If you’ve ever tried to learn witchcraft, especially online, you’ve probably felt the confusion: Who’s right? Which book should I read? Does it even matter, or can I just follow my intuition?
The landscape is vast and noisy. On one side, you’ll find people who say it’s all about intuition, energy, and intention. On the other, voices insisting that you must study foundational texts, trace sources, and know your history. And then, somewhere in the middle, are the folks trying to figure out how to honour tradition without gatekeeping, and how to make sense of a practice that is often experiential, oral, and fragmented.
So what makes a reliable source in witchcraft? And is it even fair to ask someone, “Who trained you?”
Let’s talk about it.
The allure (and limits) of intuition
Witchcraft is, in many ways, inherently personal. It values direct experience, observation of natural cycles, dreams, trance, and omens. Many of us have been led by instinct to pick up a stone, say a prayer, light a candle, and something clicked. That inner knowing is real and valuable.
But intuition isn’t infallible. In a spiritual marketplace flooded with aesthetic trends, colonial mindsets, and misinformation, relying solely on vibes can lead to misunderstandings, cultural appropriation, or spiritual confusion. A practice based only on instinct is vulnerable to manipulation and difficult to deepen over time.
This is particularly challenging for those who come to witchcraft carrying religious trauma or seeking healing from other wounds. Without some framework for discernment, it’s easy to mistake intensity for authenticity, or to be drawn to teachers who promise quick fixes for deep pain.
The myth of "making it all up"
There’s a popular idea floating around that witchcraft isn’t institutionalised—there are no degrees, no certifications, no universal rules—so we’re all essentially self-taught. That no one has the authority to question what someone teaches or how much they charge for it.
It’s true that witchcraft isn’t like medicine or law; there’s no governing body issuing licences. But that doesn’t mean anything goes. Most traditions have forms of structure, including apprenticeship, coven training, initiation, mentorship, oaths of secrecy, and responsibility. These systems weren’t created to gatekeep power, but to protect knowledge, develop skill, and pass on wisdom with care.
Many elders and lineaged practitioners didn’t simply invent their practice from nothing. They learned from someone, sometimes many someones. They studied, tested, and lived it. They trained. And that matters.
No one emerges from a vacuum. Even the most solitary practitioners are learning from somewhere, whether it’s books, blogs, TikTok, or conversations with the dead. We absorb ideas, language, and practices from other people. That’s not inherently a problem. But to claim the title of “self-taught” without acknowledging those sources is misleading at best and erasing at worst.
Invention versus inheritance
There’s a temptation, especially in online spaces, to position witchcraft as something newly rediscovered or entirely invented. But witchcraft is not new; it’s ancient. And while many traditions have been disrupted by colonisation, by Christianisation, and forced assimilation, they have not disappeared entirely.
Some of us have been lucky enough to learn from cultural or familial traditions. Others have been invited into initiatory lineages, where knowledge is passed down with care and responsibility, often accompanied by oaths. Even eclectic witches—those who blend paths or walk solo—are often inheriting more than they may realise.
But here’s where it gets complex: for those whose ancestors were enslaved, displaced, or colonised, the very idea of “unbroken lineage” can be painful. Their traditions were deliberately interrupted. Their elders were killed, converted, or silenced. For these practitioners, reclaiming and reconstructing ancestral practices is both necessary and fraught with challenges.
Many of the practices circulating in modern witchcraft have long and complex histories. Some are rooted in European folk traditions, some draw from ceremonial magic, and many have been lifted—sometimes respectfully, often not—from cultures that continue to be marginalised.
Spiritual colonisation isn’t always obvious. It looks like white practitioners calling themselves “medicine women” or “shamans.” It’s taking Día de los Muertos imagery for Halloween aesthetics. It’s teaching “Celtic tree magic” based entirely on Victorian inventions. It’s claiming to channel ancient Egyptian deities without understanding anything about Egyptian culture or history.
When we say we’re “just following intuition” or “making it up as we go,” we risk whitewashing that history. To pretend we are inventing witchcraft from scratch is to ignore our ancestors, to ignore colonisation, and to ignore the fact that someone, somewhere, kept these threads alive so we could pick them up.
Where training matters (and where it doesn't)
Let me be clear: you don’t need formal training to be a witch. Many powerful practitioners walk independent paths, learning from books, dreams, ancestors, or the land itself. Some of the most profound folk traditions were never formalised, passed instead through family lines, community whispers, or direct spiritual transmission.
