I never tell men, and yes men especially, about being a witch.
Certainly not the “good” catholic boys I’ve always dated. The ones who love to preach about their relinquish of faith. They don’t believe in Jesus like they used, but they aren’t quite atheists. The cinnabar communion of their childhood was much easier to swallow than the hoary God of adulthood.
I’ve found men, or at least the men I’ve welcomed into my life, have trouble believing in the things they can’t see. To believe in something other than themselves would require bravery. Yet they have none and thus live their lives as cowards.
Afraid to love, afraid to let go, afraid to invest.
And certainly, cowards are afraid of witches.