Weaving Your Worth

When you realise you’re not a servant, but a queen in the making.

There are moments in life when you suddenly understand that the role you’ve been playing for years no longer fits the person you’re becoming. Sometimes this realisation arrives quietly, slipping in through exhaustion or disappointment. Sometimes it comes in the guise of something small and seemingly insignificant: a gesture, a sentence, a number on a piece of paper. For me, it was the announcement of a modest pay rise in the place where I had spent years giving more than anyone asked for. It wasn’t the amount itself that struck me. It was the clarity that washed over me in that moment: the realisation that my loyalty was keeping me in a role I had long outgrown.

I had served the 'Kingdom of Knowledge‘ with everything I had. I organised, supported, solved problems before they arrived, and held together the invisible web that made everything run smoothly. Clients trusted me, colleagues relied on me, and I carried a silent pride in knowing that I made the system work in ways most people never even saw. But beneath that pride lived an older truth… one tied to childhood roles of being the helpful one, the quiet achiever, the person who created stability for others while rarely receiving it in return.

When the raise came, small and symbolic, something shifted. I saw how easily a system can reward devotion with a gesture instead of change. And instead of feeling valued, I felt something inside me go still. It wasn’t bitterness; it was recognition. Recognition that I had been pouring myself into a story that wasn’t mine.

That night, exhausted, I dreamt of a spider; a creature that has followed me through my life as a symbol, a shadow, and a guide. In the dream, the spider spoke with a calm confidence that felt older than language. It told me that I wasn’t meant to serve forever, that I had mistaken endurance for belonging, and that my real power lay not in performing but in weaving. Weaving meaning, weaving boundaries, weaving a self that didn’t depend on the approval of those in higher towers.

The spider showed me how every 'no' to overgiving could become a 'yes' to myself. How every thread I wove with intention would form the structure of an inner kingdom; a place I could return to, rebuild from, and one day step outward as the person I was always meant to be. The dream didn’t give me a map, only a beginning: start inside. Strengthen the web beneath your feet. Everything else will follow.

The next morning, nothing in my external world had changed. The desk was the same; the people were the same; the expectations were the same. But something in me had settled. I wasn’t suddenly free, and I wasn’t suddenly fearless. What changed was the direction of my energy. Instead of giving everything away, I had begun gathering myself back. Instead of striving to prove value, I had started recognising it.

Transformation rarely begins with grand gestures. It begins in the quiet decision to stop shrinking. It begins with one boundary, one refusal, one thread. And often, it begins long before anyone else can see it.

I’m sharing this story because many of us live in roles we didn’t choose but adapted to long ago: the strong one, the helper, the dependable one, the person who keeps things together. We play these roles because they kept us safe once. But they can also keep us small. Recognising that you’ve outgrown them is not a failure. It’s a beginning.

Maybe you’re still in your own old kingdom. Maybe you’ve already heard the whisper that something in you is ready for more. Maybe you’re secretly weaving your exit one thread at a time, building a life that makes room for your sovereignty, your magic, your voice.

Wherever you are, remember this: your worth is not earned through service. Your value does not depend on endurance. You are not here to be endlessly useful. You are here to become whole.

And sometimes it only takes a tiny spider in a dream to remind you of that.

Why I’m Telling You This

It's because if you're reading this, there's a good chance you're familiar with the servant role. Perhaps you were taught to be good, to be useful, to hold everything together, to keep the peace and to pick up the pieces when others drop them.

Perhaps you’re reaching the point at which your soul starts tugging at the web. Not to break it, but to reweave it.

This is at the heart of shadow work, witchcraft and the archetypal journey that I teach: not running away from your story, but reclaiming it, one thread at a time.