However, there are areas where training—whether formal or informal—becomes crucial, such as leading group rituals, supporting others through spiritual crises, teaching publicly, and assuming the role of priest, priestess, or spiritual counsellor.
The question isn’t whether your teacher has a certificate on the wall. It’s whether they possess the knowledge, experience, and emotional intelligence to do what they claim to do safely and ethically.
The question of experience and accountability
Here’s another hard question: How long should someone practice before they start teaching?
We’re seeing an increasing number of self-appointed teachers appear online, many of whom seem to have little community context, no accountability, and only a few years of experience. Some of them go viral seemingly overnight. They’re charismatic. Their videos are slick. But who knows them? Who trained them? What happens when they make mistakes?
Teaching witchcraft isn’t just about knowing how to cast a spell or lead a ritual. It’s about knowing how to hold space, how to support others through personal transformation, and how to manage the psychological and spiritual dynamics that can arise. It’s also about having the humility to own up when we get it wrong.
Many people come to witchcraft carrying wounds—religious trauma, family dysfunction, or seeking healing from other pain. A teacher who lacks understanding of these dynamics can inadvertently cause real harm, even with the best of intentions.
If you’re guiding others, even casually, you carry a duty of care. In traditional communities, this accountability comes naturally—elders know you, peers watch your behaviour, and community members can call you out. Online, that web of accountability often doesn’t exist.
Consent and spiritual leadership
Let’s talk about consent. Inexperienced leaders sometimes act on powerful impulses without considering the consequences. They might declare a group-wide dedication or initiation mid-ritual, sweeping others into their personal revelation. But spiritual work demands informed consent. Everyone deserves to know what they’re participating in and to choose for themselves.
That said, not every tradition reveals everything up front. Many closed or initiatory paths hold certain teachings in trust, which are only shared at or after initiation or after years of training. This isn’t about deception; it’s about protecting sacred knowledge and ensuring it’s given in context. For some practitioners, this element of mystery and stepping into the unknown is part of the tradition’s power.
But here’s the difference: in those traditions, the structure is clear. You know you’re stepping into something that will challenge and transform you. You consent to that journey. That’s a far cry from being unexpectedly swept into someone else’s spiritual moment or being spiritually bound to a deity you’ve never met.
Working with spirits, deities, and powers requires discernment, training, and respect for both the beings you’re calling and the people you’re guiding. Declaring yourself a priestess, mentor, or leader without understanding these responsibilities is irresponsible.
The business of being a witch
Let’s also name the broomstick in the room: witchcraft is a commodity. Courses, mentorships, rituals, even priestesshood itself—everything is for sale. And increasingly, financial success is treated as evidence of spiritual authority.
But making six figures doesn’t make someone a wise teacher. Being photographed with celebrities doesn’t confer magical lineage. Having a beautiful Instagram feed doesn’t mean you’ve earned the trust of a community.
There’s nothing wrong with charging for your time, energy, or expertise. Many of us rely on our spiritual work to make a living, and ethical exchange is vital. But when witchcraft is reduced to a brand, or when leadership is based on how well someone can sell rather than how deeply they’ve practised, we lose something sacred.
The real work of witchcraft is messy, intimate, and often slow. It’s not about mass production. It’s about relationship: with land, with spirits, with mystery. And those things can’t be bought. They must be earned.
Why it’s okay to ask, “Who did you study with?”
In any context where someone is presenting themselves as a teacher or authority—whether that’s leading a free community ritual, offering paid workshops, or running expensive courses—it’s completely appropriate to ask where they come from. Who trained them? What tradition do they follow? How long have they practised?
That’s not about elitism. It’s about discernment. Whether someone is charging $500 for a course or offering free guidance, it’s fair to ask where their teachings come from and what their background is. That’s not projecting insecurity; that’s spiritual literacy.
In a world where anyone can build a website or create viral content, it’s wise to pause and ask: Who taught this person? Do they honour the cultures their practices come from? Are they respected in their community, not just popular online?
The issue isn’t that everyone needs formal training—many practitioners learn beautifully from books, online communities, and their own spiritual experiences. But those who position themselves as teachers or authorities should be prepared to answer questions about their background, regardless of whether money changes hands.
Discernment without gatekeeping
You don’t have to be initiated to be a witch. Many practitioners walk independent, eclectic, or spirit-led paths with depth and integrity. Nor does it mean that initiates are always right or more powerful. But if you are seeking training, it’s worth considering the training of your potential teacher.
