The feeling of not being enough. Fear of not being able to please my mom. Or anyone. Fear of not fitting in or being loved. Fear of expressing emotions and being vulnerable.
I watch the flame of the candle burning steadily as I let these feelings wash over me, then close my eyes. I want to cry, and as usual I try to stop that. Wait. That’s not honoring the feelings. So I let the tears flow. Pushing the emotions down only blocks the false beliefs and drives them deeper into my subconscious.
Why is not being a good witch triggering me so much? Why is my failure to make Trace love me triggering me?
It all becomes clear as I let my thoughts and emotions run loose. I’m supposed to write things down, so I do, this time opting for a pretty journal and a pen that Cassie gave me ages ago. I let the words flow, not in complete sentences, just words and phrases.
These things hurt me so much because of my past. Because of trying to please my mom. I wanted to please the Candlers. I wanted them to love me. I wanted Trace to love me. I wanted to fit in with them and be part of something I’d never had before—a family.
I write down some of my memories, of my mom telling me art classes were a waste of time, that my fascination with the moon was creepy, that there is no such thing as leprechauns. More tears run down my face as I write, my pen moving so fast the scribbles are almost illegible. But that doesn’t matter. I feel the act of putting it on paper is what matters.
I can tell time has passed by the angle of the sun outside my window. I stretch out my cramped hand and read about what comes next. Now that I’ve discovered the root of my pain, I can heal it. I need to change my story.
Okay.
Instead of believing I’m not good enough to be a witch, maybe my story is that I’m still learning to be a witch. Instead of believing I’ll never fit in with the Candler family, my story can be… I don’t have to fit in to be part of the family, I can just… be. And instead of believing I’m not good enough for Trace, my story can be that he’s not ready for love in his life.
That makes me pause. It makes sadness and regret slide through me again. But that’s okay. I can be sad, and I can choose how to react to the sadness.
Trace not being ready right now doesn’t mean he never will be. I feel… no, I know he has feelings for me. I can’t stop thinking about what Dad said about Trace being in love with me.
It would be… no. I can’t go there. Even if he does care, he clearly values his relationship with the Candlers more than a relationship with me.
But still… maybe one day? Maybe in time he could love me the way I love him and be willing to be open about it? I know the family is important to him, but maybe I could convince him that he wouldn’t lose them if things didn’t work out. Maybe he needs to do his own shadow work and figure out what’s stopping him from loving. And being loved. And maybe there’s still hope for us. Because what we have together is special. It feels important. Inevitable. Enduring.
I don’t know. Probably I’m foolish to even think these things. To allow a tiny seed of hope to plant inside me.
I write down these thoughts, then drop the pen again. I’m so tired. I don’t know if I’ve ever been so utterly exhausted. I lean back into the couch and close my eyes.
It’s not the powers you have that make you magical. It’s what you do with them that defines you.
When I think about my childhood, I see what an impact my mother’s attempts to repress my witch instincts had on me. Have my subconscious issues stopped my spells from moving forward? Have I been denying my true self my whole life? And now feeling guilty about using my witch skills freely and joyfully, always aware in the back of my mind how disapproving my mother would be?
Is this what’s been holding me back?
When I go into work the next day, my entire body trembling with nerves at seeing Trace again, he’s not there. I don’t ask anyone where he is since I don’t need to know. I just need to do my job.
Dad stops by my desk to check in. “How are you doing, sweetie?”
“I’m doing pretty good.” I sound surprised at myself. “I did a lot of reflecting yesterday. It was hard. But I think it was helpful.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“Can we talk again? About what I learned.”
“Of course. Let me check with Cassie, but how about tomorrow? We’re going out for dinner tonight.”
“That’s fine.”
Cassie texts me later and invites me for pizza tomorrow night and asks if it’s okay if Felise and Magan are there. I do love the pizza Cassie conjures. I text her back. That’s fine, thank you.
I try to focus on work the rest of the day and the next day, but I look up every time someone walks by, expecting to see Trace. He doesn’t come in Tuesday either, and I overhear Orva telling someone he’s working remotely.
Avoiding me, more like it. Damn.
I go home to change after work, shedding my skirt and blouse and replacing it with jeans and a snug-fitting black sweater. Since I don’t know how to teleport and don’t want to try it by myself lest I end up in Kalamazoo, I drive over to Dad and Cassie’s place. I scan the street for any sign of Trace’s truck in case they invited him too, but I don’t see it. Whew.
After greetings, Cassie says, “Dinner first or talk first?”
“Is it good news or bad news?” Felise asks. “If it’s bad news, let’s eat first, otherwise we won’t get to enjoy the pizza.”
“It’s neither. I’m having some second thoughts, but I still haven’t decided what to do. I want to talk about it.”
We’re all seated in the kitchen at the huge island.
“Okay,” Dad says. “Go ahead.”
“Well. Yesterday I did some shadow work.”
They all nod.
“At Dad’s er… suggestion.”
He smiles, his eyes lighting up when I call him Dad.
“I think I really learned a lot about what’s been holding me back in my witchcraft.” I tell them details about my mom I haven’t shared with them. “I’ve been too focused on trying hard, trying to please others, and not enough on the things I can do with my powers. The good things I can accomplish even if my powers aren’t supreme.”
“We don’t know that,” Dad says. “You’re still learning, Romy.”
“I know.” I acknowledge this with a scrunched-up face. “I do know that.”
“So does that mean you will take your WED exam?” Magan asks.
“I don’t know.” I twist my fingers together, looking around at them.
“As far as your powers go…” Dad hesitates. “There’s something we haven’t talked about.”
“What’s that?”
“Triad Energy.”
The others all stare at him. “Oh my goddess,” Felise breathes. “Really, Dad?”
I look back and forth among them. “What? What does that mean?”
“There’s a special kind of energy that only three sisters can have,” Dad says. “Their collective power is the strongest kind of magic that exists.”
“Whoa.” I slide my gaze over to Magan and Felise, who both look similarly gobsmacked.