What if girls started as fairies and pixies (imaginative, playful, expressive) and were trusted to evolve into witches?
Not princesses.
Not “forever young.”
Not endlessly desirable, palatable, or consumable.
But witches.
Wise. Rooted. Powerful. Unapologetically themselves.
Because somewhere along the way, we were sold a story that womanhood meant freezing ourselves in time. That beauty meant youth. That relevance meant smooth skin, small waists, lifted faces, injected lips, erased lines. That growing older was something to outrun, not inhabit.
And the marketing has been relentless.
Every decade, a new version of “what looks good” on women:
- In the 90s, heroin chic.
- In the early 2000s, ultra-thin, flat, hair-straightened within an inch of its life.
- Then curves, but only the right kind.
- Now: toned but soft, youthful but mature, natural-looking but medically enhanced.
It’s preposterous.
And most of us bought in because we were taught to.
Grown women, chasing 25.
You and I?
We were already 25.
We lived it.
We learned from it.
We don’t need to recreate it.
And yet here we are, in a culture where women compromise their health, their nervous systems, and their long-term well-being to look a certain way. Where breast implants, injections, scar tissue, and hormonal disruption are normalized without honest conversations about lifelong impact. Where scars are treated as “done” instead of what they actually are - living tissue that requires care forever. Where mental instability quietly grows alongside the inability to accept a body that changes, ages, softens, and strengthens in new ways.
This isn’t empowerment.
It’s a toxic industry built on dissatisfaction.
And I didn’t realize how deeply I had been protected from this until recently.
My mom raised me to be a witch.
I always wanted to be an actress or a model - seriously, always. And she supported it. In the 90's she drove me to modeling classes. To the mall, where I was a live model on weekends at 579 and Merry-Go-Round. She never shut down my dreams.
But she did something else, quietly and consistently.
She reminded me - verbally, intentionally - not to change who I was naturally.
She shared her stories of dieting in the 1970s. How it ruined her metabolism. How it planted shame in a body that was never wrong to begin with. My mom was 5’9”, blonde, blue-eyed, with a voluptuous body - and lips, now you you know where I get mine - one women would kill for today. And yet she lived in a time period that told her she was “too much.”
She named the lie while letting me explore the world.
That’s witch energy.
Not control.
Not fear.
But truth-telling.
So what if instead of raising princesses - waiting to be chosen, admired, approved - we raised witches?
Girls who start as fairies and pixies.
Imaginative. Expressive. Wild. Sparkly. Playful.
And who are nurtured to evolve...
Into women who know their power deepens with age.
Into women who understand their bodies as allies, not projects.
Into women who dress for their mood, their cycle, their season - without minimizing themselves or trying to fit in.
What if that was normal?
We might see girls boosting one another instead of side-talking and tearing each other down. They would know each of them carries a unique form of magic - and that when combined, that magic multiplies. Not competes.
They would grow into women who truly support one another. Who can see both the gift and the burden each woman brings into the world, and hold space for both.
We would laugh hysterically.
We would age visibly.
We would stop apologizing for taking up space.
And we would stop fearing the word witch. Because a witch is simply a woman who trusts herself.
That’s the lineage I want to pass on.
Not eternal youth.
Not perfection.
Not approval.
But power.
Wisdom.
And the freedom to evolve.
A Closing Ritual: Remembering the Witch Within
Before you close this page, pause.
Place one hand on your heart, one on your belly.
Take a slow breath in through your nose.
Exhale through your mouth.
Now ask yourself - quietly, honestly:
Where did I learn to distrust my body?
Who benefited from me believing I needed to change?
What part of my magic did I tuck away to fit in?
Picture yourself at three ages:
- the fairy
- the pixie
- the woman you are now
See them standing together: not competing, not correcting one another.
Just witnessing.
Whisper (or think):
I release the timeline that told me who I should be.
I honor the body that carried me here.
I welcome the woman I am becoming.
When you’re ready, gently shake out your hands.
Roll your shoulders.
Let your face soften.
This is what it looks like to remember.
This is how witches are made.
Welcome, dear sister.
I see you.
Image: herbrandphoto by Jamie