Maybe some time ago, I would not have been so confident in identifying as a wild woman. Even though, I’ve never felt like the nice compliment type of feminine, I was always very aware of what it was to not be. Having said that, I am a people pleaser. I hate confrontation. I like to stand in the background. I had to fight myself to have a voice for the things that mattered.

I’m a wild woman and I’m careful with the feelings of those around me. Just, not to the extent of sacrificing my own happiness anymore. I had to work very hard on this. I still do.

This year I am embracing many new things. Including people. I’m not a natural hugger. It’s a foreign concept to me to have people in my private space. I hold my barriers high and most of the time people respect this. I’m dabbling in hugging, but I don’t always feel like making the effort. What I failed to realise in some of my guardedness, is that what I had perceived as a opportunity for people to misplace my trust, vulnerability and openness to them it was my distance made others wary of me.

I have moved throughout the 20’s of my life with anger, jealousy, defiance, confusion and despair. I look back now and see almost a whole decade that too much likened to the train wreck of my teen years. I don’t think it was because I didn’t know who I was, but that I was afraid to be.

Finding the voice was difficult and it’s a slow bloom I’m undertaking, but those who know me best, attest to my road travel as if it was some genius transformation. I feel impacted by my awareness and the maturity that finds me in my thoughts. Perceptions change, new choices are made and I grew tired of old results.

One of the biggest changes in my life is my acceptance to know, get to know and share with other women. Women have always terrified me. I grew up in a cautious family with doubt, distain and suspicious motives. In a world where I now experience empowerment of women by other women, I have had to ease myself slowly into their warm, kind, challenging embrace.

Being a wild woman for me, is as much about harnessing the feral as trusting the unknown, trusting myself. I loop around in a state of letting things be, and overly controlling for a desired outcome. My wild self is more present, allowing creativity to flow as well as understanding. My intuitive self has more say than before and all the parts I was taught to shame, are cheekily waiting to play. Being a wild woman means telling others about my wild in the hope that….

“When women hear those words, an old, old memory is stirred and brought back to life. The memory is of our absolute, undeniable,and irrevocable kinship with the wild feminine, a relationship which may have become ghosty from neglect, buried by over domestication, outlawed by the surrounding culture, or no longer understood anymore. We may have forgotten her names, we may not answer when she calls ours, but in our bones we know her, we yearn toward her; we know she belongs to us and us to her.” -Clarissa Pinkola Estes

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