healing abilities.
For some people, it shows up as an unwillingness to be visible. For others, it's a reluctance to trust their own experiences, or to speak openly about their beliefs without worrying what other people might think.
The idea draws from the history of witch persecution, particularly the violence directed toward women during the European witch trials.
The witch wound isn't a medical or psychological diagnosis, and we don't have evidence that the witch hunts directly caused the fears people experience today.
But as a way of understanding the relationship between cultural history and the parts of ourselves we've learned to keep hidden, I think it's worth exploring.
Because regardless of where that fear began, the experience of silencing ourselves is very real.
A history of silencing: the women accused of witchcraft
There have been moments in history when practicing certain traditions, or simply being a certain kind of woman, could get you killed.
Between roughly 1450 and 1750, historians estimate that somewhere around 40,000 to 60,000 people were executed for witchcraft across Europe.
Most of them were women.
What I keep coming back to is who it got pointed at.
The widows, the poor, the women growing old, and the ones caught in disputes over land, inheritance, religion, or reputation. Women who were already vulnerable within their communities.
They weren't all healers. In fact, most people accused of witchcraft weren't.
But some were.
And this is the part of the history I find especially difficult to sit with.
Agnes Sampson: a Scottish folk healer accused of witchcraft
Her name was Agnes Sampson.
She lived in Scotland, where my own ancestors come from, in the late sixteenth century.
Agnes was known as the Wise Wife of Keith, a folk healer whose knowledge was sought by people from different walks of life, including the wealthy and influential.
She practiced traditional healing and was known for her knowledge of remedies and childbirth.
In 1590, she was accused of witchcraft and treason during the North Berwick witch trials.
She was interrogated under torture and executed in January 1591.
I keep thinking about that.
A woman whose knowledge had made her valuable to her community, suddenly at the mercy of its suspicions.
Her story was tangled in the religious and political conflicts of the time, including accusations of conspiring against King James VI. We can't say she was executed simply because she was a healer.
But the fact remains that a woman recognized for her healing knowledge became the subject of an extraordinarily violent persecution.
And she wasn't alone.
Were midwives and folk healers really persecuted as witches?
There's a common story that the European witch hunts were an organized campaign to eliminate midwives, herbalists, and women healers.
The historical record is more complicated than that.
A 2024 study published in Nurse Education Today examined nearly 4,000 people accused of witchcraft in Scotland between 1563 and 1736.
Researchers identified 142 individuals whose accusations involved folk healing or midwifery.
Eighty-five percent were women.
These people practiced different forms of traditional care, including herbal treatments and healing rituals, some of them considered unorthodox.
Some were accused of causing harm through the very practices they used to help others.
These healers represented only a small proportion of the overall accused population. The witch hunts weren't simply a war against medicine.
But they did exist within societies where religious authority and community suspicion could have devastating consequences for people who stepped outside accepted boundaries.
And for some traditional practitioners, the knowledge they carried became part of what made them suspect.
This history belongs to more than one homeland
Scotland is where my own ancestors come from, so its history feels particularly close to me.
But the stories extend far beyond Scotland.
Across Germany, France, Switzerland, England, Scandinavia, and other parts of Europe, communities experienced waves of witchcraft accusations and persecution.
The circumstances varied enormously, from the laws to the religious conflicts behind them. Some regions persecuted thousands of people, while others saw far fewer trials.
And outside Europe, accusations of witchcraft and the suppression of traditional spiritual practices have their own histories, many intertwined with colonialism and religious conversion.
I don't want to flatten those histories into one story.
But I do think there's something worth considering about how widespread the fear of being perceived as dangerous or unacceptable has been.
For many of us, these are the places our families once called home.
What stories did our ancestors learn about staying safe? Which parts of their lives were considered acceptable to share, and which were better kept private?
I wonder how many of those lessons continued long after the circumstances that created them had changed.
How the witch wound shows up today
When people talk about the signs or symptoms of the witch wound, they're usually describing patterns of self-protection rather than a clinical condition.
And I think many of these experiences will sound familiar, whether or not you consider yourself spiritual.
You hesitate to trust your intuition
You feel something deeply, but immediately begin looking for someone else to validate it. You second-guess your perceptions, even when your experience is telling you that something deserves your attention.
You're afraid of being seen
Maybe you have something meaningful to share, but the thought of putting yourself out there brings up an almost disproportionate amount of fear. You imagine the criticism before it arrives. You worry about being misunderstood or ridiculed.
You make your beliefs more palatable
You change the language you use depending on who's listening, and call your spiritual practice something more socially acceptable. You hesitate before telling someone you're interested in energy healing or ritual.
You struggle to claim your gifts
Perhaps people have always described you as sensitive or deeply empathetic. But those qualities haven't always felt welcome.
And somewhere along the way, you learned that it was easier to make yourself smaller than to risk being too much.
You feel a disconnect between what you know and what you're willing to express
This one is particularly interesting to me.
You can be perfectly comfortable with your spirituality in private, yet feel a tightening in your body when it comes time to share that part of yourself with the world.
None of these patterns automatically means you're carrying a witch wound. They can have many explanations, including personal experiences, family dynamics, cultural expectations, or past rejection.
But the language of the witch wound may offer a useful doorway into exploring them.
Is the witch wound inherited?
