🕯️ I Can’t Stay Here Anymore

July 01, 2025

Hand-drawn red and gold sigil on parchment background featuring a central candle with flame, encircled by an open loop. Root-like threads extend from the base, surrounded by golden stars and crescent moons—symbolizing personal transformation, creative rebirth, and sacred emergence from survival.

A Decade. A Bar. A Breakdown. A Beginning.

At the end of June, a milestone passed.

Ten years. Ten years of pouring pieces of myself into a dream that never quite took shape the way I’d hoped. Ten years of running a bar with my sister, fighting to make something sustainable, creative, and community-rooted in a system that rewards burnout and punishes softness.

For most of those ten years, I was also in a relationship that drained me in quieter, more insidious ways. The kind of relationship where you wake up one day and realize you don’t recognize your voice anymore.

That ended two years ago. But the echoes of it? The collateral damage? Still here. Still haunting the house I rented thinking it could become a home.

🏚️ The Haunted House

I moved into this place with hope. It had space. It had charm. I thought, “Maybe this is where I rebuild.”

Instead, it became a graveyard for all the things I tried to salvage:

The relationship
The business
My sanity
My self-worth

And now? The roof leaks. The floor is warped. The landlord is ghost-level property owner. And I’m tired of pretending that a moldy, broken-down space is good enough for someone trying to rise from the ashes.

💀 Survival Isn’t Living

Since January, the bar has nosedived financially. The business isn’t sustaining any of us. Every month I’ve scraped together rent with borrowed magic and blunt force willpower, waiting for the moment it all collapses.

And let me be clear: I’m not just walking away from a failing business. I’m walking away from an entire era of my life that has been held together with spiritual duct tape and unresolved trauma.

I’ve sought help. I’ve applied for aid. I’ve tried to do it the “right” way. But the system isn’t built for people like me—neurodivergent, chronically exhausted, grieving, rebuilding something unconventional from scratch.

Still, I haven’t stopped.

🌙 The Dream That Never Died

One night, during a shadow work session, I was asked:

“What’s a dream you once had—something wild, maybe forgotten?”

And there it was. Like a ghost rising through the fog.

I once dreamed of owning land. A sprawling, weird, enchanted piece of property—maybe in the woods, maybe near the sea. I didn’t care where. I just knew it needed to be a haven.

A place for misfits and mystics.
A sanctuary for artists and witches and survivors.
A creative commune where someone could come, stay a while, and birth their art into the world.

Back then, it felt like a fantasy. Now? It feels like a blueprint.

⚡ The Sanctuary of Strange

That’s the dream I’ve resurrected.

Stage One: I brought back the blog. You’re reading it.
Stage Two: I launched my Ko-fi page—a place for tips, printable spells, and creative content.
Stage Three: I'm building the Sanctuary of Strange—a future space for weirdos, artists, witches, and survivors to create and connect.

But I can’t build it here. Not in this collapsing rental. Not in this version of my life that was built on old wounds and survival mode.

🖤 Where I’m At Now

I’m in limbo. I’ve got a storage unit. A vision. Two loyal familiars. And a nervous system held together with sigils, vitamins, and spite.

Witch Wound Wednesday and Hagatha Screams are on hold—not abandoned. They’re waiting for me to catch my breath and reclaim my fire.

This isn’t failure. It’s rebirth. Slow, sacred, chaotic rebirth.

💌 Why I’m Sharing This

Because I built this blog—and my entire brand—on truth. Not curated, digestible, market-friendly truth, but the raw stuff. The kind that sticks to your ribs and stings your eyes.

This is where I’m at. And maybe, just maybe, you’re somewhere similar. And if so? I see you. I’m with you. You’re not broken. You’re becoming.

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