Magic for Brains That Refuse to Behave

Somewhere along the way, modern witchcraft developed a little bit of ritual infatuation. A spell begins as, “Light a candle and speak your intention.”

Then somebody adds three herbs. Then a crystal. Then a planetary hour. Then a particular candle color. Then a specific incense. Then a bowl of moon water. Then a correspondences chart. Then a special knife. Then a particular direction. Then a quarter-calling sequence. Then an invocation.Then an opening. Then the actual spell. Then a closing.

By the time you get to the point where you’re supposed to actually do the magic, you’ve spent forty minutes preparing to prepare. If elaborate ritual feeds your practice, wonderful. Build the gorgeous altar, learn the correspondences, and spend an entire Sunday making your own incense blends. But if you have ADHD, or if you were as annoyed with reading all of those additions as I was with writing them, the sheer number of steps can become a wall. If that is the case, here is the most the important part of this article:

More components do not automatically mean more magic.

A spell can be:

• one candle
• a whispered sentence while you’re washing your hands.
• a symbol on a scrap of paper and putting it in your pocket.
• standing outside for thirty seconds and asking the wind to carry something away.
• stirring intention into your coffee.
• five minutes on the porch under the moon.

Sometimes you just have to remove the thing that was keeping you from doing magic in the first place.

One of the best tricks for ADHD-friendly spell-work is reducing the distance between “_I want to do magi_c” and “I am doing magic.”

If your spell requires finding twelve ingredients, cleaning the altar, locating your special ritual knife, charging the crystals, printing the instructions, and waiting until the exact right lunar phase, there are a lot of opportunities for your brain to say, “Absolutely not.”

Instead, make the first step almost laughably easy:

• Keep a candle somewhere visible.
• Put your favorite incense beside your coffee supplies.
• Keep a small spell notebook in your purse.
• Have a little jar containing herbs you use frequently.
• Put a piece of chalk near the back door.
• Keep a tarot deck on your nightstand.
• Create a tiny magical station that requires almost no setup.

You are designing for your actual brain. That is a very important thing to do.

ADHD brains often struggle with routines that exist purely because someone decided they should, but we tend to be much better at remembering things when they’re attached to something that already happens. So instead of deciding, “Every morning I will perform a grounding ritual,” attach the ritual to coffee. While the coffee brews, put both hands around the mug and take three breaths. That’s the entire thing, done in one tiny little step.

You can do this in almost any area of your daily life:

• While you’re brushing your teeth, imagine yesterday’s nonsense going down the drain.
• When you put on your shoes, ask the earth to keep you steady.
• When you unlock your front door, consciously leave the day’s bullshit outside for a moment.
• When you water your plants, bless them and ask them to teach you something about persistence.
• When you light a candle for dinner, let that become a tiny act of gratitude.

You can make the routines you already have magical instead of inventing new ones.

One of my favorite solutions is the spell kit. Put a handful of useful things into one container: a candle, matches or a lighter, a small dish, a pen, a little jar of salt, perhaps a favorite herb, a crystal if you use them, and whatever else you actually reach for. The important part of this is that the entire ritual lives in one place.

Then when the magical impulse arrives, you don’t have to go hunting through the house for supplies. You open the box and you begin, and if you only use one thing from the box? Congratulations. You still did magic. Nobody is getting bonus witch points for using every object in the container.

Here’s where ADHD can actually become an advantage. Novelty is powerful, so use it:

• If your usual candle suddenly feels boring, change the color.
• If sitting at your altar makes your brain itch, take the spell outside.
• If incense doesn’t do anything for you, play a particular song instead.
• If writing intentions feels tedious, draw them.
• If drawing feels tedious, speak them.
• If speaking feels weird, dance them.
• If you suddenly become obsessed with learning about planetary magic at two in the morning, congratulations. You have discovered today’s hyper-fixation. Go learn everything.
• Make the elaborate correspondence chart.
• Read seventeen articles.
• Create a spreadsheet nobody asked for.
• Make the ridiculous thing.

We already know that we are unable to fit ADHD into a neat little box, so it’s time to stop treating the things your brain naturally wants to do as obstacles to your spiritual practice. Sometimes curiosity is the doorway.

