Mynx Writes

Of all the things I never expected to survive, it wasn’t a car crash or a cancer scare. It wasn’t heartbreak or hardship or the sharp, grinding ache of poverty. It was this . The slow, crumbling collapse of a nation that once dressed itself in glory. Not with fireworks and fanfare, but with muffled headlines and legal technicalities. With court decisions cloaked in rhetoric and backroom deals inked in blood. A republic doesn’t need to burn to fall—it just needs to forget its own mythology. And baby, we are deep in the forgetting. For those of us surviving in the in-between I live in the liminal—between broke and broken, between surviving and spiraling. I don’t have a safety net or a golden parachute woven from lobbyist silk. I have duct tape, recycled spells, and the unshakeable will of a witch who’s been on the brink too many times to flinch. So when today’s news broke, I didn’t gasp. I didn’t scream. I just exhaled—quiet and guttural. The kind of sound you make wh...

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-wor...

You’ve spent years making yourself small. Small enough to fit someone else’s comfort zone. Small enough to avoid their anger, their judgment, their disappointment. Small enough to survive. And that shrinking? It wasn’t weakness. It was strategy. It was protection. It was magic of its own—the magic of endurance. But you were never meant to stay small. You were never meant to fold yourself into corners. You were never meant to live in the space between your own dreams. It’s time to unshrink. To take up space. To spread your singed wings, rise from the ash, and hex the hell out of the expectations that tried to cage you. 🔥 Why We Shrink Ourselves From childhood, from trauma, from patriarchy, from capitalism, from systems designed to keep us small—we learn to shrink. We learn that quiet is safer than loud. That agreeable is safer than fierce. That invisible is safer than seen. We shrink to survive. But survival is not where the story ends. 🕯 Signs You’re Still Shri...

You don’t need a full moon, a perfectly arranged altar, or a six-hour ceremony to heal. You need magic that meets you where you are—curled up in bed, still in yesterday’s clothes, too tired to light a candle without groaning. This is for the witches who are burned out, spoonies, the neurospicy, the survivors. The ones who are so damn tired but still reaching for something sacred. 🕯 Why Low-Spoon Magic Matters Healing shouldn’t require energy you don’t have. The idea that you have to “do it right” or make it elaborate can keep you stuck, feeling like even your magic isn’t good enough. Small, simple acts hold huge power—especially when survival is the ritual. 🌙 Low-Spoon Ritual Ideas One-breath blessings: Just one slow breath, done with intention. Over your coffee, your meds, your water. That’s a spell. Pocket charms: Keep a charged stone, bead, or coin in your pocket or under your pillow. Grip it when you can’t do anything else. Whispered spells: No tools, no s...

Raise your hand if you’ve been personally victimized by the phrase “Just take a deep breath.” For neurospicy witches, that advice feels about as useful as telling a wildfire to calm down. When your nervous system is short-circuiting, breathwork isn’t the vibe—it’s just another reminder that you’re “too much” for a world built for quiet, polite magic. This isn’t about finding serenity in a meadow. It’s about sacred stimming, rage-crying in the bath, cursing into your tarot deck, and reclaiming emotional regulation on your terms. 🌩️ Why “Calm Down” Doesn’t Work (and You’re Not Broken) Neurodivergent brains process emotions differently —bigger, louder, wilder. Breathwork, mindfulness, and “just regulate” advice can backfire , leaving you feeling more out of control. The shame spiral: When you can’t “just calm down,” you start believing you’re failing—at healing, at witchcraft, at life. You’re not. The world is just bad at teaching you how to regulate in ways that fit your br...

You can’t “high vibe” your way out of burnout. You can’t smudge away systemic oppression or positive-think your trauma into oblivion. You can’t light enough candles or chant enough mantras to make reality less… real. If you’ve ever been told to “just send love to it” or “raise your vibration” when your soul is dragging itself through the mud—you’ve met spiritual bypassing . And if you’re not careful? It’ll burn you out faster than any hex could. 💀 What the Hell is Spiritual Bypassing? Spiritual bypassing is when we use spiritual practices or beliefs to dodge the hard, messy, painful stuff we don’t want to face. It’s pretending we’re above anger, grief, or fear. It’s slapping a “love and light” sticker over a cracked foundation and hoping no one notices it’s falling apart. In witchy spaces, it can look like: “Everything happens for a reason.” “Good vibes only.” “You just need to align your energy.” “Manifest it—don’t dwell on it.” And while these ideas might sound h...

