Witches: Barometric Pressure Edition

Let’s be real, witches don’t need crystal balls, and neither do we. We’ve got knees and hips that predict the rain before Channel 4 even does.I just came out of a week-long migraine, the kind that makes you question every decision that led you to fluorescent lighting and loud crowds. It hit right after a full week of travel and peopling, which for my body is like running a marathon in heels on gravel. The minute I got home, my brain said, “That’s enough, ma’am,” and pulled the plug.

I love the people I meet through advocacy, the conversations, the stories, the laughter that fills a hotel lobby after a long day. But the truth is, those weeks take it out of you. When you live with a disability, your body runs on a different type of fuel. Everything is measured: rest, food, lighting, even temperature. Our bodies crave controlled environments like witches crave moonlight. It’s not about being fragile; it’s about surviving in a world that isn’t always built with us in mind.

Controlled environments aren’t about perfection, they’re about peace. They’re the spaces where the temperature isn’t too cold, the noise isn’t too sharp, and the lighting doesn’t feel like it’s trying to burn a hole through your skull. For some, it’s a dark room and a weighted blanket. For others, it’s soft music, a cozy chair, and everything within reach. It’s having routines that keep your body steady and your mind calm. It’s why we plan our days so carefully, why we notice every flickering lightbulb, every unexpected noise, every change in humidity.

People like us spend half our lives adjusting to noise, to energy, to weather. We know which chairs will throw our backs out and which air conditioners are too cold for comfort. We know that what looks like “being picky” is really self-preservation. We plan everything, because one wrong sensory input, one skipped meal, or one barometric drop can turn a good day into a recovery marathon. We don’t need haunted houses; our nervous systems provide all the jump scares we’ll ever need.

Some people wait all year to pull out their witch hats and fake cauldrons for Halloween. Cute. Meanwhile, those of us with disabilities don’t need costumes; the weather change already has us out here looking and feeling like full-time witches.

When that barometric pressure drops? Honey, my joints creak louder than a haunted house door. My head pounds like a drumline from the Haunted Mansion. My muscles ache, my energy vanishes, and suddenly I feel like I’ve been brewing potions all night. Forget a wand. I’ve got a heating pad, and trust me, it’s just as magical.

Because witches don’t need crystal balls, and neither do we. We’ve got bodies that forecast storms more accurately than the weather app.

It’s like the sky shifts, and my body says, “Surprise! You’re about to turn into the Wicked Witch of the Southeast.” Only instead of flying on broomsticks, we’re dragging ourselves to the couch, covered in heating pads and sarcasm. And if you’ve ever seen me shuffle across the room during a weather shift, yes, it absolutely gives “witch on the move” energy.

Mother and daughter dressed as witches are going through a candy bowl

But here’s the part people forget: witches are powerful. They survive storms. They stir things up. They make the world nervous just by existing. And honestly? So do we. People with disabilities are modern-day weather witches. We feel every shift in the atmosphere, we adapt, we keep going. We brew strength out of struggle and turn exhaustion into wisdom.

So maybe when the weather makes us feel like a hot mess on fire, we lean into it. Light the candles. Throw on the sassiest black outfit you own. Brew your tea or your PSL potion, whisper a little prayer, and own your witchy power.

Because if the barometric system insists on turning us into witches every fall, then fine. I’ll be the sassiest one you’ve ever seen, heels off, hair up, pain patches on, and humor fully charged.

This isn’t about Halloween anymore. It’s about the everyday magic it takes to live in a body that doesn’t play by the rules. The kind of magic that says, “I may hurt, but I’m still here.” The kind that shows up to the storm not because it’s easy, but because someone has to light the candles when the power goes out.

Because some of us weren’t built to hide from the storm.

We were built to glow right through it. ✨