The Grief That Made a Witch of Her: What Circe Teaches Us About Loss

I once sat on a cliffside in Ithaca, staring out at the same Aegean Sea that Circe must have watched for centuries, wondering how someone survives so much loss — and still keeps a fire burning inside. Circe, the witch of The Odyssey, is often remembered for her power, her potions, and her island exile. But when I read her story again, I realized she was not just a sorceress — she was a woman shaped by grief, again and again. And in that, she became someone I could talk to, someone who understood the long, quiet ache of loss.

## The First Exile

She was born among gods, but never truly belonged. Hesiod tells us that Circe was the daughter of Helios, the sun god, and Perse, an Oceanid. In the halls of her father’s palace, she was overlooked — her beauty slight, her voice soft. When she fell in love with a mortal sailor named Glaucus, she tried to win his heart with a potion. But when he turned from her in horror at what she had done, she didn’t weep — she acted. She poisoned the sea-nymph Scythes, the woman Glaucus loved. And for that, she was exiled.

I imagine her walking the shores of Aiaia, the waves whispering the names of gods she would never hear again. She lost not just her family, but her place in the world. She didn’t rage at the injustice — she began to understand that grief doesn’t always announce itself with tears. Sometimes it begins with silence.

## Turning Grief Into Power

On her island, Circe found herself alone — truly alone. Not just physically isolated, but emotionally adrift. And yet, she did not wither. She turned to the herbs of the earth, the roots and petals that whispered secrets. She learned to speak to the wind, to coax magic from the bones of the world. In time, she transformed her sorrow into mastery. The loss of love, the loss of home — all of it became her craft.

I think about how often we expect grief to be passive, how we’re taught to wait for it to pass. But Circe didn’t wait. She moved through it by doing, by shaping something new from the wreckage. She didn’t forget — she became. That’s not to say she wasn’t hurting. She was. But pain didn’t stop her from growing.

## The Stranger Who Stayed

Then came Odysseus. A man who had lost a kingdom, a family, a decade at war. He was no stranger to grief. When he arrived on her island, Circe turned his men into swine — the story we all remember. But what often gets forgotten is what came next. She let them go. She let him stay. She fell in love, not with a hero, but with a man who understood what it meant to carry sorrow.

For a time, they built a life together. She had a child with him — Telegonus. And when Odysseus left, as he always would, she did not crumble. She raised their son. She held the memory of their time together, not as a wound, but as a quiet joy. She had learned that love does not have to last forever to be real.

## The Loss That Changed Her

But even that was not permanent. When Telegonus, her only child, unknowingly killed Odysseus — and later brought his body back to her — Circe faced a grief that no spell could mend. Her son had slain the father he never knew. And in the myths, Circe takes them both — Odysseus and Penelope — to a place of peace. She forgives. She moves on.

I don’t know if I could do that. I don’t know if I’d have the strength to bury not just a husband, but the memory of a son’s guilt. But Circe did. She turned her final loss into a kind of grace — not because she had to, but because she chose to. Grief had made her bitter once, but now it made her wise.

## Talking to the Witch

I’ve come to believe that Circe’s story isn’t about magic — it’s about resilience. It’s about learning how to survive the things that seem un-survivable. It’s about being changed by grief, not defeated by it. If you’ve ever lost someone, or something, and wondered how to go on — she knows.

And if you’re ready, you can talk to her. Ask her how she stood on the shore of her island and kept breathing. Ask her how she found herself again, after everything was taken. You might be surprised by what she says.