The Outcast Table: Finding Belonging in Spiritual Community

When I think about belonging, my mind drifts back to high school.

I went to Catholic school from kindergarten through eighth grade with the same thirty kids, every year, every class. By the time I reached high school, I was beyond ready for something new. I switched to a different and much larger Catholic school, full of possibilities. I remember feeling so excited to finally find my people, to build a friend group where I truly belonged.

In those first weeks, I was what you might call a joiner. I threw myself into activities, smiled widely, and tried to fit in. I was friendly and upbeat, even though that extroverted energy didn’t come naturally to me. And while I did make friends, it didn’t take long to realize that something was missing. The connections felt surface-level, and I couldn’t quite see myself reflected in any of them.

So I began to pull back.

That’s when I noticed them...the punk and alternative kids. They were the ones with band patches, messy hair, thrift-store clothes, and eyes that said we see you. There was something magnetic about their energy. It didn’t take long before I found myself sitting at their table, the so-called “outcast table” in the cafeteria. For the first time in my life, I felt a sense of belonging.

The Outcast Table: Then and Now

Looking back, I realize this story is so common for many of us who came of age in the 90s and early 2000s. The alternative scenes—punk, emo, goth, indie—became sanctuaries for those of us who didn’t fit neatly into the mainstream.

We were the misfits, the dreamers, the neurodivergent kids, the sensitive ones who felt too much. And even within that subculture, there were layers of pain and hierarchy, but it was still a space where difference was the glue that held us together.

Now, decades later, I can’t help but notice the parallel. As a Millennial woman in my 40s, divorced, spiritually awakening, and no longer interested in shallow or performative friendships, I’ve found myself drawn once again to the “outcast table.”

Only this time, it looks a little different.

The New Outcast Table

For me, that table is my spiritual community.

After years of trying to fit in with the “adult” tables—PTA moms, work circles, old friends from college—I found myself craving something more real. I didn’t want small talk. I wanted soul talk.

That longing led me, somewhat unexpectedly, to a Facebook event: a Winter Solstice Sound Healing hosted by a woman named Anu. The event aligned with the seasonal and pagan rhythms that had always called to me, and honestly, I just needed to get myself out there.

That night was transformational. The atmosphere was warm and welcoming, and for the first time in years, I felt comfortable being me. It was the spark that reignited my search for authentic community. I stayed connected with Anu, joined more gatherings, and eventually became an apprentice for The Cauldron, a spiritual collective exploring shadow work, ritual, and transformation.

From that space, I discovered what spiritual community truly means:✨ A divine container where people walk beside you through every shade of your becoming✨ A place where clarity, self-inquiry, and joy coexist✨ A friendship rooted in compassion, laughter, song, and reverence, not comparison or performance

A Different Kind of Belonging

Today, my life is full of friendships and gatherings that aren’t centered around alcohol, but around connection. We dance, we sing, we cry, we celebrate. We hold each other through grief, shadow work, and the wild beauty of becoming.

It reminds me of that same feeling I had at the outcast table, only now it’s deeper, cleaner, truer. This time, belonging isn’t about rebelling against the system. It’s about coming home to myself.

Maybe the Outcasts Were Right All Along

So maybe this is the question for our generation:

Are the outcasts of the 90s and 2000s, the ones who never quite fit in, now finding their way back to belonging through spiritual awakening?

Maybe the spiritual community is the new outcast table, the one where we finally get to be fully seen, held, and loved exactly as we are.

And if you’ve been longing for connection, for purpose, for a space that feels safe and alive, maybe it’s time to pull up a chair.

An Invitation from My Mentor, Anu

If you’ve been feeling that same ache, the longing to be held in your full humanity, the need for a place where you can unravel safely, I want to share an offering from my mentor and dear friend, Anu, the founder of The Cauldron.

This is where I found the kind of community I once searched for at that outcast table—the one that welcomes you in exactly as you are.

At the Crossroads

(by Anu — The Cauldron)

Beloved, are you longing for a place to fall apart? To be held in your messiness, your grief, your unraveling?

🖤We all need spaces where we can be held. Where it is safe to break down? Where we don’t have to have it all together. Where it is safe to show up messy and imperfect and still belong.

Especially right now, when the weight and sorrows of the world feel too crushing, when grief and fear feel too big to carry, we need spaces where we can safely fall apart and lay it all down.

The pumpkins are out. The candles are lit. The stack of Hekate books is high. The Season of the Witch has officially begun.

And I’m inviting you to join me for yours, At the Crossroads.

Imagine: You, me, Hekate, the Crossroads, and a community of fellow grieving witches in the woods.

It’s going to be magical.

Join me for your most meaningful and mystical Season of the Witch with the Queen of Witches herself, Hekate.

✨ Step into ritual✨ Sit in sacred circle✨ Grieve, release, and remember who you are, together

You don’t have to carry it alone anymore.

👉 Learn more and join us at The Crossroads:

Click Me

My Role at The Crossroads

This season, I have the great honor of serving as a torchbearer and steward within At the Crossroads. I’ll be helping to tend the energetic container, holding space for participants as they move through their own gates of grief, shadow, and rebirth.

My role is to walk beside you, to witness you, and to help weave together the threads of safety, compassion, and transformation within our circle. I’ll be co-facilitating grounding practices and helping hold the light while we navigate the sacred shadows together.

This work feels especially close to my heart right now.

Just this last week, I learned that my uncle passed away. My mother called me, heartbroken. She was crying, and I cried with her. We held each other through the phone line, through the ache of loss. When she apologized for calling during the workday, I told her there was no need to apologize.

Because this is what grieving is meant to be.

Grieving is not something we’re meant to do in isolation. It’s something we do together. It’s meant to be witnessed, to be felt, to be held, so it can move, transform, and eventually become light again.

That conversation with my mom reminded me exactly why I’m doing this work, and what At the Crossroads is truly about. It’s not just a gathering, it’s a reclamation of how we grieve, heal, and hold one another through change.

Reflection Prompts

• When in your life did you first experience true belonging

• How have your definitions of friendship and community evolved over time

• Where do you feel safe enough to fall apart and still be loved

• What would it mean to seek a connection that nourishes your spirit instead of draining it

• Who can you reach out to today to hold space for, or to be held by, in your own season of grief or transformation

  
  

Coming Home to the Table

In many ways, this work feels like coming full circle.

The outcast table I sat at in high school was where I first learned that belonging isn’t about fitting in, it’s about being accepted exactly as you are. And now, decades later, I’ve found my seat again. Only this time, the table is a sacred circle.

It’s where we bring our grief, our laughter, our shadows, our songs. It’s where we gather to remember that healing doesn’t happen alone.

So if your heart has been calling for community, for meaning, for a place to be both broken and whole, I hope you’ll join us.

Come sit with us at the Crossroads. Come home to the table.