We talk a lot about ADHD as an inability to focus, but I have never agreed with this belief. For many people with ADHD, the problem is difficulty regulating where attention goes, which means that when something captures us, we can sometimes disappear into it completely. For me, I physically can not remove myself from whatever has my attention in that moment, and spell-work can be an excellent place to let that happen.

If you suddenly want to spend three hours learning about mugwort, do it. If you’re fascinated by planetary correspondences, follow that rabbit hole. If you want to make twenty different spell jars because suddenly spell jars are THE MOST IMPORTANT THING THAT HAS EVER EXISTED? Have fun with it! Not every magical practice needs to be optimized. Sometimes you are allowed to follow the shiny thing. You might even learn something.

We need to retire the idea that magical practice only counts if it takes effort. Here are some of my favorite tiny spells that you can do in under five minutes:

• Hold a glass of water and say what you want to release before drinking it.
• Light a candle and name one thing you want to invite into your life.
• Put a little salt across your doorway while thinking about protection.
• Write one sentence describing what you want and fold the paper toward yourself.
• Take a shower and imagine the day being washed away.
• Stand outside and deliberately notice five living things.
• Touch a tree and take three slow breaths.
• Put your hand over your heart and say, “I am still here.”
• Stir intention clockwise into your coffee.
• Open a window and tell the stale energy to leave.

None of these require an altar, perfect timing, or twelve ingredients, and not a single one of them becomes invalid because you did it while wearing pajama pants. Frankly, the pajama pants probably improve the magic.

This one is important. You are allowed to stop.

• Maybe you started a protection ritual and halfway through realized you are exhausted. Close it.
• Maybe you began gathering supplies and lost interest. Put everything away.
• Maybe you started a spell and got interrupted. Come back later.
• Maybe you forgot the entire thing existed for three weeks. When you remember, you can start again.

Please stop punishing yourself for forgetting. There is no need for an elaborate apology to the universe. You definitely don’t need to decide that you’re a terrible witch because you missed three lunar cycles.

Life happens. Brains happen. Laundry happens. Animals need things, kids need things, and work happens. Somebody texts you “hey” and suddenly you’re down an internet rabbit hole about whether crows remember human faces. Your spiritual practice is not supposed to be another productivity metric, so stop trying to maintain that streak.

This might be the most ADHD-friendly magical concept of all:

Build rituals that can survive interruption.

If you know someone might need you, don’t create a ritual that requires twenty uninterrupted minutes. If you have animals, don’t leave candles burning unattended because you’re trying to maintain the “proper” atmosphere. If your attention wanders, let it wander.

Your practice exists inside your life. It shouldn’t have to compete with it.

There is an impossible lesson here that reaches beyond ADHD to everyone in general:

A spiritual practice should not constantly make you feel like you’re failing.

If your version of witchcraft has become another place where you are keeping score through how often you practiced, how elaborate your rituals were, whether you remembered every correspondence, or whether you observed every moon phase perfectly, it might be time to loosen your grip.

Magic is supposed to be relationship with yourself, with the natural world, with mystery, and with whatever gods, spirits, ancestors, symbols, stories, or forces you understand as sacred. Relationships don’t become meaningful because you followed a checklist perfectly.

They become meaningful because you showed up. Sometimes showing up looks like an elaborate ritual under a full moon. Sometimes it looks like whispering a blessing over your coffee because you remembered, for once, that you wanted to. Sometimes it looks like standing barefoot in the grass for thirty seconds before you have to go back inside and answer seventeen emails. Sometimes it looks like forgetting entirely and then remembering again.

Come back. The returning is the spell. Your brain is the brain you arrived here with and it has its own unique advantages.

It notices strange little things. It makes connections other people miss. It gets fascinated and wanders. It burns brightly and then suddenly needs to lie down. It sees the moon through the kitchen window and forgets what it was doing.

Let it. Build a practice that can move with you.

• Make the spells smaller when life gets loud.
• Make them weirder when you’re bored.
• Make them elaborate when you’re obsessed.
• Make them practical when you need help.
• Make them beautiful when you have the energy.

And when you don’t?

Light the candle, take the breath, and say the words. That will always be enough.