Trust No One (Except Yourself, and Sometimes Not Even Then)

Being betrayed is…well, it’s fun to write about, a plot twist in a story, someone you thought you could trust turning out to be an enemy or at the very least a bad egg.

Kind of shitty when it happens in real life, though.

I joke around and say that pagan drama is the best drama, because it’s so petty; about the same level of pettiness as SCAdian drama, but pagan drama includes spells and shit sometimes. And meanwhile, I’m just sitting here like:


I admit it – I say I hate drama, but once something starts happening I’m like 👀 hmnnNNN bitch where. The best way to put it is that I hate being involved in drama, but as soon as something happens, I want every bit of tea.

This is probably why I like RuPaul’s Drag Race and Real Housewives so much. Frickin’ sue me.

This time, I found myself drama-adjacent, and, oof. Not The Most Fun Anybody Has Ever Had, let me tell you that. I trusted someone – not with my heart, but with a part of my practice that’s still developing – and I found that trust betrayed.

Let’s call this person, as my friend has done, Shaman Girl. Shaman Girl has apparently been adopted into several Native American tribes, including the Lakota Sioux. (She beats this drum – pun not intended, as she also runs drum circle at Witch Shop – quite frequently.)

The nexus of all of this is at Witch Shop, where a friend of mine – B, who is very close to my heart and who I honestly consider a sister (or at least, as she calls herself, the Witchy Vodka Aunt) – works and where I have made many friends amongst the staff. Now, completely independently of Shaman Girl’s existence, I had started to look into shamanism as a path to which I’ve been called. Especially since a “shamanic death” or extreme hardship is necessary to properly begin the path, and golly gee, guess who started showing up about two or three weeks after I done did heck my knee up super bad? If you guessed Wolf-Sensei, you are absolutely correct. This was also about the time I decided to really start looking into my mental illness in the context of my family history, which was traumatic and frightening in its own way, because what I have isn’t really something you get better from.

(There was also some in-relationship sexual assault prior to that which I hadn’t begun to process yet, and the emotional abuse from college, and…yay! More trauma! /cue sarcasm. So I was basically, in many ways, a completely broken person who needed some hella spiritual superglue to get slapped back together. Is little, and broken, but still good. Ya. Still good.)

So, long story short, blah blah blah shamanism blah blah blah oh look someone at Witch Shop teaching courses on shamanism and holding biweekly journey groups. Solid! And don’t get me wrong; her classes were helpful to me (and I got a lot of interesting messages/interactions with Bast and Wolf-Sensei), so it’s not like she’s a charlatan. Just a shitty person.

(Stay tuned for some posts about Spicy Astral Tomfuckery later. What a topic.)

Turns out, she hadn’t been paying Witch Shop for use of space like she was supposed to, she’d been crashing at Witch Shop with her kid (whomst we will call Feral Child, which is not an exaggeration because he is a rude little shit), and, to put the icing on top of this crap sandwich, been uhh racist about African Traditional Religions, within hearing range of one of the shop staff who practices an ATR. (We will call him Herb Guy, as he works with herbs quite often.)

So that was fun.

When I found this out, I was…honestly, quite heartbroken. I’d trusted her with an important aspect of my spiritual life, looked to her as someone I could learn from, and this was a slap in the face.


I meme, because otherwise I cry.

B, gods bless her soul, is far more patient than I am, because she sent a long, polite email to Shaman Girl being like “wtf mate, what is happening, please apologize to Herb Guy at the very least for being shitty and racist”. And it just kind of devolved into SG completely missing the point, getting weirdly passive-aggressive, and saying she didn’t meeeeean to be racist. This ended up in a huge email chain and a bunch of texts which were just…just insane. And inane. And completely missing the bloody point. (Why yes, I was shared on all of these later, because I needed to see because a. the tea and b. SG really, really hurt me and my friends, and I wanted to know why she did this, and why she thought it was okay.)

About a week later, it shook out with her opting to stop hosting classes at Witch Shop. :’) bye bitch


And I was only drama-adjacent. It was stressing Friend B out very much, and everyone at the shop felt very uneasy when SG came to do the last few events she’d registered to run. So uneasy, at one point, that everyone else left the shop on a collective “smoke break” during one of her events.

So she’s not exactly welcome.

This has made me decide that I’m just going to walk my own path entirely. No masters or kings when the ritual begins, to quote Hozier in an extremely different context. No teachers I’ll trust in wholeheartedly. I can’t do that anymore. I can’t trust someone not to break my, well, trust.

This is kiiiinda why I opted never to get into Kemetic Orthodoxy; I don’t want a religious leader, someone telling me what to do, specific rites to follow every day and an uuuuhhh Pharaoh/Pope/Nisut-bityt to consider a spiritual leader and possessor of the kingly ka. I just want to, you know. Live my life and all? Do the practice that works for me? I don’t have the spoons to commit to a strict daily orthopraxis, and the orthodoxy of KO doesn’t really jive with me. I’m not a monolatrist; I can’t be, it doesn’t make sense to me. Hard polytheism all the way, baybeeee! If there is a Supreme Being, then I believe it’s 100% separate from all the others. (Though I’m not into the idea of a Supreme Being. Just doesn’t fit with me. kanyeshrug.jpg.)

Extremely long and non-sequiturly aside…aside: I walk a lonely road, the only one that I have ever known, don’t know where it goes, but it’s only me, AND I WALK ALONE. Aa-aah, aa-aah, aa-aah, aaa-aaah.

(Shut the fuck up, Beri.)



About Beri

Beri, 27, a tired pagan who cares about cats, food, historical reenactment, and not much else. Mentally ill with no mentally chill, and with a lovely dash of chronic pain to boot. A graduate of pain. Mouth of a sailor. Rated M for Mature. Either a smol bean or a stone-cold bitch. Can be bribed with tacos.

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