Loosening the Shackles of Visibility

One of my goals for 2026 is simple to say but incredibly difficult to live: become more visible.

Not because I want attention, but because I want to stop hiding.

I worked the spell from the Greek Magical Papyri, the Serapis “Free Me” charm (PGM V 459–489). These spells somehow come at the rite time. Jack Grayle shared a beautiful adaptation of the rite. I created paper chain links, wrote on each link the name of something that binds me, I wore them around my neck, and then recited the spell. When the invocation is complete, I used my consecrated knife to physically cut the paper chains from my neck, opened them, read them aloud, and fed them to the fire (fireproof dish). This is a simple act, but one that transforms an internal realization into an embodied experience of release.

As I perform the working, I chanted:

ABLANATHANALBA ABRA SILOA

Words carried through the magical papyri for centuries, spoken here as part of a rite of release.

I decided to approach the ritual a little differently before I ever picked up the paper.

I sat down and began asking myself a question:

“What binds me?”

At first, my answers were surface level.

“I’m afraid of making videos.”

“I’m nervous about speaking.”

“I’m worried people will judge me.”

But as I kept asking why, something deeper emerged. The fear wasn’t really about making videos. It was about being witnessed. About allowing people to see me without the protection of editing, rewriting, or perfection.

So I kept digging.

What beliefs are actually binding me?

“I have to sound intelligent every time I speak.”

“If I make a mistake, people will lose confidence in me.”

“I need to know exactly what I’m going to say before I begin.”

“Being authentic is less safe than being polished.”

“Visibility is dangerous.”

There were twenty statements by the time I was finished. Some of them I know I’ve said out loud. Others I’ve probably never spoken, yet they’ve quietly shaped how I’ve moved through the world for years.

As part of this process, I also drew two cards.

The first was Aeon (XX) from the Circle of Doors Tarot.

For me, Aeon speaks of answering a call that can no longer be ignored. It is less about being judged by the world and more about judging whether I am willing to continue living inside an old version of myself. It asks what identity has reached its completion and what new way of being is asking to emerge. After writing down everything that binds me, it felt less like a coincidence and more like an invitation.

The second card was Balance from the Poesis Oracle.

Not perfection.

Balance.

That distinction landed deeply.

As a late-diagnosed autistic woman, I have spent much of my life pursuing perfection because it felt safer than authenticity. Perfectionism wasn’t simply a personality trait. It became a survival strategy. Careful self-monitoring. Rehearsing conversations. Masking. Trying to avoid mistakes before they happened. Trying to become someone who could move through the world without drawing the wrong kind of attention.

But balance asks for something entirely different. It asks me to hold courage alongside fear, confidence alongside uncertainty, preparation alongside spontaneity. It reminds me that I do not have to eliminate my fear before I become visible. I only have to carry it with enough steadiness to take the next step.

Unmasking has been one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.

It has also taught me humility.

Not the humility of thinking less of myself, but the humility of accepting that I will stumble, contradict myself, forget my words, and still be worthy of being seen.

I think this is one of the reasons I care so deeply about threshold work. I don’t stand outside of these experiences offering advice from a distance. I live inside the liminal spaces. I move through uncertainty, fear, grief, identity, and transformation just as my clients do. My work has never been about having all the answers. It has always been about developing the courage to keep walking toward them.

I’ve struggled with speaking in front of people for as long as I can remember. Stage fright. Fear of judgment. Fear of getting it wrong. Looking back, I suspect those roots reach into childhood.

So this year, I’m choosing something different.

I’m choosing visibility.

Not because the fear has disappeared, but because I no longer want fear to decide who gets to be seen.

Breaking those paper chains reminded me of something important. We are rarely bound by iron. More often, we are bound by beliefs we have repeated so many times that they begin to feel like truth.

The ritual didn’t erase those beliefs overnight. But it gave me a way to name them, confront them, and symbolically release them.

Together, the ritual, the paper chains, and these two cards seemed to tell the same story.

An old way of surviving is ending.

A more balanced way of living is beginning.

Sometimes that is where transformation begins.