Why Every Time You Say “I Suck” You Just Performed Black Magick on Yourself.
You’re Not Just Talking—You’re Programming Your Cells.
You Speak. Your Body Believes. Every Sentence Is Software. Every Cell Responds.
How to Stop Cursing Yourself and Start Casting Like You Mean It
🧠 Let’s get this straight
Every “I suck” is a spell.
Every “I’m tired” is a ritual.
Every “I can’t” is a self-executing prophecy with incense and backup dancers.
You’ve been casting your reality in real time—through punctuation and posture. You didn’t need a cauldron. You had your mouth.
Crow would say: Every “I am” is a commandment. Choose wisely what follows.
📚 Language is literal magick. Stop acting surprised
Grimoire means spellbook. Grammar means rules of language. Spelling means forming words. To cast a spell is to shape reality with your syllables.
Your fourth-grade teacher with the cat sweater? Secret high priestess of syntax. You’ve been doing magick since you learned to hold a pencil.
That “I can’t do this” muttered while stirring soup? Spell.
That “I always attract chaos” whispered between texts? Spell.
That sigh before checking your bank account? Honey, that’s a chant.
Your life isn’t broken. It’s just extremely well-enchanted—with beliefs you forgot were optional.
🧬 A spell is just a belief that went to the gym
Repetition plus emotion equals enchantment. That’s it. That’s the recipe. Say it enough. Feel it while you say it. Boom. The cells start saluting.
“I’ll always be this way.”
“I’m too much.”
“It's too late for me.”
“This is just who I am.”
That’s not identity. That’s a haunted slogan stitched from someone else’s silence. And you’ve been wearing it like perfume.
Crow would say: Don’t confuse the residue of trauma with the truth of your becoming.
🪞 Uncast the hex. Even if it’s cute
Catch the spell. Clock it. Feel where it lands.
Is it jaw-tight? Gut-sick? Throat-closed?
Then flip it. Gently. Not a lie—just a new script that fits a future self.
Instead of “I’m always broke,” try:
“Money is learning how to find me.”
Instead of “I suck” or “I’m stupid,” try:
“I’m learning.”
Say it like it already showed up.
Say it like your nervous system is listening.
It is.
🥄 Every word is an ingredient. What you cookin’, baby crow?
What you say in traffic = spell.
What you mutter folding laundry = spell.
What you text while dissociating = spell.
You are seasoning your timeline with speech.
You are infusing your aura with labels.
Season it like soul food. Taste every syllable.
So when you say “I’m just tired” on loop?
You’re marinating in exhaustion sauce.
When you say “Nothing ever works out for me”?
You’re baking your own brick wall.
Cook with intention. Stir with purpose. Plate that spell like it’s sacred.
🧹 Everyone’s casting. Some are just louder about it
Your barista? Spellcaster.
Your ex? Hex practitioner—low-level but consistent.
Your toddler screaming about grapes? Chaotic neutral sorcerer. Barefoot. Wielding a juice box.
You saying “I’m fine” when you mean “I’m collapsing”?
That’s the black magick of denial.
You can’t opt out of spellwork.
You can only choose which direction your wand is pointing.
🔥 The Crocs-level cleansing spell
Level 13 Loui special. Perform when you’ve been talking crap to yourself for 3 to 6 lifetimes.
Stand up
Say:
“I release every accidental spell I cast.
I revoke the loops.
I unplug the cords.
I return to sender every script that dims my shine.”Clap three times. Loud. Like a breakup.
Say:
“My words are my wand.
And I’m only pointing it toward my glow-up.”Strut. Even just to the fridge. Bonus points for literal Crocs.
🪄 Craft a spell that actually serves you
Pick an intention. Be honest.
“I want to feel safe.”
“I want to stop shaming myself.”
“I want to remember I’m magic.”
Then pick your ingredients:
– Words you believe a little bit (true-ish is enough)
– Emotion in the voice
– Movement, breath, or rhythm to anchor it in the body
Sample Spell:
Hand on heart:
“I tell the truth I’ve been waiting for.
I say it loud. I say it soft.
I say it like I mean it.
And now the air remembers.”
Boom. That’s a holy utterance. That’s how spells start to stick.
✂️ The dangerous ones: hexes in cute outfits
You know the ones:
“I’m just cursed in love.”
“I always pick the wrong person.”
“My kid is a menace.”
“I’m the problem, lol.”
Crow would say: You’re spelling your own cage and then decorating the bars.
These are self-fulfilling curses dressed up as punchlines.
Interrupt the loop. Audibly.
“Spell detected.”
“Loop disrupted.”
“Override initiated.”
Say it like your ancestors are watching.
They are.
🪬 Your spells need a body to land in
The words are the spark.
The body is the altar.
Saying “I’m safe” while clenched up like a tax return in April? That’s fake fire.
Saying “I’m allowed to rest” while closing your laptop and laying on the floor? Now we’re casting.
Saying “I’m worthy” while twirling barefoot in the kitchen to Prince? That’s multidimensional reprogramming.
Saying “I release this” while sobbing and flinging a throw pillow across the room? Spell complete.
Crow would say: If the body is the altar, your posture is the prayer.
✍️ Spell journaling for glitching the matrix
Write these:
– What’s the spell I’ve repeated so long I forgot it was optional?
– Whose voice planted it in me?
– What’s a deliciously absurd rewrite I could say instead?
🪄 Examples:
“I’m not cursed. I’m just encoded for epic.”
“If I’m chaotic, I’m the main character kind.”
“I don’t chase—I vibrate loudly and the universe gets curious.”
🧨 Crow-smacked truthbomb to end this
You don’t need a wand.
You don’t need permission.
You don’t need to align with Saturn’s left elbow.
You just need to stop hexing your own name—and start casting like your joy depends on it.
Because baby crow—
🪶 You are the spell.
You are the wand.
You are the altar.
You are the flame.
You speak—and the world moves.
💔 What pain or struggle is this blog addressing?
The ache of chronic self-sabotage through unconscious language. The feeling of being stuck in old loops—tired, unworthy, chaotic—and not knowing why nothing changes, even with effort. It speaks to those who feel like their body betrays them, when in truth, their body has been obeying every spell they’ve whispered for years.
By the end, the reader feels the holy click of responsibility and power returning. They remember: the spell was always theirs to rewrite.
