The world points its deplorable finger at the most helpless and beautiful of its creatures, calling any threat to its destructive nature the very thing it is: wicked.

I have made my life the space in witch: a space in which the proverbial witch may point her green finger back at the deplorable world and teach it the hex lesson it needs.

Those of us who have been labeled ‘wicked’ in some sense, hurt by people and systems of power, should take back the word and redefine, on our own terms, what it means to be:

wicked.

I have been called ‘wicked’ in one way or another: for being a lesbian, for being neurodivergent, for being an outspoken woman. Over time, I have grown to like the word ‘wicked’ and to see it as a term of empowerment and endearment.

I’m not the first to have been hurt because of my minority status. Women and queer people have been burned at the stake before, not just proverbially but literally. Women and wickedness go way back.

Violence against women and queer people is an age old tradition, and ‘wicked’ is a loaded term in relation to that history. There is plenty of evidence of people who are powerless being called wicked and of people in power espousing actual wickedness. That is why ‘wicked’ is a loaded term.

I choose to label my consciousness as wicked. It is an act of empowerment, akin to calling myself a dyke– a pejorative word for lesbian that has been used against lesbians and people who do not conform to gender norms.

To be wicked is simply to be disobedient to men and patriarchal authority. I am wicked hexcited that during my PhD program, I will be able to study

ALL THINGS WICKED.