Discernment isn’t the same as gatekeeping. Gatekeeping says, “You’re not allowed.” Discernment says, “Let me look closely and choose wisely.”
In a decentralised, diverse, and often chaotic community like modern witchcraft, it can be hard to know who to trust. Here are a few things to consider when evaluating a teacher, whether online or in person:
Lineage and mentorship: Have they received training from someone? Do they honour those teachers? (But remember: not everyone has access to or desires formal lineages.)
Experience: How long have they been practising, and how long in the community?
Accountability: Are they part of a tradition or peer network that holds them to ethical standards? What happens when they make mistakes?
Transparency: Are they clear about what they teach, what tradition it comes from, and what they don’t know?
Consistency: Do their teachings hold up over time, or shift to match trends?
Cultural awareness: Do they teach from their own tradition, or borrow from others without context? Are they respectful of practices from other cultures, and clear about what is theirs to teach?
Community standing: Do peers, not just followers, respect them?
Depth: Is their work grounded in experience, scholarship, practice, or all three?
Clarity and consent: Are they transparent about their actions, and do they obtain informed consent from participants?
Red flags to watch for
Beyond asking about credentials, there are warning signs that should make you pause:
Defensiveness about qualifications. A legitimate teacher won’t get upset if you ask about their background. They’ll answer straightforwardly.
Claims of unique access. Be wary of anyone who claims to be the only one who can teach something or that they’ve received special revelations that no one else has.
Pressure to commit quickly. Ethical teachers give you time to think, ask questions, and make informed decisions.
Isolation from community. Teachers who discourage you from seeking other perspectives or connecting with other practitioners may be trying to control rather than educate.
Grandiose claims. Anyone promising to make you psychic in a weekend, or claiming they can solve all your problems is probably overselling.
Cultural appropriation without acknowledgement. Teachers who borrow heavily from cultures they’re not part of without crediting sources or understanding context.
Building your own discernment
At some point, all witches must become their own authority. But that doesn’t mean rejecting all teachers; it means learning how to choose them well. It means honouring those who came before us whilst also trusting our instincts and experiences. It means knowing when to question, when to listen, and when to walk away.
For those just starting out, begin with widely respected authors and foundational texts. Scott Cunningham’s books remain solid introductions despite their age. Thorn Mooney, Mat Auryn, and Aidan Wachter offer modern perspectives grounded in traditional practice. Starhawk bridges activism and spirituality beautifully.
Look for local groups, even if they’re not specifically focused on witchcraft. Pagan meetups, herbalism groups, or folk magic circles can offer a lot of teaching and provide a sense of community and grounding. Don’t rush into expensive courses or mentorships until you have some foundation to evaluate them from.
If you’re in an area with limited local resources, online communities can provide connection and learning opportunities, but approach them with the same discernment you’d use for in-person teachers.
Most importantly, remember that learning witchcraft is not a race. The flashiest teacher or the most expensive course isn’t necessarily the best. Some of the most profound learning occurs slowly and quietly, in relationship with the land, the seasons, and your own developing intuition.
Honouring the web we weave
Witchcraft is not a degree you can earn. But that doesn’t mean all paths are equal. There’s a difference between wandering into the forest alone and being guided by someone who’s walked that trail many times before and who knows where the ravines and roots lie.
There’s no shame in learning. And there’s no shame in seeking teachers who can help you deepen your practice in ways that are ethical, grounded, and sustainable.
We’re not here to gatekeep. We’re here to honour the web we’re part of, to speak with the dead, to whisper with the trees, to learn from those who came before us, and become worthy ancestors in turn.
This means holding both discernment and compassion as we navigate this ancient, ever-evolving path. It means creating space for multiple ways of learning whilst still maintaining standards for those who would teach. And it means remembering that whether we learn from books, from teachers, or from the spirits themselves, we are all part of something larger than ourselves.
Excellent article. This is very valuable for a generation growing up in the digital age.
Thank you very much! I’m glad you found it helpful.
Thank you. This was very insightful.
Much gratitude and blessings.
Thank you for reading!
Well-crafted, balanced, and informative. You have a gift with words.
Thank you, Ria! It’s a combination of a love of language and communication and the ongoing refinement of my skills.
I agree with the other commenters, this is one of your best essays! Thank you for providing such thoughtful guidance.
Thank you!