I am so tired of feeling like I have to give every last spoon in order to be a “real witch”. I can barely remember if I’ve paid my phone bill, much less what the next sabbat is. Yet every time I have to check an app to find out whether or not it’s the full moon, I feel a little stab of guilt. And why? For what? Isn’t the best part about paganism and its many forms that we can choose what we do and how we do it? And yet, The Wheel of the Year can feel like a relentless to-do list from a Pinterest-perfect witch who somehow has time to bake seasonal bread, hand-stitch her own robes, and commune with tree spirits—all while balancing a nine-to-five job. Meanwhile, you’re over here just trying to survive capitalism, wondering if it’s okay to honor the gods with whatever leftover takeout you have in the fridge. (Spoiler: it is.)
The truth is, when you’re running on fumes, your spiritual practice doesn’t have to look like a Renaissance Faire exploded in your living room. A little bit is more than okay—it’s enough.
Let’s ditch the idea that you have to go all out for every Sabbat. Okay? Your ancestors celebrated with whatever they had on hand—and sometimes, that wasn’t very much. They didn’t wake up thinking, Ah yes, today’s the perfect day to hand-dye a cloak and host a community bonfire. They probably thought, I hope we have enough potatoes to make it through winter. If lighting a candle with intention feels like a monumental achievement, congratulations—you’ve celebrated. Got five minutes to stand in the sun and remember that spring exists? You’ve done Beltane. Celebrating the seasons isn’t about impressing anyone, least of all yourself; it’s about finding small ways to connect when you can, even if it’s from your couch in pajamas. Don’t be so hard on yourself that you end up doing nothing.
When it comes to planning your pagan year, think small. Like, “my bank account after paying my rent” small. Focus on one or two traditions that really excite you or bring you joy and don’t require more than the most basic trip to dollar store or rummaging through your junk drawer. Maybe you create a seasonal corner on your altar that gets swapped out for some dollar-store faux flowers or twinkle lights. Have I mentioned how much I love twinkle lights? Maybe you celebrate the winter solstice with a cup of hot cocoa and a deep sigh of I survived this year. Whatever you choose, keep it simple, manageable, and, above all, realistic. You don’t need to summon the spirits of ancient druids for every equinox. They’re busy, and so are you.
Most importantly, give yourself a break. The wheel of the year is about cycles, not an endless hustle for spiritual perfection. Some seasons will be vibrant and full of energy, and others will be about staring at your ceiling and wondering how it’s already 3 a.m. again. (Looking at you, summer solstice.) The earth has its quiet seasons, and so do you. If all you can manage is a silent thanks, universe while scrolling through TikTok, you’re still doing the work. Remember, the point of this path is connection, not performance. Light the candle. Drink the coffee. Honor the seasons in your own exhausted, chaotic way. The gods will understand—they’ve been dealing with humanity for ages.
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