There’s an IG creator I had secretly idolized for a while. I consumed all their content, watched all their videos across platforms, and purchased all three of their books. They weren’t a close friend; they never even knew who I was, but they were silently mentoring me through my spiritual transformation. Then they posted an opinion on something I knew was just plain wrong and slightly mean (I’m being vague here on purpose; this piece isn’t about starting internet drama), and I felt an immediate drop in my chest. Over time, I realized I had promoted them to a position they never applied for, and they’d just broken the illusion of them I had been carrying in my head.

That pit in my stomach when it happened is exactly what I want to talk about, because it wasn’t really disappointment in them. It was the realization of how easy it had become to fall in line as a disciple after years of deconstructing a patriarchal religious institution that had trapped me once before, and that I needed to start deciding what’s right for me rather than offloading that to an internet stranger.

The carousel I created yesterday poses the thought that idolization is the opposite of love because love is free and moves toward what’s actually in front of you. Idolization is automatic and directed at a person who isn’t free to exist or who could’ve never existed in the first place. And the carousel I shared didn’t fully address the deeper part of the issue that caused that pit in my stomach: why I built them up in the first place.

I think many of us carry this fantasy, probably born of imperfect childhoods and the mass-media monster that never reflects reality, that someone will eventually show up in our lives and be the grown-up who finally has all the answers. The one who’s sure about everything, so we don’t have to be. I’m not sure we ever really outgrow that wish; we just unknowingly transfer it onto the many people who come into our lives: teachers, partners, bosses at work, the witch on IG with the perfect aesthetic and good hair. The guru economy we all love to hate is entirely sustained by this desire. They aren’t actually selling knowledge; they’re selling the feeling of someone else being certain for you, whether through a $33.33 PDF or a $111.11 membership tier.

There are countless red flags to look for when assessing whether a spiritual teacher is in it for the right reasons. Here are just a few:

However, the larger failure here is a more personal one. It’s the belief that we need to look to these people at all. At the end of the day, all we need is a basic footing, a framework for a practice, and a tiny bit of context to build on—and most of us probably already have that. The trouble starts when we go looking for these things and then accidentally pick up a god (or someone with that exact complex).

To make something else clear, I’m also not saying that all people who charge for spiritual services are bad. I’m not blind to the reality that living in a capitalist society means we all need money to some extent for survival. And because I will eventually be opening up for support and donations one day, I don’t want someone to dig up this post later and say, “Well, why are you charging for stuff when you said it should be free?” If you’ve followed me for any length of time, you know how much I struggle with this. So I’ll say this plainly: My immediate goal will be for the work to pay for itself. That includes the hosting, the books, and the eventual return of my donation project, The Exchange. None of this is free, and it’s silly for me to pretend that it is. We all have our expensive hobbies, and this one is currently mine. I’m just asking you to use a little bit more discernment before opening your minds, your hearts, and especially your wallets.

The image of The Alchemist Papers I will never endorse is the one where I act as the all-knowing witch or guru, assuming certainty for you or becoming the authority you rely on before trusting your own instincts. I don’t want followers who depend on me for certainty, because I’m not always sure. I’m on this journey together with you—learning, sharing, and growing as we all progress. I will always prefer to pass the authority back to you and hope that my work empowers you to go out, question, and learn more. Most books that have inspired my own journey emphasize that you don’t need credentials or a priest—just trust in yourself. Even for major life and medical choices, I never rely on the first doctor; I always seek a second (and sometimes third) opinion. The same applies to my spiritual practice.

So the next time you’re listening to your favorite creator, and they post or say something that gives you a pit in your stomach, don’t get angry at them. They’re just as human as we all are. Ask yourself what you needed them to be sure about so you didn’t have to be. Then go get a little bit more sure about that thing yourself.

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