Skip to main content

The Wild Woman


Dear Reader,

The Wild Woman has been on my mind for some time now.

My husband and I had a discussion this past weekend about the premise of the book Women Who Run With The Wolves by Clarissa Pinkola Estés. I'd been fervently devouring its pages when I recently realised this book shares a similar theme with a manuscript I've working on for the past couple of years. When I tried to explain to him the need for women, the need for me, to be wild and free, he asked, 'But what is it that women want to be freed from? What does it mean to be wild?'

I've married a good man. Unlike those who came before him, he's never tried to tame the wild feminine out of me. Not only does this unique man embrace every aspect of my wildness, he encourages it. I've never met a person who "gets" me like he does. Men like him are few and far between and I can say this with a fair amount of certainty, because experience. I know what every male representative of the entire zodiac looks like (this could be an entire post all on its own). The wildish nature of a young free spirited woman is enticing. But it's a challenge to tame a wild horse, isn't it? It takes a strong man to love her and to leave her wild.

And so it made perfect sense to me that my husband couldn't imagine that there are woman amoung us, women who fit no profile in particular, who've lost their wild sides due to over-domestication, on leashes pulled too tight to breathe. Today more than ever thanks to technology we hear the stories they share, they blog and vlog and they've made us aware. So, what exactly breaks the spirit of a woman? Consider physical or emotional abuse by a spouse; the shackles of motherhood when there's no support group; the inequality and double standards within the employment sector; the dangers of living and traveling alone; the hurt when soul-sisters allow a friendship to decay like a garden left unattended.

Ultimately, I can really only speak for myself. For me to be wild and free means to be safe wherever I choose to go; to live a life driven by unabated and uncensored passion; and to fight for what is right. And when I speak, please listen. When I give, take. When I want to go, let me leave. And when I come back, love me unconditionally.

My interpretation of the Wild Woman has nothing to do with trying to be like a man. It's not about sexual promiscuity without compromising one's reputation. It's not about relieving yourself in a bush when there's no loo nearby. And it is not about feminism. I'm not a feminist. I am wild, and now that I have a Wild Child of my own I will protect her wildness with the ferocity of the Wild Mother that I am because I know. I know.

I leave you with this quote from Women Who Run With The Wolves:

"So, whether you are an introvert or extrovert, a woman-loving woman, a man-loving woman, or a God-loving woman, or all of the above: Whether you are possessed of a simple heart or the ambitions of an Amazon. Whether you are trying to make it to the top or just make it through tomorrow, whether you be spicy or somber, regal or roughshod - the Wild Woman belongs to you. She belongs to all women."

Don't let them tame you.

Till next time.

Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Short Story Monday - The Day The Applebaum's Met

The Day The Applebaum's Met Being part of a family which consists of an inventor for a father, an artist for a mother, and five siblings which differ from each other on every imaginable level might sound delightful. I can assure you, being in the company of this particular group of Applebaums is everything but a delight. We try our very best to avoid gatherings. We keep it simple: a one-on-one meeting is a lot less volatile. There’s not much potential to get into a heated argument with just one of us. And if the pawpaw hits the fan the possibility to outrun only one was far greater. The odds would be favourable in such an instance. And we have all run away from each other at some point or another. I must admit, when I see other families getting on like a house on fire I am envious. And when I say like a house on fire I mean it in a good way, not in the Applebaum way, like the day we attended our grandmother’s funeral. It was Francis who had started it. Even though she is the ...
Read more

Confessions: I Often Disappear

The hours of my days and the days of my life belong to a tiny individual with a big presence. Some days are tougher than others. There is no me, only her. I disappear. On other days I receive rejection letters from literary agents as well. During those tough ones it feels like even the memory of me too will fade and no one will remember that I'd ever lived. On those days I have to actively seek out the happy.  So here goes. My happy is in the sound of notes resonating from the strings of my husband's guitar. It's in the sweet scent of fresh blooms and in the taste of a slice of cake for breakfast. It's in the blue of the ozone, the fragile guardian of our planet. It's in the golden glare of the setting sun over the mountain. It's in a cool breeze carrying the smell of the sea through my open window. It's the latest New Girl episode. It's  Bad Lipreading . The adoration for me in my husband's eyes. My daughter's giggle and the way h...
Post a Comment
Read more