Telling That Inner Troll to Sit Down
(everything stated in this blog is based upon my own research, personal practice, and opinion)
If you’ve ever sat in front of your altar, clutching a dollar store candle and wondering if the spirits can smell your self-doubt, welcome. You’re in good company. From fresh initiates to long-time practitioners, occultists of all stripes have wrestled with that greasy little goblin called impostor syndrome. It slithers into our sacred spaces, whispering, “You’re not a real witch. You’re a fraud. You’re just playing dress-up with incense.”
And… sometimes, gods help us, we believe it.
But here’s the thing: that voice? It’s not truth. It’s just loud. Like most loud things, it can be told to shut up and sit in the corner with a juice box while you get on with your magickal life.
Let’s break down exactly why impostor syndrome happens, how we sabotage ourselves (hint: that “just joking” voice isn’t so innocent), and what to do when you feel like the cosplay police are about to break into your living room mid-ritual.
Impostor Syndrome in a Ritual Robe
Impostor syndrome is the psychological equivalent of summoning a minor demon and forgetting the banishing script. It shows up precisely when you’re about to grow, stretch, or try something new. It’s the voice that says:
“You don’t know enough.”
“You’re faking it.”
“Someone else could do this better, and with cooler robes.”
In the world of occultism, where there are no diplomas, no standardized tests, and frankly, very few universally agreed-upon rules, that voice hits harder than a retrograde.
But let’s get one thing straight:
Everyone ,yes, everyone, feels like a fraud sometimes. That TikTok witch with 200k followers? Her too. The ceremonial magician who can recite Thelema backward in a trance state? Him too. The local elder who’s been practicing since the ’70s and still doesn’t know if she believes in half the spirits she invokes? Yep. Still human.
Impostor syndrome doesn’t mean you’re failing. It means you’re aware, which, funnily enough, is one of the top prerequisites for good magic.
The Comparison Curse: No One Wins
Want to supercharge your impostor syndrome? Easy. Compare your practice to everyone else’s filtered, curated, hyper-aesthetic, algorithm-optimized social media presence.
Scrolling Instagram can make you feel like your whole craft is being judged by a panel of ancient gods in flower crowns. They have ethereal altars, misty forests, and Latin invocations pronounced correctly on the first try.
Meanwhile, your altar looks like a flea market crash-landed in a craft store. Your last spell? You forgot half the words and your cat ate the herbs.
Here’s the deal: you’re comparing your behind-the-scenes to someone else’s highlight reel. Nine times out of ten, those glamorous witches don’t have it together either, they’re just good at lighting and filters.
Magic isn’t a performance. It’s a practice. That’s why it’s called practice. Get messy. Get weird. Let your candle topple. Let your incense smell like sadness. That’s real.
The Self-Deprecation Trap (or… How to Accidentally Hex Yourself)
Let’s talk about the sly little saboteur that is self-deprecating humor. You know the lines:
“I’m not a real witch, I just hoard crystals and cry during moon phases.”
“I can’t be a real magician, I Google everything before ritual.”
“I’m basically just a goblin with a Pinterest board.”
Harmless? At first…but say it enough times and your subconscious stops laughing.
Self-deprecation can feel safe. It lets you joke about your insecurities before anyone else does. The thing is, if you do it often enough, it stops being funny and starts becoming belief. You’re not shielding yourself with humor, you’re feeding the impostor troll your confidence as a midnight snack. (You’re also teaching others how they can talk to you…think on that.)
The real kicker? The spirits don’t care. They don’t need you to be perfect. They need you to show up.
Unless you’re literally trying to hex yourself into magical mediocrity, stop diminishing your own power with ironic disclaimers. You’re not fooling anyone, especially not your inner knowing.
“I Don’t Have the Right Tools”
Here’s another greatest hit from the Album of Self-Doubt:
“I can’t do real magic. I don’t have the right wand/chalice/incense hand-rolled by druids under a solstice moon.”
Let me say it loud for the witches in the back… your tools do not make your practice valid.
