It was meant to be a swift visit to the local convenience store for a few drinks. Balancing a spirited toddler, a fountain drink, a bottle of water, my phone, keys, and wallet, I offered a smile to the cashier and encouraged my little one to say hello. This typically buys me a moment to gather my things and check out. However, that day was different.
The cashier’s gaze was fixed, not on my face, but on my chest. Her expression morphed into a stern glare as she pushed the bottle of water out of reach and tossed the fountain drink into what I assumed was a trash can. I felt the piercing stares of the people waiting behind me, hoping to uncover the source of her disapproval.
“This is a Christian establishment. We don’t serve devil worshippers here,” she declared.
I stood frozen, momentarily dazed. My pentacle necklace must have slipped out from under my shirt amidst the chaos. A wave of shock washed over me, and I struggled to find my voice.
“That baby needs Jesus,” she added.
Choosing silence, I turned and exited the store, my head held high, but my heart raced, and my hands trembled as I secured my daughter in her car seat. Tears threatened to spill, but I fought them back, unwilling to give the onlookers the satisfaction of seeing me upset.
In that moment, I was transported back to my teenage years—the painful memories of the time I decided to embrace my identity. I recalled being told by a principal that my self-portrait was too controversial for display, and the hurtful words of a family member who once cherished me, now snatching my pentacle from my neck. I had to learn to be my own advocate when no one else would stand up for me.
But I was not that scared teenager anymore. I had a child to raise. The realization that I would be navigating the complexities of paganism in a rural Bible Belt community weighed heavily on my mind. Did I have the right to expose my daughter to potential discrimination?
But then clarity emerged: the issue was not my pagan beliefs, but the ignorance surrounding them. If people understood us, they would see our common humanity. We all strive to be the best versions of ourselves and raise our children in love.
If I had the chance to speak to that cashier, I would explain that paganism is not about devil worship; it is about harmony with nature and the divine. I believe in balance and that every individual’s path to the divine is unique and should be respected, as long as it causes no harm to those who cannot defend themselves. Pagans are not evil; we are simply individuals navigating life like everyone else. In fact, you may know someone who identifies as pagan but hasn’t openly shared that aspect of their life.
I would also stress that my child does not need Jesus in her life unless she chooses to embrace that faith, in which case, I would support her wholeheartedly.
The real challenge lies not in being different or living in a small town, but in overcoming the fear of understanding those with different beliefs, practices, or ways of life. Our backgrounds shape us, but they do not define us. We are intricate beings, and reducing someone to a single aspect of their identity robs us of the richness they have to offer.
I am a pagan, yes. I am also a wife, mother, sister, friend, and a college student. I hail from a small Southern town with a lineage of farmers, possess an extensive collection of books, have a passion for crafts, and a fondness for my cat that exceeds my affection for most humans. I love cookie dough, and perhaps I am much like you.
The beauty of humanity is that when we take the time to truly know one another, we often discover shared experiences and values that bridge our differences.
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Summary
A mother reflects on an encounter that highlights the challenges of being a pagan in a predominantly Christian community. Through her experiences, she emphasizes the importance of understanding and acceptance between different belief systems and the commonality of human values.
Keyphrase: Pagan motherhood experiences
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