It’s been a while since I last published a blog post — 15 March, to be exact. Life filled up with Clinical Pastoral Education, paid work, family, community, and all the quiet tasks that keep things moving. The blog (and social media) slipped into the background, but I haven’t forgotten it.
I’ve been thinking about compartmentalisation — keeping different parts of ourselves in separate boxes. I’ve tried it many times. It doesn’t work.
When I first looked for work in Australia, a friend warned me to keep my religious identity hidden. “It’ll hurt your chances,” she said. Of course, we don’t walk around constantly declaring our Paganism, but there might be signs of it, perhaps in the way we dress or a piece of jewellery we wear. In any case, I understood her concern, but I’ve never been in the broom closet. My spiritual path isn’t secret, and a quick internet search will make that clear. More importantly, if someone won’t hire me because I’m Pagan, that’s discrimination, and I don’t want to work where I can’t be whole. I’ve found good opportunities in inclusive workplaces. The work that matters thrives where people are welcomed fully.
Still, that old fear lingered.
After my end-of-life doula training, I created a second business identity. I thought it would be easier to find clients if I separated my doula work from my Pagan identity. The logic was familiar: “Some people won’t understand. Better to keep things separate.” Meanwhile, I continued my digital work — websites, social media, communications — work I’d been doing for over a decade. That felt separate, too, but not for long.
Separation didn’t feel like integrity. It felt like fragmentation. These weren’t different lives but expressions of the same calling: to communicate, support, and hold space.
Then, I completed two units of Clinical Pastoral Education at the Royal Melbourne Hospital. CPE uses an action-reflection model where students provide spiritual care and then analyse the experience with supervisors and peers.
My first unit was foundational — working with various patients and learning to identify and respond to spiritual needs. My second unit, which concluded this week, was a Special Focus on providing spiritual care to people outside traditional religion or who described themselves as non-religious.
What I found was that they weren’t disconnected from spirituality. They were outside the language of traditional religion, but asking the same questions we all ask. What does it mean to live well? How do I cope with suffering? What matters now? They were reaching for meaning.
Many of these people wouldn’t identify as Pagan or even know what that means. Still, they’re drawn to practices familiar to my community, such as grounding, meditation, energy work, and divination. Last weekend was the Mind Body Spirit Festival, where I usually read tarot. The festival reminds me of how mainstream these practices have become and how people engage with crystals and card readings alongside or within their traditional faith. They’re seeking spiritual care and community, just not in the ways institutions typically offer it.
Whether sitting with someone dying, offering a tarot reading, or writing this post, I’m drawing from my roots in Wicca, my practice in Lukumi, my devotion to ancient goddesses, my training in spiritual care, and my lived experience. Some people find these concepts frightening, but others will find what they didn’t know they were looking for.
So here I am again, unable and unwilling to compartmentalise.
If someone doesn’t want to work with me because I’m Pagan, a Witch, or a practitioner of Afro-Cuban religion, that’s fine. They’re not my people. But I know my people are out there — the ones who want depth and connection that respects mystery.
I’ve been a Pagan, a Witch, a Priestess, and a writer for many years. This blog has had many names over the years, but this—devotion to ancient gods and spirits and community—has always been at the heart of my work. Divine Hours will hold all of it from now on — spirituality, divination, end-of-life care, and digital communications. Over time, you might notice changes to the website, to my services, and to the way I show up on social media.
I don’t really know what’s coming next, and I’m okay with that. I dedicate June to Yemaya, the orisha of the ocean, and with the winter solstice approaching, it feels like a time for deeper currents, for letting the tide carry me where it will.
