To Be Witnessed in Desire
A year and a half ago, I hosted my first retreat. It wasn’t polished. It wasn’t streamlined. It wasn’t what you might call “ready.” It was a test run—an offering to a circle of good friends—to see if I could do it at all.
I packed up the beginnings of what I now recognize as my witchy curriculum: worksheets, crystals, small art projects imbued with intention. I brought practices that had helped me feel more empowered, more hopeful, more compassionate in my own life, and I offered them, gently, to the women I loved—curious if there might be something there for them, too.
At the time, I didn’t have the language for what I was really doing. But I see it now, so clearly. I was asking to be seen—not just as the woman of science, not just as the teacher, not just as the friend who organizes things, but as the whole witchy enchilada, as someone who cares about all facets of a person, as someone who believes that our inner worlds are sacred terrain.
And in order to be seen, I invited them to do the same. I invited these women to share their deepest desires, to let themselves be witnessed in their wanting—just as I was, quietly, hoping to be witnessed in mine.
It was imperfect. I tried to fit far more into the weekend than was reasonable, and understandably, everyone arrived with different levels of curiosity about this version of me—this departure from what they had known before. But they came. They showed up. And in doing so, they gave me more than I knew how to ask for.
One moment from that weekend lives in me as something sacred. One of my friends shared that more than anything, she wanted to be a mother. She and her husband had been trying to conceive, without success. As she spoke, her voice softened, her eyes filled, and then she cried.
I remember feeling an almost overwhelming mix of gratitude, awe, and admiration as I watched her. There is something incomparably gorgeous about witnessing someone place a piece of their longing heart on the outside of their body for others to see.
In that moment, she became a mirror for me. Through her, I understood something essential about my own desire. What I wanted—more than anything—was to be a safe enough person, and to create safe enough spaces, for people to do exactly what she was doing. To be witnessed fully, tenderly, without needing to shrink.
Today it is my extraordinary pleasure to attend her baby shower. I find myself thinking about that moment—about her courage to speak her desire out loud—and how quietly, powerfully, life has met her there.
We often talk about the vulnerability of being seen in our pain—our grief, our anger, our frustration. And yes, that is vulnerable. But what we don’t talk about enough is how tender it is to be witnessed in our desire. To say: this is what I want. Without apology. Without reshaping it into something more acceptable. Without shrinking it so someone else can understand it.
Because so often, we don’t feel worthy of our desires. We wonder if they’re too much. We edit them, soften them, contain them. But desire is not here to humiliate us. It is here to guide us.
The word itself comes from the Latin de sidera—“of the stars.” Your desire is not random. It is not excessive. It is not a problem to be solved. It is a compass.
Today, I invite you to sit with your deepest desire. To let it exist—unfiltered, unedited. To let it be witnessed, even if only by you at first. To let it be loved.
Other people may not understand it. That’s the point. Your desire is uniquely yours. It speaks in a language that belongs only to you.
And if you find yourself wanting support—in naming it, in nurturing it, in bringing it to light—I’m here. Ready to sit with you. Ready to witness you. Ready to help you tend your flame.