“You’ve Changed”: Yes, and I Embrace It!

“You’ve changed.”

Those two words have been spoken to me more times than I can count over the past couple of years.

They always arrive with a sting — delivered like a dagger dipped in sugar.

Always said to knock me down a peg.

Always said by someone I’ve previously bent over backwards for.

At first, I’ll admit, the words hit their mark.

“Have I?” I’d wonder. “Have I really changed that much?”

And then I’d start replaying the reel of my life — the friendships I’ve outgrown, the priorities I’ve reshaped, the boundaries I’ve built brick by shimmering brick. I used to twist myself into human origami to fit into spaces that no longer had room for me. But now, when I become busy or enter a new phase of my life, I reevaluate where my energy is placed.

Because here’s the truth I’ve learned — as both a witch and a woman: energy is everything.

And if you don’t tend to it, it will run wild, get drained, or worse — be taken by those who see your glow and mistake it for something they can possess.

Frogs in the Tea Leaves

One of my favourite forms of divination is tasseography — tea leaf reading. There’s something ancient and intimate about it: swirling leaves, warm steam rising, the story unfolding at the bottom of the cup.

Recently, while reading for myself during a particularly turbulent time, I saw a frog forming in the leaves. To some, that might seem like a simple creature. But to me, as a witch, a frog is a potent symbol — a creature of water and land, always between worlds, always evolving.

When I see a frog in a tea leaf reading, it is a symbol of inevitable transformation — something that must be allowed to become the best version of itself. The frog reminds me that transformation isn’t optional; it’s inevitable. We cannot stay tadpoles forever.

To resist growth, to fight change, is to deny the very rhythm of nature.

And in witchcraft, we know that to deny nature is to deny life itself.

Stagnancy is Waiting for Death

I know that sounds dramatic — but hear me out.

Stagnancy is waiting for death.

When we refuse to evolve, when we cling to comfort, when we stay loyal to versions of ourselves that no longer fit, we’re not living — we’re waiting.

The universe is a current. Everything flows — energy, emotion, fate. If we try to stand still in a river, we don’t stop the current. We just exhaust ourselves trying not to be swept away.

I used to see change as something that happened to me. Now I see it as something that happens through me. Change is not punishment. It’s permission.

Shadow Work and the Power of Boundaries

I specialise in shadow work — the art of diving into the dark places within, where the subconscious hides its secrets.

Shadow work is not pretty. It’s not love-and-light Instagram witchery. It’s not rose petals and full moon baths (though I do love those too). It’s tears and truths and the grit of honesty. It’s meeting the parts of yourself you’ve tried to banish — the jealousy, the fear, the anger, the resentment — and saying, “I see you. You belong here too.”

And here’s the thing about shadow work that no one tells you:

It changes you.

When you start doing deep shadow work, you start setting boundaries — strong ones. You stop allowing emotional freeloaders to feed on your energy. You stop making yourself small to make others comfortable. You stop saying yes out of guilt.

And to those who benefited from your self-abandonment? Your boundaries look like betrayal.

So when they say, “You’ve changed,” what they really mean is, “You’ve stopped letting me cross your boundaries.”

Why I, Queen of Chaos, Identify with the Temperance Card

If you’ve ever had a tarot reading with me, you probably know I have a soft spot for chaos. I’m a bit of a wild card — I thrive on transformation, on shaking things up, on diving headfirst into the unknown.

So it surprises people when I say that my favourite card in the tarot is Temperance.

Why, they ask, would the self-proclaimed queen of chaos identify with such a serene and balanced card?

Because Temperance isn’t about suppression — it’s about alchemy.

Temperance is the alchemist of the Major Arcana. She stands with one foot on land and one in the water (much like our friend the frog), blending two opposing elements until something entirely new emerges. She reminds us that energy cannot be destroyed — only transformed.

There is no good energy or bad energy. There is only energy — waiting to be transmuted.

Transmutation Over Retaliation

In the witchy corners of the internet, I often see the phrase “Return to sender.” It’s a popular spell concept — if someone sends you negativity, you send it right back to them.