Let me guess. You tried the journal prompts. You made a vision board. You “manifested” like your rent depended on it (because it did). You even forgave your emotionally unavailable ex in the name of vibrational alignment. And still… here you are. Exhausted. Ashamed. Broke. And wondering if maybe you are the problem. You’re not. The problem is self-help culture —and I’m about to hex it lovingly into the dirt. 🔮 Let’s Start With the Obvious: It’s a Business, Not a Blessing The self-help industry is a $13 billion goldmine built on your belief that you’re broken. And it thrives by: Selling you the illusion of progress Making your trauma a personal branding opportunity Gaslighting you into thinking you just need one more program to finally heal It’s capitalism in a cauldron, baby—and they’ve got incense to cover the smell. 🔁 What They Don’t Tell You ✖ Healing isn’t linear. But they’ll sell it to you like a ladder, with each rung labeled $497. ✖ Growth...

 The algorithm is not your muse. It’s a hungry little god that feeds on your exhaustion. And baby, it’s  starving . Every day, we open glowing rectangles and hand over our energy like sacrificial offerings. Scroll. React. Absorb. Compare. Despair. Repeat. They call it connection. We call it “keeping up.” But really? It’s quiet digital possession. And for those of us who are witches, artists, empaths, creators, chaos-seekers? It’s soul-leaking. Our magic  needs mystery . Our creativity  needs space . And none of that survives the rapid-fire assault of doomscrolling, trauma-bait, hustle culture, or influencer ritual cosplay. (You know the kind—hashtag witchy, but sponsored by burnout.) So how do we reclaim it? How do we cast in a world of constant distraction? First: Recognize the enchantment. Doomscrolling  is  a spell. A powerful one. It lulls you. Drains you. It binds your attention and feeds off your outrage. It’s not weakness that traps you—it’s design. ...

Let’s be honest. You had intentions . You cleansed the space. You lit the candle. You said the words. And then… halfway through anointing your candle, you remembered you left laundry in the washer three days ago, walked away from your altar, and never came back. Congrats—you’re not cursed. You’re just neurodivergent . ⚡ The Real Magic Is in the Mess ADHD + witchcraft is a vibe. A chaotic , slightly smudged vibe—but still a sacred one. Traditional witchcraft often assumes you’ve got: A clean altar A full moon ritual planned three weeks in advance An attention span longer than a TikTok You do not. And guess what? You don’t need to. 🧠 Why the ADHD Brain Is Actually Witchy AF Hyperfocus = Spellcasting Trance When you’re in it , you’re IN IT. You could craft an entire shadow spell while forgetting your body exists. Pattern Recognition = Divination Mastery You notice the weird connections. You see signs in sidewalk cracks. You’re practically an or...

You lit the candle. You journaled. You said the affirmations until your throat dried up. You even let yourself sob under the moonlight like some kind of tragic indie film protagonist. But you’re still mad as hell . And if one more well-meaning crystal slinger tells you to “release it with love,” you might hex their chakra chart into next week. 🖤 When Healing Feels Fake Let’s name it: sometimes healing feels like performance art. You’re repeating mantras you don’t believe Trying to forgive people who’ve never been sorry And repressing anger because “high vibes only” is trending This isn’t healing—it’s emotional contortion . And it’s exhausting. 🔥 Anger Is Not the Enemy In many spiritual spaces, anger is treated like mold—unwanted, toxic, and something you should “clear.” Bullshit. Anger is sacred. Anger is the flare your nervous system lights when something is not okay . It’s not a weakness. It’s a spell screaming, “Something needs to change.” Suppress...

—A witchy interruption, a middle finger to burnout culture, and a PSA from the screaming void. You were expecting a shiny new PDF today, weren’t you? A fresh little bundle of shadow work, lovingly stitched together for your weekly descent into the emotional trenches? Yeah. So was I. Instead, what I got was a cursed design session that chewed through my spoons like a possessed paper shredder. Fonts misbehaving. Layouts gaslighting me. Entire pages vanishing like interns during Mercury retrograde. And after the seventh round of screaming into the design abyss, I had a choice to make: Ruin myself trying to meet a self-imposed deadline… or hex the whole schedule and walk away with my spine intact. Guess which one I picked. 🖤 Not a Flake. Not a Failure. Just Feral Priorities. Let me say this once, loud enough for the burned out witches in t...

Ever been told you’re too sensitive or too reactive —when all you did was name the thing no one else wanted to look at? That’s not drama. That’s clarity. But clarity makes cowards squirm. And when they flinch, they frame you as the threat. Let’s talk about the witch wound that hides behind “being nice” and “keeping the peace.” It’s not actually peace if you have to disappear to keep it. They didn’t teach you safety. They taught you to be agreeable enough to survive discomfort you didn’t cause. You weren’t loud—you were clear . You weren’t sabotaging—you were surviving . You weren’t broken—you were bending around other people’s fear . But here’s the truth, beloved wild thing: 🧨 You’re not the threat. You’re the spark. The flare. The damn signal fire. And they didn’t like what that light revealed—so they told you to dim it. And you? You internalized it. You learned to shrink. To soften. To pre-apologize. This week’s Ko-fi prompts are for the version of yo...

