Witchcraft: What Really Happened in Salem and Are We Doing it Again Today? | Emily Paulsen & Rachel Christ-Doane
When I spoke with Rachel Christ-Doane from the Salem Witch Museum, I expected history. What I didn’t expect was recognition. The story of the Salem Witch Trials has always seemed like something distant, Puritan villages, superstition, a world so unlike our own, but as Rachel described what life looked like in 1690s Massachusetts, I kept thinking, this feels familiar.
A community unraveling. People anxious about change, about loss, about what felt like the end of certainty. The fear didn’t appear all at once; it built slowly, through rumors, through hardship, through the sense that something invisible was threatening their way of life. And when the fear became too heavy to hold, it turned into blame. It found targets in those who spoke too freely, lived differently, or refused to conform.
It’s easy to imagine we would have behaved differently, that we’d be among the few standing up for truth and reason. But as Rachel spoke, I thought about how fear still moves through us today, just quieter, dressed in modern clothes. The details have changed, but the instinct remains: when we feel uncertain, we look for control. And when control feels out of reach, we often look for someone to hold responsible.
When the Familiar Becomes Dangerous
Rachel painted a vivid picture of Salem in crisis. The legal system was collapsing, smallpox was spreading, the colony’s charter had been revoked, and everyone was unsure who held authority anymore. That kind of instability doesn’t just create fear, it feeds it. The trials began as whispers, suspicions, glances exchanged in church pews. But soon, nearly anyone could be accused.
Listening to her describe it, I could feel how easily a rumor becomes a weapon. Ordinary men and women, neighbors, relatives, respected townspeople, became both the accusers and the accused. The line between safety and danger kept shifting until no one could tell which side they were on. And maybe that’s what fear does best: it convinces us that survival depends on choosing a side, even when both sides are wrong.
What stood out most wasn’t the superstition or the religious extremism, but the emotional logic underneath it. These were people trying to make sense of a world that no longer felt predictable. They thought they were protecting themselves, their families, their faith. But protection built on fear eventually turns inward.
The Human Thread
One of the parts of our conversation that lingered with me was the story of remorse. Some of the same people who had condemned their neighbors later admitted they were wrong. A few jurors, even a judge, said they’d been swept up in panic. Rachel explained that these confessions came only a few years after the trials ended. That proximity mattered. It showed how thin the distance can be between participating in harm and recognizing it.
I found that detail unexpectedly hopeful. It reminded me that awareness is not limited to the untouched or the uninvolved. It can emerge right in the middle of regret, confusion, or guilt. The Salem story holds its horror, but it also holds the possibility of reckoning, a reminder that reflection, even delayed, can still shift something.
And maybe that’s the thread that connects every generation. We hurt each other in new ways, then learn, sometimes too late, how human those choices were. The lesson isn’t just in who was accused or who survived; it’s in who finally stopped to see.
The Role of Curiosity
Curiosity came up throughout our conversation. It’s what Rachel teaches through her work at the museum, how curiosity can interrupt the reflex to judge. Curiosity doesn’t cancel fear, but it stretches it just enough to let in perspective. It’s the moment before reaction, the breath before certainty.
I keep thinking about how that applies beyond history. When we encounter something unfamiliar, how quickly do we reach for labels? How often do we tell ourselves a story before asking a question? Curiosity doesn’t ask us to excuse what’s wrong; it asks us to look longer before deciding what that even means.
This is what I love most about these conversations, they invite me to notice my own reactions. To ask where fear still lives quietly in my body. To wonder how I might choose curiosity instead, even when it feels inconvenient.
Curious About How Fear Shapes Our Stories? Start Here.
If this episode stirred something in you, here are a few ways to explore the theme with more awareness and intention:
Trace the pattern. Think of a time when fear led to division, whether in history, media, or your own life. What emotions were driving it?
Listen for language. When people are described as “troublemakers” or “outsiders,” what’s really being said?
Practice the pause. The next time you feel judgment rise, take a beat. What does that feeling want to protect?
Study a parallel. Read about another moment in history where fear shaped collective behavior. Notice what changed, and what didn’t.
Stay with the complexity. Fear and compassion can exist together. Let both inform how you see a story, or a person, or yourself.
Let’s Stay Curious Together
Talking with Rachel reminded me that learning history isn’t just about the past. It’s a way of holding up a mirror. The Salem Witch Trials may be centuries old, but the emotions behind them, fear, suspicion, shame, the need to belong, are still ours to understand.
You can listen to the full episode of Curious Life of a Childfree Woman wherever you get your podcasts.
I’d love to know what this brings up for you. Share your reflections with me on Instagram @curiouslifeofachildfreewoman.
Let’s stay curious together.
