“Hedgewitch”

People have sometimes called me a hedgewitch.

I never took that on as an identity. It is simply a word others use when they notice how I work. I tend to stand near boundaries, the places where things shift, where someone is caught between what was and what might be. I pay attention to those edges because that is where people often find their truth, and where the world shows its deeper seams.
Much of what I do comes from listening. Not the heroic kind, not special sight or dramatic insight, but steady listening. The kind you learn after years of being called to the wounded places in yourself and in others. The wound becomes a doorway, not because you want it to, but because life presses you there until you finally look. In that looking, something useful sometimes arrives.
People say hedge witches track subtle signs. I do not know if that is true for me. I only know that I notice the small shifts in a room, the way someone’s breath changes when a story brushes up against a hidden truth, the way a field of energy steadies when someone is finally witnessed. These are skills shaped by time, not intention.
My work is mostly about presence. Offering space without taking over. Letting someone unfold at their own pace. Holding the line between what is falling apart and what is forming. It is not glamorous. It is often slow and ordinary, like tending a fire or watching weather move across a valley.
If others choose the word hedgewitch to describe that, I do not argue. But in my own understanding I am simply someone who keeps company with thresholds, follows what feels honest, and tries to stay in right relationship with the seen and unseen. That is enough.