Lysandra Wildwitch Shadethorn

I was introduced to witchcraft by my grandmother – long before we had a word for what we were doing. Before altars. Before titles. Before I ever heard the word Witch.

But when I found it, I knew.
Not because it told me who I was – but because it finally gave a name to what had always been true.

Over the past two decades, my craft has grown into something wild and unapologetically personal – devotional, instinctive, and forged in the fire of lived experience. My magick is rooted in ancestral memory, sensory knowing, and the radical act of choosing to live as myself, as Witch. It’s not a thing I picked up – it’s a truth I came back to, over and over, until it became, simply, who I am.

I am a queer, neurodivergent, and disabled Witch – shaped not just by survival, but by the storms I embraced. My spellwork is protective, shadow-bloomed, and intentionally unruly. It is crafted not to be perfect, but to be powerful. Not to conform, but to rebel. It rises from personal gnosis, sacred rebellion, and the deep-souled ache of the present moment.

I work with divine allies like the Morrigan, Persephone, and Loki – who is kin and chaos both. I work closely with plant spirits, crystals, the elements, and the ever-shifting natural world. I speak with the wild, and I listen. My practice honors the messy, in-between spaces – the liminal, the limping, the loud, the lost.

Calling myself a Witch is a radical act. A sacred one. It is a refusal to disappear and a reclamation of power from systems that were never meant to hold us. A promise to all of us who live at the margins – that our magick matters. That we were never broken, only buried – but we are not dead.

After years of solitary practice – walking the edges not only of identity, health, and survival, but of sacred thresholds: descent and death, power and reckoning, the space between the seen and the unseen – I’m here now, offering the fire I carried through shadow and silence. This is a space for Witches like me: unruly, othered, and unafraid to weave spells from grief, rage, wonder, and truth.

I’m here to create space for Witches like me: Witches whose paths don’t follow the rules. Witches who craft in rage and softness, in grief and bloom, in bodies and minds the world has misunderstood. I am here to remind us all that magic doesn’t have to look a certain way to be sacred. That we do not bend with the storm – we are the storm.

We root deep, where shadow meets spark.
We rise wild, with both grit, and grace.
We remember what is lost, and what was never meant to be forgotten.