That chipped mug from your grandma’s kitchen can be your chalice. That stick you found on your morning walk? Boom. Wand. That tea light from the dollar store? As long as you don’t burn your curtains, you’re golden pony boy.
The power isn’t in the object, it’s in the intention. In your focus. In your relationship with spirit. The gods aren’t grading you on aesthetics. They’re asking if you mean it.
Stop waiting to afford the $300 athame. Light the damn candle and do the work.
Ritual Is Not a Performance (Unless You’re Trying to Impress Dionysus)
Another lie that feeds the impostor beast is “I didn’t do it right.”
Maybe your voice cracked during the invocation. Maybe your circle wasn’t perfectly cast. Maybe your ritual robe still smells faintly of Taco Bell.
Guess what? No one cares.
Ritual isn’t about putting on a perfect show. It’s about alignment. It’s about entering sacred space with your whole self, flaws and all. The spirits aren’t looking for a Broadway performance, they’re looking for authenticity. You don’t need to sound like a Gregorian monk. You just need to mean it.
Messy is real. Awkward is sincere. And sincerity? That’s magick.
The Cult of Competence: You Don’t Need to Know Everything
Another impostor whisper: “I haven’t read enough. I don’t know enough. I’m not initiated. I’m not qualified.” (Full disclosure…this is one I have fought in many a bare knuckled brawl.)
Let me introduce you to a hard truth wrapped in a hug. No one knows it all. Not even the tenured chaos magician with 40 years of practicing planetary magic and a only mildly alarming footnote addiction.
The deeper you go, the more you’ll realize how little you know. That’s not failure, that’s progress.
You don’t need to be an expert. You need to be engaged. Ask questions. Try things. Get it wrong. Learn. Repeat. Magick is a living art, not a pass/fail test.
Find Your People and Share the Chaos
Practicing magick alone can be empowering and isolating as hell. I spent most of my early magickal life solitary.
When you’re stuck in your own head, it’s easy to think everyone else has their act together. That’s one of many reasons why community matters.
Find folks you can be real with. Share your flops. Laugh at your spell fails. Admit that sometimes you chant for ten minutes and feel nothing. Let others see the unfiltered version of your path. Because spoiler… they’re going through the same thing.
You’re not alone. You never were.
And trust me, nothing slays impostor syndrome faster than someone saying, “Wait, I do that too.”
How to Tell That Inner Troll to Sit Down and Shut Up
You’re never going to fully get rid of impostor syndrome. It’s not a bug, it’s a feature of being human, curious, and daring to do something sacred without a safety net.
But you can make peace with it. You can teach it manners.
Name it. Say, “That’s impostor syndrome.” Give it a silly name if it helps. (Mine’s called “Ugg” and Ugg doesn’t get to run the show.)
Speak truth over it. “I’m still learning” is not the same as “I’m a fraud.” Say what’s real.
Laugh, but don’t belittle. Keep your sense of humor, but use it to uplift, not diminish.
Keep practicing. Nothing pisses off that inner troll more than consistent action. Show up anyway.
You Belong Here. Really.
Let me say this again, as clearly as I can… You. Belong. Here.
Whether you’re deep in ceremonial magick, dancing under the moon with a coven, or just lighting a candle in your bedroom and whispering intentions, you’re doing it.
You’re not an impostor. You’re a practitioner.
The work matters. Your path matters. The very fact that you care enough to doubt means you’re not faking it. Fakes don’t reflect. Fakes don’t wrestle with the Mystery. Fakes don’t show up, week after week, asking, “Is this real?” and listening for the answer.
You are not a fraud. You’re a witch, a magician, a seeker, an occultist, a weaver of strange truths and unseen threads. You’re walking the path, wobbly, weird, and wondrous as it is.
The next time that little inner gremlin starts whispering doubt hand it a broom. Tell it, “If you’re going to hang around, you’d better be useful.”
Then light your candle. Cast your spell. Chant your words. Stir your tea clockwise.
And remember, real witches feel like fakes all the time.
But they show up anyway.
And that? That’s part of the magick.
Stay magickal. Stay weird. Stay real. And if your spell goes sideways, at least you’ve got a great story for your next get together.

