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Reclaiming the Magic You Never Really Lost
- May 10
- 3 min read
(Because maybe it was never “pretend” in the first place)
Remember when magic wasn’t something you had to earn?
Once upon a time, we called everything magic. And we meant it.
We weren’t afraid to use the word.
We didn’t need proof. We didn’t need a certificate or the right crystals or a cleared schedule or a full moon.
We just knew.
We made potions out of colored water and dandelions.
We blew wishes into the wind and believed someone—or something—was listening.
We lined up seashells like spells and stirred intentions into lemonade. And no one told us we had to do it right.
Magic was instinctual. Casual. Playful. Powerful.
It belonged to us in the way breath belongs to the body.
And then—slowly—we forgot.
Or maybe we didn’t forget.
Maybe we tucked it away, because the world told us to.
We were told to grow up. To stop pretending. To stop being “so sensitive” or “so dreamy” or “so weird.”
So we put the potions back on the shelf. Stopped talking to the wind. Started second-guessing the way we just knew things.
But the truth is…
Magic doesn’t disappear. It waits.
In jars of sea glass. In bundles of lavender. In candle flames and soft mornings and the breath before a wish.
It’s not gone. Just sleeping.
This post is for the girl who always knew.
Maybe she hasn’t been around in a while. Or maybe she’s been right there all along, whispering beneath the noise.
Either way, she remembers:
How it felt to bury a wish in the sand with your pinky finger
How the world changed when the first firefly blinked
How thunder felt like a message
How writing your name next to a heart made it real
How collecting pebbles felt like protection
How the moon was never just the moon
She knew how to make a spell with a shoelace, a button, and a feather.
She knew when someone was lying—without needing words.
She knew how to believe.
What if she’s still here? And what if she’s waiting for you to come back?
Not to perform magic.
Not to perfect it.
But to live it.
To stir intention into your tea.
To name your plants.
To trust your gut.
To walk barefoot in the grass because it feels good—not because someone said it's “spiritual.”
To light a candle and mean it.
Because maybe the grown-up version of magic looks exactly like that:
Trusting yourself.
Creating beauty.
Choosing to see the unseen.
It’s not about being witchy enough. It’s not about being right.
It’s about remembering that there was never a wrong way to be in relationship with wonder.
A Quiet Gift for You
Download this post’s poem, “She Always Knew,” as a printable for your Book of Light—or tuck it somewhere only you will find it.
A Whisper from the Wild
The little girl who stirred rainwater with a stick is still here.
The one who knew the names of all the neighborhood cats.
The one who didn’t need anyone’s permission to call it magic.
She hasn’t left. She’s just been waiting for the quiet to return.
And now that you’re listening?
She has so much to say...
Beginning with, "Welcome home."
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