Recently I watched a video on Instagram posted by comedian Kyla Cobbler, joking about finally spending time with her best friend and how wonderful it felt. In her words, “it’s alchemy, it’s spells, this is how we heal, and they’re going to try to silence us.” She called women like them “modern-day witches,” adding, “the more we talk, the more we bind together.”

Since watching it, I’ve been thinking about the word witch, its origins, who might be considered one today, and where I might exist within that modern spectrum. The word carries associations with sorcery, femininity, natural magic, and hidden knowledge.

Historically, witches were healers, widows, midwives, solitary women, and observers. Witches didn't fit cleanly within social order. Women labeled as witches were a threat to men and their power. At best, they were banished; at worst, they were burned alive.

So I find myself asking whether the modern witch is powerful because she controls things, or because she is willing to change while others resist change. As someone who grew up with an extremely strict parent, I once believed control existed outside the door, something I could reach if I just escaped.

But as a forty-seven-year-old woman, I am realizing how little I can actually control. And yet, the small things that remain within my control feel like the most important.

More recently, I’ve noticed that even small changes seem threatening to most people: being intentional about what we consume through our ears, eyes, and mouths; giving back to the community; fasting regularly to initiate deep cellular repair; listening intentionally; spending time alone, outdoors, in quiet. These acts are simple and their benefits enormous, yet they are often laughed at, sometimes even met with hostility.

Simple acts like these are very likely to isolate those who live “in the real world,” as so many who resist change often say. I know they have isolated me. But I am not alone, nor do I feel lonely. Instead, I feel a stronger connection to the earth, with a keener ear to listen to what the birds, plants, trees, and bodies of water are telling us. It helps quiet the constant noise and destruction of the “real world.”

As someone who is constantly shifting, reshaping, connecting, and disconnecting, I understand that I am not defined by power, but by learning how to live attentively. And to live attentively in the real world, I suppose a woman must be a witch.