We all have fears. There, lurking beneath our surface, reside  shadowy darker parts of ourselves. Guilt over past mistakes, shame from hidden desires, rage we scream in our heads but dare not express, or insecurities and complexes that whisper we’re not enough. We may shun them, ignore them, we may bury them deep, but they don’t simply fade away. Left unchecked, they can twist and grow like vines, and become what some might call “bad, even “evil.” But I detest those words. To me, our “darkness” is not inherently wicked. It’s simply a part of us that’s waiting—cackling in the shadows—for our consciousness to give it purpose.

But what—Mwahaha—is so wickedly wrong with what is WICKED within? 

Humanity’s “shadow” has long been projected outward—and if I may suggest—cast onto the feminine, and twisted into a figure of the witch. The witch has been a symbol embodying all that is feared, misunderstood, and exiled. Historically, this symbol has been exploited and violently misused. The witch trials of the Middle Ages were not a mere historical blip, but a cultural psychological epidemic. During the Catholic Reformation, over four million women were burned alive—not for witchcraft, but as scapegoats for a collective refusal to face the feminine shadows within.

And yet, the witch didn’t burn at the stake. Oh no. Her symbol was hexed into a complex figure of fear, power, and redemption. She embodies the dangerous and misunderstood feminine, a force alluring yet threatening. She tempts the innocent, casts her spells, and looms as an ultimate villain in our collective consciousness. But with Disney’s Maleficent and the newly reimagined Wicked, the narrative has shifted, inviting us to look beyond the surface of what is labeled ”evil” to see the humanity—the pain—that drives it. These stories remind us that ”wickedness” is a matter of perspective, and what society fears is often the feminine in her full, untamed glory.

Whether in fairy tales or Disney classics, whether she’s the scary Halloween heroine or evil cultural archetype, the witch is a symbol of that which society fears in the feminine—her bitterness, jealousy, volatility, vengeance and unruliness. Her deep sorrow, grief, wrath, and unrelenting uncontained passion. All the raw, emotional, and human elements of what society casts as the “ugly” side of femininity. But stories like Wicked or Maleficent bring this tension beautifully into sharp focus, proving the so-called “wicked witch” wasn’t born evil but made so by betrayal and rejection. And they further prove that the dark, misunderstood parts of ourselves—when acknowledged—can transform into something powerful, redemptive, and even loving. They turn the so-called villain into a heroine and force us to confront the real question: whom—or more precisely what—are we so afraid of? Perhaps it isn’t the witch, but the power she represents—mystery, independence, and an unyielding refusal to conform.🧙‍♀️

Women possess an extraordinary gift: the capacity to embody a femininity rich in nuance, one that can soothe like a potion or strike with a spell. This wicked brilliance—a distinctly feminine power—knows when to nurture like the fairest of fairy godmothers and when to wield its sharp edge like the wretchedest, wickedest witch of all.

And so I ask, when are we as individuals to reclaim our cultural shadow—the darker, untamed, and moodier parts of our humanity? It’s not exactly something to brew over tea and biscuits, now darling. No, confronting years, decades or lifetimes of denial and fear is but a dangerous, delicate business. Something perhaps double double the toil and trouble. But the fire will burn and a transformative cauldron will bubble when the masculine within us is brave enough to face the universal feminine in its entirety. And when we begin to learn and embrace the wild and feral feminine wisdom and aspects within, and finally begin to experience the repressed and unlived parts of our total potential.

According to Robert Johnson in his book HE, a man’s moods often reflect his disconnection from his inner feminine. Yes, his very inner feminine—or shall I say, inner witch—holds his capacity for creativity, wisdom, and beguiling unpredictability. Mr. Johnson claims (or might I say, acknowledges) that if a man rejects this feminine within himself, she will turn destructive, manifesting as bad moods, irrationality, or temptation. But that if he embraces her, she becomes an accomplice, infusing his life with strength, warmth, and clever intuition. I might further add that this is expressed in an ideal marriage where each in the couple allows a blending of their own masculine and feminine to partner with the other, enabling more creativity, empathy, enchantment and wisdom to be shared.

Our inner struggles mirror our inner witch. By embracing her complexity, we learn to navigate our own darkness. It is this, our feminine mastery of contrast—that wickedly keen ability to be nurturing yet cutting, gentle but firm—which becomes our anchor.

Feminine brilliance lies in our ability to guide without controlling, to hold the line between showing the way and letting the other stumble to find their own strength and 🔥. We can channel our wicked brilliance with patience and playful grace, elevating ourselves while offering the other the key to their own inner transformation.

The interplay of “opposite” energies—or even “strange” dynamics—between the sexes and between our inner masculine and feminine can create alchemy. In the end, the only thing truly wicked is denying our power and freedom within.

And after all, isn’t it curious, maleficent begins with the word “male?”