I’ve always been that girl who feels things too deeply. The one who knows when someone’s lying before they finish the sentence. Who can’t explain why certain places make my skin hum or why I’ll wake up at 3 a.m. with clarity about shit I’ve been avoiding for months. My grandmother had it too—this knowing—and people called her eccentric, difficult, too much. I watched how the world treated women like us, the ones who won’t dim ourselves to make everyone comfortable. So yeah, when Jesabel sings about the woman in the woods, I feel that in my fucking soul.
Jesabel isn’t new to being misunderstood. The Jacksonville artist only started singing in front of people after becoming a mom, after losing herself completely and finding something wilder in the wreckage. She taught herself guitar. Built a whole music career from that raw place where everything’s already burned down once. That energy—survival turned into something mystical—pulses through every second of “Woman in the Woods.”
This track drops just in time for Halloween, a truer vibe of that day’s origins, and damn if it isn’t the perfect witchy pop moment. Produced by multi-platinum producer Zack Burke, it’s got this dreamy backdrop that feels like fog rolling through trees at dusk. Jesabel’s voice floats over it, grounded but ethereal, blending folk and pop with what she calls “a sprinkle of soulful patina only a life well-lived provides.”
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She recorded this while living in a storybook cottage in Sintra, Portugal—perched on a mystical mountain, surrounded by fairy forests. The music video captures that landscape, all misty woods and ancient magic. She is fully committed to the narrative, just like she was when recording in Paris for her last release.
The song opens with a declaration: The woman in the woods / Holds a candle to your soul / The woman in the woods / Writes the stories yet untold / Woman in the woods / Unravels everything you know. Right away, we’re meeting someone dangerous in the best way. Someone who sees through your bullshit. Who knows your truth before you do.
She’ll keep talking / To the animals and the trees / They’re the only ones that see / But if you listen / You’ll find secrets in-between / Her songs / Oh, the precious melodies. This is the modern mystic Jesabel’s painting—the woman who retreated because society couldn’t handle her. The outcast who found her power in solitude. While society stays obsessed with botox and algorithm illusions, she’s the one listening to something older, truer.
Then comes the destruction, the necessary burning: She’ll light a match / When it’s time to start anew / Let the heavens ache / So the path can come to you. This woman isn’t just offering wisdom. She’ll torch everything that needs to die so something real can grow. That’s the divine feminine energy we’re not supposed to talk about—the part that destroys as much as it creates.
If you look in the river / You’ll find a mirror / It’ll show you everything / You need to know. She’s offering clarity, but only if you’re brave enough to see yourself. This woman in the woods reflects what you need to see and offers no comfort for what you don’t want to face.
Jesabel describes this as “a siren song for a special breed of woman. The bringers of light and truth. Those grounded in nature. Connected to their intuition, power and divinity.” She’s calling to us—the ones who’ve been called too sensitive, too intense, too weird. The ones who know things we shouldn’t know. Who feel the moon’s pull and trust our gut over what we’re told to believe. In Practical Magic, Aunt Jet tells the women gathered in her kitchen that there’s a little witch in all of us—and Jesabel’s singing to the women who stopped hiding theirs.
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The production keeps everything suspended in that dreamlike space between worlds. Burke’s production work gives Jesabel room to breathe, to cast her spell slowly. There’s no rush. The song unfolds like a ritual.
This isn’t music for passive listening. It’s an invitation to remember who the fuck you are beneath all the noise. To find your power in the wild parts of yourself. To trust that knowing you’ve been taught to ignore.
The woman in the woods / Can you hear it?
Yeah. We hear it.