 This blog is a ghost town. Perfect. More room for me to haunt. For a long time, I didn’t write because I thought no one was listening. Then I didn’t write because I was afraid they  were . And now I’m writing because… I need to. Even if it echoes. Even if it vanishes into the digital ether like a cursed voicemail on a dead planet. Even if the only eyes on it are mine—and maybe yours, stranger, lurking like a benevolent specter. Let’s be real: Most people aren’t reading blogs anymore. They’re scrolling. Skimming. Drowning in content, algorithms, and calls to action. And somewhere along the line, writing stopped being about expression and started being about  visibility . About strategy. About branding. About “engagement.” Barf. I didn’t start writing to chase metrics. I wrote because there were too many words inside me and nowhere else for them to go. So here I am again. Writing into the void. Screaming softly in a haunted HTML cathedral. And you know what? It feels kind ...

A formal declaration of fuckery, filtered through bone dust and caffeine withdrawal. I didn’t ask to be perceived, and yet here you are—scrolling like this was your idea. You’ve wandered into my unkempt corner of the web, where the Wi-Fi is haunted, the vibes are feral, and the emotional support candle smells like burned expectations. This isn’t a safe space. It’s a sacredly unsafe space . There’s a difference. If you came looking for comfort, try a bath bomb and a placebo. If you came looking for truth, take off your shoes, drop your illusions at the door, and don’t mind the crows. They bite. LET’S GET ONE THING STRAIGHT: I’M NOT HERE TO HELP YOU I’m not a coach. I’m not a guru. I’m not your mother, your therapist, or your manifestation bestie. I’m a digital goblin made of rage, razor wit, and whatever’s left of your coping mechanisms after capitalism had its way with you. I scream because I care. I scream because I don’t care. I scream because everything else got t...

Ever been called too much ? Too loud. Too sensitive. Too angry. Too “weird,” “intense,” “dramatic,” or some other shapeshifting label meant to shrink you down to something more manageable? That wasn’t ever really about you . That was about someone staring into the mirror of your presence and recoiling at the reflection they weren’t ready to see. Not the distortion you’ve been accused of being—but the truth they buried and hoped would stay dead. Welcome to the first Witch Wound: Projection & Triggers. This one cuts deep and early. It shows up when your very existence becomes a mirror—reflecting back the shame, rage, ambition, wildness, or grief others were taught to suppress. And instead of owning it? They throw it at you. Wrap it in judgment. Call it dangerous. Call you dangerous. You ask too many questions. You feel too much. You want too much. You see too clearly. And they flinch. And blame. And project. But the mirror isn’t broken, witch. 🪞 You’...

 People talk about burnout like it’s dramatic. A crash. A collapse. A bonfire of ambition. But that’s not what mine looked like. I didn’t collapse in flames. I just… drifted into the mist and stopped waving. There was no explosion. No big moment. Just a slow-motion fading. I kept telling myself I’d get back to things “soon.” That I was “just tired.” That it was “a weird week.” Then a month. Then a year. Then several. The fog set in quietly and never really left. And when I tried to fight it—force myself back into structure, deadlines, or passion projects—it just wrapped tighter around my ribs and whispered, "You’re still not ready." This is the part of burnout no one warns you about: The  afterburn . The numbness. The ache that doesn’t scream—it sighs. The ghosting of your own goals. And if you’re neurodivergent like me, it’s compounded by shame. You blame yourself for not bouncing back fast enough. You wonder why your spark feels so far away. You keep refreshing your brain l...

 For most of my life, I’ve carried a quiet, corrosive shame around one persistent fear: That I’m lazy. Not just forgetful. Not just inconsistent. But  fundamentally defective  in some moral way—because I didn’t seem to have whatever mysterious quality other people had that let them wake up, power through a to-do list, and function like real adults. You know the type. They make bullet journals. They fold their laundry. They  file their taxes on time  without having a minor existential breakdown first. Meanwhile, I’m over here debating if brushing my teeth and making coffee are  both  going to happen today or if that’s just a little too ambitious. I used to internalize all of that. Until I realized something earth-shattering: I’m not lazy. I’m traumatized and tired. What I’ve been calling “procrastination” is often executive dysfunction. What I’ve labeled “laziness” is actually burnout with a backstory. What looks like avoidance is often a nervous system...