We’ve all heard the childhood screech from the backseat of the car or the living room floor: “Mom, he’s COPYING me!”
If you have kids, you know the drill. Whether it’s a younger sibling wearing the exact same outfit, a teammate adopting their pre-game handshake, or a friend picking up their specific slang, kids view imitation as a direct violation of their personal identity. To them, it feels like creative theft.
When my kids were going through those phases, my response was always the same: “Who cares? Let them copy you.”
Back then, it was just a mother’s attempt to keep the peace and teach a quick lesson in maturity. But lately, I’ve been thinking about how many adults never actually grow out of that reaction. We just hide it behind quieter, slicker forms of resentment.
If you know me, you know I have my rituals. I’m spiritual, I love Jesus, I follow the moon, and I keep my home’s energy flowing with a little Feng shui. On the first of every month, I blow cinnamon through my front door for luck and abundance. Before my kids walk onto a field or step onto a stage, I cross them with holy oil. I write my intentions, I burn what no longer serves me, I keep my protective stones nearby, and I take life with a healthy grain of salt.
These aren’t gimmicks to me; they’re how I stay anchored. I share them freely because they bring peace and light to my life, and if they can do that for someone else—amazing.
Recently, a reader reached out to point something out to me. An acquaintance of mine had suddenly started adopting those exact same rituals—posting about them, making them a core part of her online personality, and sharing them as her own.
The reader asked me: “Doesn’t it bother you? Don’t you think she’s copying you?”
My honest, immediate reaction? Not even a little bit.
We live in a culture obsessed with originality, ownership, and gatekeeping. We’re taught to protect our ideas, guard our style, and get bent out of shape the second someone else steps into “our” lane.
But when we view imitation through the lens of scarcity, we miss the bigger picture.
If I share a ritual that brings abundance, and someone else tries it and feels grounded by it—why would I hold onto that with tight, angry fists? That isn’t theft; that’s impact. That’s passing the torch. I’m not losing anything because someone else gained something.
Imitation gets such a bad rap, but at its core, it’s just evidence that your energy, your ideas, or your rhythm resonated so deeply with another human being that they wanted a piece of it for themselves. It means you influenced them. We follow people on social media, read books, watch shows, and observe other people’s lives for a reason: to broaden our horizons, to be inspired, to try something different and see if we find the same peace.
When we stop viewing life as a competition to be original, amazing things happen. We move forward. We learn something new.
It’s not a crime to emulate something that resonates with you; it’s a compliment. It means you’re living in a way that inspires people. Just because someone else starts blowing cinnamon in their doorway, it doesn’t take the luck away from mine. You have the power to make an impact—and it’s entirely up to you to make sure that impact is positive.
Light spreads; it doesn’t dilute.
Take pride in knowing you’ve inspired others to embrace new rituals, new styles, or a fresh outlook. Because at the end of the day, no one can actually copy you. No one knows what goes on inside your brain, and only you know the history, the soul, and the exact intent behind what you do. Your magic is uniquely yours.
The next time you catch yourself—or your kids—getting defensive because someone is stepping into your footprint, take a deep breath and flip the script. Congratulate yourself for being a source of inspiration.
Don’t close the door. Open it… with a palm full of cinnamon.
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