Something wicked (and wildly feminine) this way comes…
They called us witches once.
Now we call it burnout.
Same broom, different century.
October has arrived, and with it, a collective shiver of recognition from every woman who’s ever muttered “what fresh hell is this?” between school drop-offs, deadlines and the hormonal rollercoaster that is pre-menopause meets PTA season.
Welcome to The Cackle Era — where we’re done whispering, done apologising, and very much done pretending that balance exists.
A (very brief) history of women being ‘too much’
Here’s the thing: women have always been a bit too much for the world to handle.
Too clever, too funny, too loud, too emotional, too opinionated, too tired yet somehow still the ones holding the family, the community, and the carpool together.
Once upon a time, that got you tied to a stake.
Now it gets you a label: difficult, dramatic, hormonal, mumfluencer.
But behind every so-called witch was a woman who dared to question. To heal. To lead.
And honestly — if that’s witchy behaviour, fetch me my cauldron and a flat white.
The modern witch doesn’t curse — she multitasks
Today’s cauldron bubbles with coffee and chaos.
Our spells are calendar invites, our familiars are toddlers, and our broomsticks? Probably a Dyson on its last legs.
We conjure snacks from thin air, detect fevers at 50 paces, and carry the emotional blueprint of an entire family in our heads. And then we wonder why we’re exhausted.
We’re still being burnt — just slower.
Not by fire, but by expectation. By guilt. By the idea that to be “a good mother” you must sacrifice yourself entirely.
Raising ourselves while raising daughters
Here’s the plot twist no one tells you: motherhood isn’t just about raising kids — it’s about re-raising yourself.
Learning boundaries. Finding joy. Reclaiming space that the world told you wasn’t yours.
And if you’re raising daughters, the stakes feel higher.
Because every time you choose yourself — your rest, your voice, your ambition — you show her that women don’t have to shrink to be loved.
We can laugh loudly. We can say no. We can build lives that feel like ours, not a never-ending to-do list dressed in pink.
The fire’s still here — but we’re learning to dance in it
Maybe we’re not burning anymore — maybe we’re blazing.
Lighting the path for the next generation with our honesty, our humour, and our refusal to keep quiet.
We’re the generation unlearning silence.
The ones turning mum rage into power, exhaustion into solidarity, and cackles into rebellion.
We don’t need to hex anyone. We just need to keep laughing — loudly, collectively, unapologetically.
Because laughter, for women, has always been a little bit dangerous.
And that’s exactly why we should do more of it.
So here’s to us — the loud, the loving, the tired, the terrifyingly self-aware.
The witches who survived the fire,
The mums who keep showing up,
The daughters who are watching — and learning that being “too much” is exactly enough.
This is our Cackle Era.
Let it roar.
