When Women Were Witches
The lost art of womantry, the siren’s discipline, and the black cat that never begged to be seen.
Long before women were popping p*ssy for $40 and a wet backside...
Long before “feminine energy” was reduced to a trending sound and a swipeable aesthetic...
Women were witches.
We weren’t asking to be chosen.
We were the choice, and the consequence.
We didn’t seduce for sport.
We seduced for sovereignty.
We used scent like strategy. Silence like steel. Stillness like bait.
Because before woman became a costume to wear, she was a current to be reckoned with.
Now?
Now we’ve got women trying to rule like queens while acting like uncouth toddlers.
Loud.
Unregulated.
Quick to blame.
Slow to reflect.
“Why can’t I be who I’m called to be?” Because you’re still leaking. Still projecting.
Still outsourcing your validation to the same men you claim to despise.
The same men you’re trying to mimic…
While birthing sons into the same madness you haven’t healed.
Even after fixing my algorithm for the 20th time...
Here comes another woman with a loose cat and a long opinion about what it means to be feminine.
Claiming she’s “just being a girl”...
But demanding to be treated like a goddess.
Ma’am.
You cannot weaponize your brokenness into a throne.
You cannot perform womantry while ignoring the actual discipline of being a woman.
Let’s get honest.
Most women don’t want to be women.
They want to be entertained.
Adored.
Emotionally babysat.
They say they want a king.
But what they really want is someone to regulate them, validate them, and mirror back a version of power they haven’t earned.
“I need a man who can serve me as his queen.”
No.
You want a man who can carry your chaos and call it love.
But witches?
Witches didn’t need kings to serve them.
They used kings for land.
For legacy.
For leverage.
And the wisest queens?
They weren’t just wives.
They were sirens..
Shadow-dancers.
They were the ones who knew how to pull the strings without being seen pulling them.
The truth is, a lot of women are cosplaying victimhood because it gives them something to post.
“My mama needed a man to survive. So did my grandma.”
Sure.
But not the way you’re weaponizing it.
Grandma didn’t stay because she was stupid, she stayed because she was strategic.
She knew how to keep the land and the ledger while grandpa was chasing his second family down the street.
And let’s not act like she didn’t have her own “friend” whose has the same eyes as your favorite auntie/uncle that didn’t quite match the rest of the bunch.
This “we come from a long line of victims” storyline?
It’s tired.
We come from women who endured, yes …. but also women who orchestrated.
Women who bent energy, flipped rooms, rearranged lives without raising their voices.
Women who knew that power wasn’t something you post.
It’s something you pulse.
But that art? That craft?
It’s been lost.
Now we’ve got women asking for what they haven’t become.
Women confusing being seen with being respected.
Confusing attention with intimacy.
Confusing noise with nuance.
They want the throne but not the initiation.
They want to be the storm, but can’t handle silence.
They want the soft life but don’t know how to hold peace without sabotaging it.
Witches didn’t do that.
Witches studied.
They studied scent, tone, rhythm, breath.
They studied the way a man shifts in his seat when he’s intrigued.
The way power pools in a room when a woman knows she doesn’t need to speak.
They didn’t seduce to get something.
They seduced because seduction was a sacred art, not just of attraction, but of arrangement.
And the seductress?
The siren?
The lady in red?
She wasn’t loud. She was prepared.
She could fold her desires into a glance.
She could shift the trajectory of a night with a pause.
She didn’t need to chase.
She knew how to choose.
We don’t need more content about feminine energy.
We need a remembering of womantry.
The lost art of being devastatingly, disarmingly, untouchably woman.
Not girl.
Not goddess as brand.
Not divine feminine as moodboard.
But woman.
The kind that moves like smoke and strikes like silence.
The kind that can command a room without raising a brow.
The kind that doesn’t need to compete, because her presence is the game.
So if you’re tired… not just physically, but spiritually…
Tired of pretending that power is performance...
Tired of watching women sell their bodies, their voices, their dignity…
just to feel seen for five seconds…
Come back.
Come back to the black cat that never meowed.
To the siren who didn’t scream.
To the witch who didn’t post.
Come back to the woman who could hold energy like water and shape it like fire.
Come back to the discipline of seduction.
To the poise beneath the power.
To the pulse beneath the pretty.
Come back to you.
Not the girl you learned to perform.
The woman you were before the world told you she was dangerous.