WHEN THE WITCH LOVES THE MUGGLE

There is a particular kind of tenderness in the relationship between the one who lives close to the unseen and the one who lives anchored in the tangible. People often ask me (and I often ask myself!) if it can work, if someone who speaks the language of intuition, energy, ritual and inner landscapes can truly meet someone who is oriented toward logic, pragmatism, schedules, careers, the physical world.

The answer is yes, but not without awareness. And definitely not without choice.

When you work with energy, you are relating to life at a depth most people don’t even realise exists. Your attention is tuned to the subtle shifts in your body, the unspoken emotional currents in a room, the way your dreams carry messages, the way your intuition speaks in sensation rather than words. It is intimate, and often vulnerable. And being in partnership while living this way can make those vulnerabilities feel exposed.

But here’s what I’ve learned: the other person doesn’t need to experience the world the way you do. They don’t need to feel the energy rising in your spine during a session or understand what it means when your chest opens for no reason. They don’t need to believe in guides or astrology or the way synchronicity can feel like a cosmic wink. They only need to not make you wrong for it. They only need to respect that the way you move through life is real for you.

And that respect has to flow both ways. It is easy to start thinking that living spiritually automatically means living at a higher level of understanding. But groundedness is wisdom too. Stability is wisdom. Logic is wisdom. The capacity to return to earth when your spirit has gone too far into the ether is a gift, and many of the so-called muggles have that skill in abundance.

The witch is the one who sees through layers, who feels deeply, who holds the unseen with reverence. But if she forgets to root, her gifts can become overwhelming. The muggle is the one who builds, who maintains, who creates structure and steadiness. But without wonder, life can begin to feel flat. Together, there is an exchange. Not of conversion, but of balance.

It is not about becoming the same. It is about remaining yourself in the presence of the other. It is about noticing the moments when you begin to shrink to be easier to hold, and deciding not to. It is about noticing the moments when the other begins to feel judged for not being mystical enough, and softening there too. It is about remembering that intimacy is not found in matching beliefs, but in staying open while standing in your truth.

I think the love between the witch and the muggle works when there is curiosity instead of defensiveness. When the conversation is, "Tell me what that feels like for you" rather than "I need you to understand it the way I do." When wonder and groundedness can sit together at the same table without needing to resolve each other.

The witch does not need to be tamed.

The muggle does not need to be awakened.

They simply meet each other where their worlds touch.

That place is enough.

It is more than enough.

It is holy in its own way.