A Time of Permission
On Samhain, Ancestral Magic, and Showing up as Ourselves
As I walked down the sidewalk in my bright orange pumpkin costume, Jubilee trotting beside me in his crocheted jack-o-lantern sweater, and my wife in her matching hoodie, I thought about how far I’ve come.
When I was growing up in this same town, the idea of showing any true parts of myself felt unthinkable. And yet here I was, walking down Main Street toward the Halloween pooch parade in my costume, feeling excited to be seen.
As we cut through the train station parking lot a woman called out, “You’re the only person dressed up! Only the dogs are!”
I had to laugh at the synchronicity of her well meaning warning, and waved to her feeling confident I’d find my people eventually. And sure enough when we arrived at the park we spotted a human Santa Claus with a matching elf goldendoodle, Beauty and the Beast ( a girl and Great Dane combo), a barista with a cappuccino maltipoo. My favorite, though, was a woman about my age in a full princess gown with a large white fluffy Samoyed in a matching dress, accompanied by a man dressed as her prince. A small, joyful tribe that grew to fill the entire park that afternoon.
Halloween feels like a time of permission. To dress up, shapeshift, and experiment with identity. Beneath the fun and glitter, it carries echoes of Samhain, the Celtic festival that marks the midway point between the autumnal equinox and the winter solstice. Historically, this was a time when fires were lit for protection, fortunes were told, and people disguised themselves to confuse wandering spirits. Somewhere along the way, that instinct to hide became something more playful and freeing.
Costumes let us try on the parts of ourselves we might otherwise keep hidden.
This month, I’ve been thinking a lot about my great-grandmother Martha and my grandmother—their Irish and Scottish ancestry, and the influence that seems to tug at me this time of year.
I’ve found myself researching old Samhain traditions. I google the rural town in Nova Scotia where my great-grandmother was born, search for photos of houses from 1897, the year of her birth. I imagine what those gatherings felt like, what food was shared, whether she read tea leaves more often that time of year. On her birth certificate, I see “physician present: none” written in looping penmanship that reminds me of my mother’s perfect handwriting. I wonder if instead of a physician, a midwife was called.
I think of Martha’s daughter, my grandmother, who loved Halloween so much she once gave my mother a red-eyed, light-up Dracula for her birthday in September. My mother, who once removed a wart from my hand by rubbing it with a stick, that we then broke and buried in the yard, and who hosted a maypole dance for all the neighborhood kids. And Martha herself, who read tea leaves in secret, so proud of her Scottish heritage—writing “Scottish” on every official form as if to anchor herself to her ancestors.
I’ve been wearing a locket with her photo this month, holding her close to my heart while I work.
I want to feel the old stories stir. Ones carried in humor, secrecy, love, and in the kind of magic that survives through generations.
I feel a reverence in remembering why these women kept their abilities secret. Why they asked ghosts not to visit and whispered spells rather than writing them down.
They kept their intuitive gifts quiet, tucking them behind locked drawers or weaving them into private rituals. And yet, those gifts didn’t die, they are passed down through feeling. The fascination and curiosity calling to us and the thrill of a Halloween night that announces it’s safe to play in the mystery for a while.
As I walk openly now I feel I’m walking for them too. For the parts of ourselves, and our lineages, that once had to hide.
Wishing you a warm Halloween. May the veil between worlds feel thin, and the magic you carry stay close.
With love,
Sheryl
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This newsletter has such a liberating message- I can feel my fun self emerging. In our past reading, Sheryl, you said that my father thought I was very serious and that I needed to have more fun. Hopefully, I will connect with my dad more this way.
Gratitude to you, Sheryl, for putting the permission to be as we are into a glowing article. Lighting the way with your intuitive strengths… much love, L