They called me a misfit like it was an insult. I wear it like armour and wield it like a sword.
Let’s get one thing straight: I never set out to be a misfit. I didn’t wake up one morning and think, “You know what I’d love? To not fit in anywhere.” But somewhere along the way—whether it was my refusal to conform, my wayward ideas, or just the fact that I wasn’t afraid to shake the bloody cauldron—that label found me.
What It Means to Be a Misfit Witch
Being a misfit isn’t about rebellion for rebellion’s sake. It’s about refusing to let anyone dictate your connection to magic, spirit, or the universe. It’s about crafting your own path with muddy boots, bloody hands, and a wild grin.
For me, it means:
- Calling Out the Bullshit: Spiritual communities can be amazing, but they’re also rife with gatekeeping, toxic positivity, and outright nonsense. Misfits don’t have time for that—we’re too busy actually doing the work.
- Breaking the Rules: Tradition is beautiful, but so is chaos. If a spell calls for thirteen ingredients and I’ve only got a candle and some salt, I make it work. And if that makes me a heretic, so be it.
- Embracing the Shadows: Misfits aren’t afraid to look into the dark corners of their soul. Shadow work, baneful magic, and the uncomfortable truths of being human? Bring it on.
Here’s the thing: people fear misfits because we don’t play by their rules. We don’t bow to tradition or bend to authority. We’re harder to control, impossible to silence, and completely fucking uninterested in being anyone’s idea of “perfect.”
But that fear? That’s where the power lies. Misfits change things. We break the systems that need breaking, we challenge the status quo, and we carve out space for others like us—those who’ve felt silenced, shamed, or pushed to the edges.
The Power of the Outsider
Misfits have always been part of folklore, standing at the edges of the stories society tells about itself. They’re painted as the villains, the troublemakers, the ones who don’t fit in. But when you look closer, you see the truth: they’re the ones holding the real power.
Krampus: The Enforcer of Shadow Work
Sure, he’s the horned, terrifying enforcer of Santa’s good behaviour list (I love this guy), but why is he always painted as the bad guy? All he’s doing is dishing out justice where it’s deserved, teaching a little accountability in a season that’s all too often sugar-coated. Krampus isn’t the villain—he’s the balance. And maybe, deep down, people fear him because he doesn’t play by their rules of “niceness.” He is the ultimate, big fuck-off-neon-lights symbol of shadow work. There’s no pissing about when dealing with bad behaviour or sweeping issues under the rug—he drags that shit out, kicking and screaming, and faces the bullshit head-on. For witches, embracing the Krampus archetype means owning the darker parts of ourselves, the mistakes, the fears, and the anger.
In your practice, channel your inner Krampus by calling out your shadow self in a spell or ritual. Write down the habits or thoughts that hold you back and burn them as an offering to your own accountability. Being a misfit witch means not fearing the darker aspects of magic—it’s leaning into them and coming out stronger. Think of it as positive personal development course.
Befana: The Misfit Witch Who Does It Her Way
Or consider Befana, the Italian witch of Epiphany. While the Three Kings get all the glory for delivering gifts to the Christ child, Befana is the one who sweeps into homes, delivering presents to children long after the fanfare of Christmas is over. She doesn’t fit the mould of a saintly figure—she’s old, cranky, and rides a broom—but she does the work anyway She is every witch who’s ever been told she doesn’t fit the mould. She’s not the young, ethereal maiden; she does things in her own time, her own way. But here’s the thing: she still shows up. She still brings the gifts, sweeps away the shit, and leaves behind her quiet magic.
To bring Befana energy into your craft, embrace the imperfect. If your ritual isn’t polished, if your altar’s messy, if you light your incense with a kitchen lighter instead of a “sacred flame,” who cares? Befana reminds us that it’s the intention, not the aesthetics, that matter; that magic doesn’t have to look pretty to be ass-kickingly powerful.
Grýla: The Boundary-Setting Badass
An Icelandic ogress who gets a bad rap for eating naughty children. Sure, her methods are extreme (we can’t all be subtle), but she’s a symbol of boundary-setting and justice in a world that often overlooks the consequences of bad behaviour. Grýla doesn’t apologise for who she is, and she certainly doesn’t give a shit if you’re comfortable with her methods. Grýla is unapologetic in her boundary-setting. She eats naughty children, sure, but symbolically, she’s a reminder that sometimes you need to lay down the law—even if it makes you unpopular. Misfit witches can take a page from Grýla’s book when it comes to protecting their energy.
In your craft, Grýla’s energy might look like casting a protective ward against toxic people or creating a banishing spell for habits that drain your magic. It’s about saying, “Enough,” and not apologising for it. Grýla teaches us that boundaries aren’t just necessary—they’re powerful magic in their own right.
Finding Allies in the Legends
These figures aren’t just folklore—they’re archetypes that every misfit witch can call on when life demands it. Feeling overwhelmed by your shadow self? Ask Krampus for a reality check. Tired of trying to fit into someone else’s expectations? Befana is there, broom in hand, to remind you to do it your way. Struggling to set boundaries? Grýla’s got you covered—just don’t offer her stale cookies.
So, the next time someone tries to paint you as the villain, remember this: Krampus, Befana, and Grýla have been scaring people for centuries, not because they’re evil, but because they refuse to conform. They’re not here to make you feel comfortable—they’re here to make you feel.
And that’s the power of being a misfit.
To the Witches Who Feel Like They Don’t Belong
If you’ve ever felt like you don’t belong—like you’re too much, too different, or too wild—this is your reminder that your magic doesn’t need anyone’s fucking approval. You don’t have to sit in a circle to call the spirits. You don’t have to follow a book to feel the universe. You don’t have to be “acceptable” to be powerful.
They called me a misfit, and maybe they were right. But I’ve learned to own it, to love it, and to see it for what it really is: freedom.
So, to all the misfit witches out there—keep shaking the cauldron, strike back a little harder, scream a little louder, and break the fucking chains.
The world needs us.