This is where the conversation becomes especially interesting, and where I think we need to make room for both curiosity and discernment.
There is research into intergenerational trauma, family patterns, social learning, and the ways experiences can shape subsequent generations.
We know that children learn much more than what they're explicitly taught. They absorb the beliefs, fears, behaviors, and expectations of the people and communities around them.
But that doesn't mean we can scientifically trace an individual woman's fear of visibility back to an ancestor who experienced the witch trials.
And I don't think we need to make that claim.
Sometimes we inherit a story without knowing where it began.
A grandmother who learned not to speak too loudly. A mother who was taught to put everyone else's needs before her own, in a religious or cultural environment where questioning authority was discouraged.
We might carry those lessons into adulthood without ever having consciously agreed with them.
To me, the witch wound is one way of asking whether some of the fears we've come to accept as our own are actually beliefs we've learned along the way.
And whether we're ready to question them.
Healing the witch wound: where do we begin?
I don't believe there's a single ritual or attunement that can magically undo generations of social conditioning.
And I don't think healing the witch wound means you have to identify as a witch, or even believe in energy healing.
For me, it's about rebuilding a relationship with the parts of yourself you've learned to distrust.
Here are a few places to begin.
1. Get curious about the fear
The next time you hesitate before sharing something important, pay attention.
What are you actually afraid will happen?
Will someone laugh? Will they think you're irrational or strange?
And whose voice does that fear remind you of?
Sometimes the simple act of noticing a pattern can create a little space between the fear and the choice you make next.
2. Begin listening to your body
Our bodies are constantly providing information about our experiences.
Tension, ease, excitement, hesitation, warmth, and discomfort can all tell us something about how we're responding to a situation.
That doesn't mean every physical sensation is an infallible message or that intuition should replace reason.
But I think many of us have spent so much time trying to think our way through life that we've stopped paying attention to how we're experiencing it.
Movement, breathwork, meditation, and simple moments of quiet can help us reconnect with that awareness.
3. Give yourself permission to explore
You don't have to know exactly what you believe before you begin exploring.
You can be interested in Reiki without being certain how energy healing works.
You can find meaning in ritual without accepting every spiritual explanation you're offered, and honor traditional wisdom while still asking questions and respecting scientific knowledge.
I think genuine self-trust includes the freedom to be curious, and to change your mind.
4. Practice being seen in small ways
You don't have to reveal every private part of yourself to the world.
And not every environment is safe or deserving of your vulnerability.
But perhaps there's one person with whom you can be a little more honest, or one belief you can express without immediately qualifying it.
Reclaiming your voice doesn't always look like making a grand declaration.
Sometimes it begins with telling the truth in a room where you previously would have stayed quiet.
5. Find people who welcome your whole self
I think this is one of the most overlooked parts of healing.
It's difficult to explore our authentic selves when we're constantly managing how other people perceive us.
Having a community where questions are welcome and your experiences are met with curiosity rather than judgment can change how willing you feel to show up as yourself.
We don't have to do all of this alone.
Reiki, self-healing, and reclaiming your relationship with your own power
Reiki has its own history, separate from the European folk healing traditions we've been discussing.
It originated in Japan in the early twentieth century, and the practice we teach comes through the Usui Reiki lineage.
I wouldn't suggest that Reiki is an ancient European practice, or that learning it somehow reverses the history of the witch hunts.
But I do find something meaningful in what it invites us to explore.
Our relationship with our own hands, and our capacity for presence and care.
Reiki is a complementary spiritual wellness practice, not a replacement for medical treatment, and its proposed energy mechanisms haven't been scientifically established. But many people value the quiet and self-reflection that can accompany a Reiki practice.
Begin with Reiki Level 1 in Los Angeles
Yonatan and I teach Reiki Level 1 together in our Los Angeles studio.
It's a two-day, in-person experience, and we intentionally keep the groups small.
You'll receive your Reiki attunements and begin developing a self-Reiki practice you can carry into everyday life.
You don't need prior experience, or certainty about what you believe.
Curiosity is enough.
Explore our Reiki Level 1 training in Los Angeles
Explore the deeper patterns through one-on-one coaching
Sometimes the hesitation runs deeper than a single spiritual belief.
Maybe you've spent years struggling to trust yourself, or feeling that you're living a smaller version of the life you want.
That's where our one-on-one coaching can offer a different kind of support.
Through conversation, breathwork, mindful movement, and integrative practices, we create space to examine the patterns shaping your relationship with yourself and begin making conscious changes.
Coaching isn't psychotherapy or trauma treatment, but it can provide supportive space for self-exploration and building new habits.
Learn about our one-on-one coaching or begin with a free discovery call.
You are not in that room anymore
Here's why I'm telling you all of this.
If something inside of you goes quiet every time you begin to claim your own power, I want you to get curious about that.
Whose voice are you hearing?
What are you afraid might happen?
There were times when silence kept people alive. There are still places in the world where openly expressing certain beliefs can carry very real consequences.
But perhaps the particular room you're afraid of is one you no longer have to live in, and some of the rules you've been following were never yours to begin with.
And perhaps the next chapter of your life is less about becoming someone new, and more about allowing yourself to be someone you've been quietly keeping hidden.
It's October.
I think it's time we stopped keeping quiet about our power.
What would you do this year if you weren't braced for a consequence?
With love,
Jaime
