hestia-devotee

[hestia-devotee]

Up late, decide to start working on my pocket shrine to Hestia... who knew how hard it is to get acrylic to stick to tin? 😅

[hestia-devotee]

Quick Laundry Charm

When loading your clothes into the washing machine say:

“As I wash this load of clothes, I wash away my troubles and woes.”

Note: This was originally posted on paganparenting.org and the author is unknown.

[hestia-devotee]

It’s almost 4am as I type this, and less than a week away from my nineteenth birthday. My sleep schedule is almost as messy as my dorm room, my heart is heavy, and my spiritual practice of four years has fallen by the wayside. You see, I grew up in a house that was cleverly disguised as a home. After all, I was fed, I was loved, I was provided for in every way, on the surface.

But beneath that was the dark and oppressive truth. The food I was given was something to be ashamed of, as was my body. The love I received was conditional on how well I played my part as an extension of my stepmother. My flaws were hidden and punished, and sometimes it felt as though it was a flaw simply to exist. So, I learned to pretend like I didn’t.

I hid in my room to avoid the coldness that pervaded the rest of the house. I fled to the bathroom when I didn’t want to be disturbed. I camped out in the attic and hid from the downstairs. These places were my refuges, but they were never spaces of my own. My privacy could be breached at any time, because as far as my parents were concerned, I wasn’t entitled to it. I never felt truly safe.

When I finally left, I took my habit of hiding with me. I hid in my phone, in my lofted bed, and the ever-reliable bathroom. I watched videos online to fill the time, letting life pass me by. And it took me so long to realize: I have nothing to hide from anymore. I have a space to call my own. I don’t need to take refuge in nighttime; nobody is going to hurt me in the day.

I’ve spent the last 12 years filling my slot in the outline of a family and living in a house I could not call a home. Each day has been a depressed slog through life until I can finally sleep again and be released from the constant tension of walking on eggshells.

But this cannot go on forever. I deserve to have a home, a real one that I create. I deserve to nourish myself guilt-free. I deserve to love myself enough to keep a clean space and to keep a sleep schedule. I deserve to keep a spiritual practice that supports me. Otherwise I will spend the rest of my life cowering in fear of the people who made me feel small, even after they’re gone.

Nineteen must be the year I learn to pick up the pieces and move forward. To keep a home. To feel love. And so, I turn to Hestia.

Goddess of the Hearth, the Home, of Mothers and their Families, this is my story. This is my pain, and this is my burden. I come to you seeking support in the acts of cleaning, cooking, keeping a home, and knowing the love of true family. I offer this corner of the internet to you, and I hope to one day offer you a physical altar as well. On my nineteenth birthday I hope you will accept the dedication ritual I intend to perform. I give you my gratitude and thanks as I move forward into this new chapter of my life.

So Mote It Be.