My Tribe

”Within every women there is a wild and natural creature, a powerful force filled with good instincts, passionate creativity and ageless knowing. Her name is wild woman, but she is an endangered species”.

 

The above quote is from my favorite book, Wild Women, by Clarissa Pinkola Estes. Estes is a Jungian psychologist, who teaches women to reclaim their natural instincts: their inner knowing of what is good for one’s soul and what isn’t. She urges women to dig deep into their true nature, and throw off cultures ideal of the perfect feminine. Her work urges women to stop accepting anything that waters down and dilutes feminine power.  Despite the progress of the women’s movement, culture still sends potent messages to women propagating a false feminine. Over emphasis on outer beauty, without the proper value, or true seeing of the inner wildish nature of the female archetype, confines women in a too small box.  My mother instructed me in the ways of the tame and proper over cultured woman.  “Beauty”, she said, “is uncomfortable”, with a firm voice that warned me to keep the poky rollers in my hair until my head could be transformed into a mass of ringlets.   As a small child I complained about the itchy lace on my sleeves and my fancy little girl underwear. My hair was de-snarled and curled each Saturday in spiky rollers that poked my scalp.  The next day, I put on shoes that hurt my feet along with a frothy pink dress.   I dutifully made my appearance at church and received compliments for being a cute little lady. During the hymn singing and preachers droning, I restlessly dreamed of returning to a place where I could throw off these uncomfortable girlish frills. My bottom itched, my sleeves scratched and my glorious hard won curls wilted. Finally it was over and upon returning home, I immediately threw off the tormenting pink, lacy dress. I went out to the pasture behind the house and rode my horse bareback through the trees, accumulating dirt, snarls and coated my legs with horse sweat. It felt amazing! I grew into a teenager who irritated her mother with long, wild hair and worn, comfy jeans. Somehow, inside I knew that it was much better to please myself than be a pretty, pretty, please pick me girl.

 I have been lucky enough to know a few wild women. They are inspirational to me and just plain fun to hang with. Women with a wild soul know what they want and they know what they don’t want.  They howl in unladylike fashion until they find their own tribe. They proceed by putting one foot in front of the other in the direction that they know they must go it. They know when to shake off an unwanted, smothering edicts from culture and be true to the feminine wild.