I’m one of those annoying New Age people.

Candles, incense, crystals all over my house. Always read my horoscope as a Scorpio, of course. Warning my atheist husband, Sam, that we cannot move when Mercury is in retrograde. Draw tarot cards.

And when I was a Hollywood assistant desperate to get that “break” as a screenwriter, I finally used the occult to try and make it happen.

I bought my first tarot deck in sixth grade. These medieval-looking images fascinated me and I could ask anything from these maps about my life. However, in grade six, most of my questions were about boys, not my career.

This fascination with the occult stayed with me throughout my teenage years and early twenties, permeating every facet of my life. Every day I would draw a tarot card, wear crystals in my bra, and douse myself in Florida spirit water. I brought tarot cards and my astrology knowledge to the parties as a little party trick for friends. The first night I met my husband, I read his tarot at a party.

I actually drew the “The Lovers” tarot card for him. “Either you will enter a new relationship or you will have a choice to make.” He laughs, amused.

Even if he didn’t believe it, our different points of view were always complementary. I help him dream, and he helps me stay grounded in reality. (He’s definitely the Taurus in our relationship.)

And, man, reality struck with my tumultuous career. As Sam grew in the tech world as a product manager, I hit a plateau as an assistant.

Friends from college were moving on, making six figures, buying houses and starting families. I was nearing my late twenties with nothing to show other than the experience of picking up laundry and answering the phone.

During this time, I was trying to level up my writing career, polishing my script, a content thriller. But when I asked my bosses to read my script, I encountered a “Oh, uh… it’s really, really busy now.” Ask in a few months. Can you catch me another La Croix?

So when someone describing themselves as a spell caster messaged me on Instagram, I knew it was a sign from the universe. “Hello. I’m a spell caster,” the post read.

I clicked on the Instagram account, immediately drawn to the profile picture of three magic candles and a five-pointed star. I noticed that the account had over 1,000 followers and each image included elaborate descriptions of various spells performed for clients. It had to be legitimate.

“I do spells. Money. Career. Notoriety. To like. I guarantee 100% results, ”they wrote.

“I would love to be a successful screenwriter,” I replied.

The caster listed the items he would need for the spell: cowries, 70 white candles, a dove.

I didn’t have a dove lying around the house, unfortunately.

Fortunately, it turned out that the caster could acquire these items on my behalf for $ 136. It’s cheap in my mind. I once paid a famous tarot reader $ 400 for a session.

But then he said, “I think I need two more items for this spell because it will be powerful.” But I can only get the items in Africa.

It bolstered my confidence knowing that the items used for the spell would be exclusive and not just expensive stuffed animals from a New Age store in Los Angeles. So I accepted and spat out another $ 100.

The next day, the caster provided some rules.

2. Do not hire another caster.

3. Do not tell anyone about the spell.

“Follow these rules and my spirits won’t hurt you. If you disobey my spirits can kill you within 48 hours, ”he warned.

I’m scared but too embarrassed to tell anyone about this situation. Only mad people consult spellcasters, right?

He called the next day to ask for more money, “You have a lot of dark energy and I need to do another spell ASAP. I’ll need $ 200.

Then he kept calling. Again and again. I continued to decline. Again and again. All the while, I was at work, calling my boss as a producer. She was yelling at me to confirm a lunch reservation, but I couldn’t help but look at my phone, worried about my life.

By the time I got home he was calling from a Nigerian number +234. I blocked him.

Then he warned by text: “I hope you know what you are doing. It’s very dangerous. If you care about your life, you will end the spell.

I cried, not knowing what to do. I was pretty sure it was a scam, but what if it wasn’t? And that’s when I realized I had to confess to Sam, my atheist husband.

“Baby, I don’t want you to get mad… I think I fell into the trap of a Nigerian spell caster.”

At first he didn’t blink. Then Sam asked, “Wait, are you serious? “

I expected him to be angry, upset or confused, but he was understanding. No rolling of the eyes. No “What New Age magic stuff have you spent money on now?” Instead, he gave me a hug.

He knew how much I wanted to be successful and how desperate I had become. I had become so frustrated with the lack of growth in my professional life that I truly believed the caster’s DM was a gift from the universe.

We changed my phone number, my instagram and everything that could be searched online.

My husband said, “A: You won’t die. And B: You don’t need spells to be successful. Just do the job. And that’s what I did. I got back to work, fine-tuning my script, writing daily, and contacting professional relations so that my material could be read by the right people.

I needed to contact professional mentors, not spellcasters. And two years after the spell caster incident, I got the career break I was waiting for, becoming a real crime writer for an online post and podcast.

Today, I describe myself as an agnostic pessimist.

Looking back, I think those tarot card readers, life coaches, and psychics I hired all told me what I desperately wanted to hear. People in healthy relationships don’t usually ask a psychic about their dating life. Career-satisfied people don’t look for answers from a tarot reader.

I still light magic candles and read tarot from time to time, but I no longer rely on the occult to achieve my professional goals. Turns out I’ve always been my own tarot card, my own crystal, my own spell. The gateway to my success has always been with me.

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