The Dangers of Chronic Self-Deprecation

(everything stated in this blog is based upon my own research, personal practice, and opinion)

Let’s get one thing straight from the jump: being able to laugh at yourself is a magical gift. It means your ego hasn’t taken over like a demon with a grudge and a grimoire. It means you have perspective. It means you know you’re human. Great. We love that.

But here’s the shadow side: when your humor becomes your default defense mechanism, your magical path can turn into a slow-motion self-hex. One joke at a time. One sarcastic shrug. One dismissive “I’m not a real witch, I just collect shiny rocks and cry under full moons” too many.

Welcome to the world of chronic self-deprecation, the sneaky, funny, socially acceptable way to sabotage your entire magical practice. Pull up a chair bestie, we’re lighting a black candle, staring into the mirror, and naming this beast before it eats any more of your power.

Humor or Hex?

The line between humility and harm is thinner than a ritual blade. Self-deprecating humor walks that line and sometimes stumbles drunk right over it into the abyss.

When you joke about being a fraud, or about your spells being weak, or about your connection to the divine being “mostly vibes and caffeine,” it might get a laugh… But underneath the laugh is a quiet erosion of belief. Oh, and your subconscious? That tricksy little goblin? It takes everything at face value.

You are what you say, especially when you say it over and over.

What begins as self-aware comedy can quickly become a mantra. If the mantra is “I’m just pretending,” your magick will start to reflect as much.

The Social Spell of Self-Doubt

Here’s where it gets sticky: self-deprecating humor is socially rewarded. It’s charming. It puts people at ease. It signals humility. In a world full of spiritual influencers taking themselves Very Seriously™, your ability to laugh at your practice makes you relatable.

Being relatable doesn’t mean being powerless. You can be humble without being self-erasing.

If your every conversation about your practice includes a disclaimer “I mean, I’m not like… a real witch or anything”, you’re not just managing expectations, you’re creating energetic disclaimers that weaken your own authority. You’re casting a spell of invisibility on yourself every time you speak.

Fear in Fancy Dress

Self-deprecation often masks fear. Fear of being judged. Fear of being wrong. Fear of taking up space in a world that loves to tear down anyone who dares to say, “Yes, I believe in magick, and I practice it.”

So, we preempt the attack. We laugh first. We say, “I know this is silly,” so no one else can call us out. We throw ourselves under the broomstick to avoid scrutiny.

This is a trauma response wrapped in wit. And it’s valid, but not sustainable. Your magick doesn’t require you to be fearless. It requires you to be present. Presence can’t grow in soil poisoned by constant self-dismissal.

The Magician as Court Jester

There’s a seductive archetype in magical circles: the trickster. The jester. The one who laughs in the face of dogma, who plays with paradox, who doesn’t take themselves too seriously.

It’s powerful. Trickster energy has its place. But when you become the only one making jokes, when you never drop the mask long enough to let the magick touch you, you become a parody of your own practice.

And the spirits? They’re not laughing. They’re waiting for you to get real.

Spellcasting with a Side of Apology

Let’s talk about tone. If your rituals feel like they come with a built-in apology, “Sorry I’m doing this wrong” energy, then you’re layering your work with doubt. You’re blending your intention with ambivalence. That’s like trying to bake bread with expired yeast.

You don’t need to be 100% confident all the time. That’s not realistic. You do need to stop poisoning your workings with preemptive disqualification.

Say the words like you mean them, not like you’re hoping no one overhears you and calls you cringey.

When Humor Becomes Habit

The danger of chronic self-deprecation is that it becomes default. You don’t even think about it. Someone compliments your altar, and you automatically say, “Oh, it’s just junk I threw together.” Someone admires your insight, and you deflect with, “Pfft, I’m just making it up as I go.”

Over time, this reflex becomes ritual.

You’re teaching your subconscious that you don’t deserve to be seen as competent, wise, or powerful… then you wonder why your workings feel flat. Why your intuition feels muddy. Why the magic doesn’t land like it used to.

Rewriting the Script

Here’s the good news: you can rewire your default.

When you want to make a joke at your own expense, pause. Ask: is this true? Is this necessary? Is this helpful?

Start affirming your power out loud, even if it feels fake at first. “I am a practitioner. I trust my magick. My work matters.”

Receive compliments. Practice saying, “Thank you.” Not “thank you but…” Just “thank you.”

It’s not about arrogance. It’s about integrity.

Humility isn’t thinking less of yourself. It’s thinking of yourself accurately. And accurately? You’re a person who shows up, learns, grows, and does the damn work. That’s not laughable. That’s admirable.

Finding Humor Without Disrespect

Can you be funny without undercutting your practice? Absolutely. Humor is sacred. It’s part of the divine trick. The gods themselves are pranksters.

Sacred humor is rooted in reverence. It pokes fun at rigidity, not at devotion. It mocks pretension, not sincerity.

Make jokes about the absurdity of chasing a spirit through a dreamscape while holding a glowing egg. Laugh about the time your cat ruined your elaborate ritual. Just don’t joke yourself out of your own power.

Use humor to lighten the load, not to set your temple on fire.

Community Check-In: Call Each Other In

Sometimes we enable each other’s self-deprecation without realizing it. We laugh along. We nod. We bond over our mutual impostor syndrome.

But what if, next time, we said:

“Hey, that sounded like you were putting yourself down, is that how you really feel?”

“I think your work is valid, even if you’re not sure.”

“You don’t have to be perfect to be powerful.”

We can hold space for each other’s doubt without feeding it. We can remind each other what’s real when the inner troll gets too loud.

The world knocks us down enough; don’t self bully. Every time you dismiss your work, your insight, your devotion, you’re casting a spell. A binding one. A silencing one. A glamour that hides your light.

You’re too damn magical for that nonsense!

Next time the words start to slip out, “I’m just pretending,” “I’m not a real witch,” “It’s all just vibes anyway” …

Pause.

Breathe.

And remember: you are not a joke. Your magick is not a punchline. You are here. You are doing the work. You are enough.

Say it out loud. Say it like you mean it. Say it like the spirits are listening… Because they are.