On becoming a High Priestess

Before my pregnancy with my son reached the second trimester, I decided to do a protection ritual with the help of a friend. I was scared to death the first few weeks, because my son was my second pregnancy; I had miscarried my daughter about two years before. And I was scared to death I would lose him, too.

My exact words were, "I will give up anything I have to, to birth and raise a happy, healthy child."

In the Craft, them's possible drama words.

But I got lucky. See, it could have gone that I would have had to give up, literally, anything, if the Gods had decided it was necessary. Rather than thinking about crafting my spell carefully, I invoked the possibility of anything simply by making an open-ended statement. And look closely -- there are no negative words to be misconstrued. (Important in the spellcrafting, so I go that part down, inadvertent though it was.)

I didn't have to give up just anything, though. I had to give up my right not to be a mother, not to be a leader for my son, not to make hard decisions based on his needs instead of mine. I sacrificed solid hips, a scar-free tummy, well-honed bladder, firm breasts (age notwithstanding), staying out late, lack of responsibility for no human other than myself.

And I enjoy every second of those things I gave up. Yet I'd have it no other way. I meant every word of what I said about my willingness to do what I have had to do and may still need to do.

Ah, but what has all this to do with my becoming a High Priestess?

Everything.

Within that protection ritual, I made a promise in exchange for birthing and raising a happy and healthy child: I promised that I would raise him to know the Gods, to be an active participant in his religious education, not to so much indoctrinate but give him the tools he needs to be able to make his own decisions about what he believes as he gets older.

I had no idea how I was going to accomplish that.

But then, the Gods have a way of putting the answer in front of us. I recognized it and took the opportunity: Traditional, formal training in family spirituality.

At first, this seemed like a Witch's "duh" moment. Why wouldn't I look into family spirituality? Seems normal. Christians have been doing it for centuries, along with Muslims, Buddhists, Hindus ...

Oh, wait. Modern Pagans had forgotten how to celebrate as a family, to include their children.

Although recent trends in raising children in contemporary Paganism speaks otherwise, at one point (and without getting into any details as to the "why"), this is a relatively recent development in Paganism. We went from having Covens that were peopled with folks who were completely unrelated by blood or marriage (unless the couple was the HP and HPS), absolutely no children allowed, and who gathered together primarily for the Sabbats or Esbats.

Got it.

I see my son every day, he is my blood, and I don't jive with traditional covenry. So -- my son isn't allowed, I barely know any of the folks I'm circling with, and I also don't necessarily believe the same as everyone else in Circle.

Damn my independent thinking.

I left the folks I was in Circle with (not because of this specifically, but including it) to pursue my own spirituality and to make attempts at figuring out how to keep my promise. At the time there wasn't much available -- couple of books, some online forums that were all over the place, redundant information, crafts that were too old for my then-infant son, etc.

Next step in exploring solutions: Become a High Priestess. Learn how to train someone else, and more specifically, learn how to incorporate my family members' beliefs into a celebration that included everyone.

I learned how to encourage my son to explore his own religious interests in the ways he wants, to provide him with the materials to do that, to discuss without insisting on a right or wrong way of doing something or pushing my personal thoughts or beliefs on him. Most importantly, I learned how to break down the concept of ethics into working pieces that he understands.

My son has his own altar. He picked out the table, the items on it, and chose how to arrange them. I don't touch his altar unless it becomes necessary for teaching: I respect his sacred space, which includes the wall behind the altar where he hangs pictures that have meaning for him.

I also have community. While I might be a solitary practitioner, there is no substitute for extended spiritual family, those not related to me or my son by blood whom I call family. These folks are the best!

Then I almost lost my faith.

(Yes, it happens to trained clergy, too.)

Call it a crisis of faith or an unwillingness to take responsibility for my part in the events which led to that loss. Either way, I wanted to blame someone, something, anything. And the Gods were convenient.

I needed a quick resolution, and I got one. Albeit, short-lived and ultimately damaging in the short-term, it wasn't what I had wanted, despite appearances. I dove right in.

Then disappointment, anger, resentment, bitterness. I took down my altar and packed it up in a storage building for longer than a year.

And I was so angry and hurt ... I'd forgotten my promise.

It was almost two years later that I remembered I hadn't taught my son anything. I had set out my altar out again, more out of a well-it's-up attitude than for actually using it. It had been sitting there, unused for almost a year. And my son hadn't seen me anywhere near it.

I was in breach of contract.

My loss of faith wasn't that I no longer believed in the existence of the Gods, but in Their having my and my son's best interests in mind, that They would hurt the people I love, intentionally, for a quick-fix.

I don't take my promises lightly; therefore, I rarely make them. So, it was time to put on my big-girl panties, teach my son and hide my own pain while dealing with it at the same time.

A re-affirmation was in order. I called my best friend, also a High Priestess, to witness. I wouldn't be going through this alone. I have family. I have support. I have the love I need to work through all this shit that I was allowing to keep me from fulfilling my promise.

I renewed my vows, acknowledged my having made it in the first place, and promised, yet again, to be that High Priestess my son needs, as much as I am capable.

Why did I become a High Priestess?

For my son.

It really is that simple.

I struggle just like most other folks. I'm not a teacher in the community, nor am I a leader. I'm not interested in organizing Circle or writing rituals.

Though, I can do all these things, if needed, and I have been known to guide the occasional workshop, with hands-on activities. I also lack the patience necessary to do some kinds of teaching, because I don't like repeating myself and have a difficult time appreciating a low learning curve in adults. (But then, for teaching HPSs, there is the right of refusal to teach any particular student.)

I am a High Priestess who has the credentials, using them when necessary, but isn't interested in the title. I never wanted to be a High Priestess and still don't. I'm the reluctant one, the resistant one, fighting every step of the way, sometimes talking steps backward just to avoid it.

But I'm still Mom. That's the title I adore. And it's an armament better than any credentials.

Will my reluctance to lead or teach within the community change? It's possible. Anything is, even if I believe it to be improbable.

Until then, my son needs me -- my love, support, nonjudgementalism, and a steady, guiding hand as he learns about himself and his own beliefs.

I have a promise to keep first.

#childbirth #family #parenting #magic #children #pregnancy #famtrad