It was intended to be a brief visit to the local convenience store for some refreshments. I found myself balancing a lively toddler, a fountain drink, a bottled water, my phone, keys, and wallet. I greeted the cashier with a smile and encouraged my little one to say hello—a common tactic to keep her entertained while I handled the transaction. Typically, this approach elicits some coos from the cashier, and my daughter responds with her charming smile and the occasional shy “hi.”
But that wasn’t the case this time.
The cashier’s gaze was fixed on me, more specifically on the pentacle necklace that must have slipped from under my shirt. With a disapproving scowl, she pushed the water bottle out of reach and tossed the fountain drink into a trashcan at her feet. I could feel the stares of those in line behind me, their curiosity piqued by the scene unfolding.
“This is a Christian store. We do not serve devil worshippers here,” she declared.
I was momentarily taken aback. Then it dawned on me: my necklace had become visible during my frantic juggling act. It felt as if cold water had been poured over me, rendering me speechless. I could only stand there, stunned, staring at the cashier.
“That baby needs Jesus,” she added.
Silently, I turned to leave, my head held high but my mind racing and heart pounding. My hands trembled as I strapped my daughter into her car seat, tears threatening to spill, yet I held them in check, not wanting to show vulnerability in front of those still watching from the store.
In that moment, I was transported back to when I was 16, reliving the pain of my teenage years when I first dared to embrace my identity. I remembered being told my artwork was too controversial to display alongside my peers, and the day a family member violently snatched my pentacle necklace from me, echoing the principal’s earlier decree that it was unacceptable in school. I had felt isolated and terrified, forced to learn self-advocacy in a world that often rejected my truth.
However, I am no longer that frightened teenager. I am a mother now, and it was the first time my daughter witnessed such ignorance directed at me because of my beliefs.
Upon discovering I was pregnant, I was anxious about how to raise my child in a pagan household in a predominantly Christian area. It’s as if saying “paganism” and “Bible Belt” in the same breath is akin to mixing oil and water. I wrestled with the question: Was it fair to expose my daughter to potential prejudice?
Then it struck me: this isn’t merely about being different; it’s about overcoming ignorance. If others took the time to understand, they would see that we share common goals: striving to be good people and nurturing our children to do the same.
If I could speak to that cashier today, I would share a few truths about myself and my beliefs.
Paganism is not synonymous with devil worship. In fact, Satan holds no place in my faith. I believe in finding harmony within nature, honoring both god and goddess, and pursuing balance in all aspects of life. I firmly believe that each individual must navigate their own spiritual journey, and as long as no harm comes to those who can’t defend themselves—like the vulnerable and elderly—every path is equally valid. Pagans are not malevolent; we are simply individuals, just like anyone else. In fact, it’s quite possible you already know someone who practices paganism—they may just choose to keep it private.
I would also clarify that my child does not require Jesus to be whole, but should she choose to follow that path in the future, I would fully support her decision.
Ultimately, the issue lies not in being different or living in a small town, but rather in the fear that prevents people from learning about those who believe or live differently. While our beliefs shape us, they do not define the entirety of our identities. People are complex and multifaceted. When we judge others based on a singular aspect of their existence, we blind ourselves to the richness of their experiences and contributions.
Yes, I identify as pagan, but I am also a wife, a mother, a sister, a friend, and a dedicated college student. I hail from a small Southern town with a lineage of farming, possess a craft obsession, and enjoy the company of my feline friend more than many humans. I have a profound love for cookie dough. In many ways, I am a lot like you.
The beauty of humanity is that when we take the time to truly know one another, we often discover more similarities than differences.
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In summary, embracing our differences while seeking understanding can foster acceptance and compassion in our communities. By educating ourselves and others, we can bridge the gap of ignorance and celebrate the diverse tapestry of beliefs and practices that enrich our lives.