But Temperance would never waste her energy that way.

Temperance, instead of doing a return-to-sender spell, does a spell to invite the shit-talking — and then transmutes that energy to return to her as abundance.

Imagine that: someone speaks ill of you, their words dripping with envy or spite, and instead of letting it wound you, you take that energy — that delicious, potent charge — and you stir it into your cauldron of manifestation.

Let them talk. Let them gossip. Let them say, “You’ve changed.”

Every syllable becomes fuel for your magic.

That’s alchemy. That’s Temperance.

That’s power.

The Art of Energy Conservation

There comes a time in every witch’s journey when you realise that energy is your most precious currency.

I used to give mine away freely — to friends who only called when they needed emotional labor, to projects that drained me, to people who mistook my empathy for availability.

Now, I treat my energy like gold dust. Every morning, I ask myself: Who deserves access to my magic today?

And some days, the answer is “no one but me.”

That’s not selfishness. That’s sacred self-preservation.

We should applaud a woman who sets boundaries.

We should applaud a woman who knows the importance of conserving her energy.

Because when a woman stops leaking energy everywhere, when she gathers it back into herself, she becomes unstoppable. Her spells deepen. Her intuition sharpens. Her power amplifies.

She becomes her own source of light.

The Witch’s Evolution

Witchcraft, at its core, is a path of transformation.

Every spell, every ritual, every moon cycle teaches us how to release, renew, and realign.

So of course I’ve changed. I’m supposed to.

If my magic remained static, if my beliefs never evolved, if I still practiced exactly as I did years ago, I’d be betraying my own craft.

Every initiation in witchcraft — whether formal or spiritual — is a death and rebirth. We shed skin after skin. We bury old identities and rise anew. The person who once craved validation now craves peace. The witch who once sought approval now seeks alignment.

Change is the witch’s inheritance.

When They Say “You’ve Changed”

Let’s translate that phrase for a moment.

When someone says, “You’ve changed,” here’s what they might actually mean:

• “You no longer tolerate my behaviour.”

• “You no longer make yourself smaller for me.”

• “You’ve stopped participating in dynamics that benefit me.”

• “You’re growing, and I’m uncomfortable with that.”

And to all of that, I say: Yes.

Yes, I’ve changed. Yes, I’ve evolved. Yes, I’ve shifted my priorities, restructured my energy, rebuilt myself from the ashes of my own burnout.

It’s not rebellion. It’s rebirth.

Alchemy in Everyday Life

I no longer see witchcraft as something separate from daily life. My altar isn’t just the space with candles and crystals — it’s also my kitchen, my inbox, my relationships. Every interaction is an exchange of energy, every choice a spell.

When I brew my morning tea, I stir in intention.

When I decline an invitation that doesn’t serve me, that’s a spell of protection.

When I forgive someone but keep my boundary intact, that’s a spell of transmutation.

Magic isn’t only in the rituals — it’s in how we navigate change.

Embracing the New Phases

I’ve entered many new phases recently. Some joyful, some lonely, some utterly transformative. With each one, I’ve had to pause and ask: Who am I now?

That’s the sacred question. That’s where magic begins — in the noticing.

Because every version of me — the soft one, the angry one, the chaotic one, the serene one — they’re all threads in the tapestry of who I am.

To change is to honour each thread.

So yes, I’ve changed. I’m changing still.

And I will continue to change until the day I return to the earth that birthed me.

Because transformation is my craft.

It’s my calling.

It’s my truth.

Closing Thoughts

So if you’ve been told lately that you’ve changed, take a deep breath and smile. Let those words roll off your shoulders like blessed rainwater.

They’re not an insult — they’re confirmation.

They’re proof that you’ve grown beyond the version of yourself that others once knew.

And when you feel the tug of guilt for outgrowing what no longer fits, remember:

Stagnancy is waiting for death.

Change is the pulse of life.

So stir your tea. Read the leaves. Find your frog.

Step into your next transformation with your head high and your magic intact.

You’ve changed?

Good.

That means you’re living.