Autistic witchcraft

Have you ever noticed how a lot of witchy women are… autistic?

That’s not a coincidence.

We are sensitivity.

Our bodies are tuning forks — vibrating with frequencies most people have learned to numb, because they don’t serve their monotropism. While the neurotypical brain filters for efficiency, ours filters for truth. It catches the subtlest shifts: the smell of rain before it falls, the static charge before an argument, the way a room feels just before someone lies.

We feel it alllllll.

It’s not magic, exactly. It’s embodiment without the buffer.

Halloween has always felt like a sensory homecoming to me. The air hums differently. Candles flicker like they remember something. Even the candy tastes louder. It’s a night where the veil thins — not just between worlds, but between bodies and between awareness. Everyone’s a little more attuned, a little more alive.

But for autistic ladies, that veil never really thickens again.

We don’t turn it off on November 1st as many tuck away their costumes to make room for Xmas decorations.

That’s the double-edged gift of autistic witchcraft: to be this porous, this perceptive, this awake — even when the world calls it too much.

We feel the temperature of emotion in a room.

We sense patterns before they’re spoken.

We read meaning in texture, tone, and tremor.

And when we stop pathologizing it — when we stop treating sensitivity like a symptom — it becomes something sacred.

Our nervous systems are spellwork in motion.

Our stims are rituals of regulation.

Our hyperfocus is trance.

Our intuition is data in its most embodied form.

Witchcraft is not always about potions or props — it can be about perception.

And that, autistic ladies have in abundance.

So tonight, as the moon glows feral and the wind stirs every sense awake, remember this:

You don’t have to hide your magic.

You just have to stay present enough to feel it.

Xoxo Ollie