What Does It REALLY Mean To Be A Wild Woman?
What does it mean to be a wild woman?
Wider society paints the image that when a woman is in her wildness she is feral, erratic and dangerous. A person of too much emotion and too little control.
When we take one step closer to the truth, we find a caricature of a woman howling at the moon, bedecked with crystals or bear foot in a forest with flowers in her hair wearing a boho dress.
But really…that’s surface wild, lovely, sure, but safe. Digestible. Pretty.
To be wild, truly wild, is to remember something old. Something deep in our bones.
It's the part of us that never forgot the shape of freedom, even after years of being told to sit down and be nice.
It's the part that aches when the sky bruises at dusk and the wind carries our names in a language we don’t quite know how to speak anymore, but our body remembers.
Sometimes she’s rage, pure and clean like a fire that burns away the bullsh*t.
Sometimes she’s quiet. Soft. Holding the thread of something sacred while the world spins too fast.
She lives under layers.
Under conditioning.
She waits beneath the masks. Beneath the smile we put on when our heart is breaking. Beneath the apology in our voice when we take up too much space.
She doesn’t need the forest to be wild — though she loves it.
She doesn’t need crystals or ceremonies — though she might use them, too.
Really, she just needs us.
To stop pretending.
To come home.
To remember.
How to Find Your Way Back to the Wild
You don’t need an exotic location.
You don’t need to take a sabbatical from work or someone to have your kids for the week.
You just need a crack in the surface. A breath. A yes.
Here are some doorways.
Lie on the Earth
Not sit. Not stand. Lie.
Flat on your back, belly to sky, or face-down with your cheek in the grass. Let the ground hold you. Let the thinking drop.Feel the thrum beneath the surface. Pulsing slow, ancient, steady.
This is where you remember you belong.
Sing When No One’s Listening
Not for performance. For medicine.
Hum. Moan. Wail. Let the sound rise from your bones instead of your throat. The wild woman doesn’t care about key or tune.
She cares that your truth gets voiced.
Make Something With Your Hands
Bread. A painting. A badly-shaped clay bowl.
You don’t need talent. You need texture.
Let your fingers remember the way creation feels when it’s messy, imperfect, real.
Rage Without Apology
Scream into a pillow. Throw stones into a river.
Write fury on paper and burn it. Anger is sacred when it’s clean.
Let it move through you like weather. Wild women don’t bottle storms.
Be Still Long Enough to Hear the Yes
Under all the shoulds and musts and not-enoughs,
there’s a deep knowing. A quiet yes. It might take a while to hear it.
That’s okay. Stillness is a radical act.
Find Your People
There’s this myth that to be wild is to be alone. But the truth?
The wild woman needs her tribe.
She needs mirrors who won’t flinch. Circles where masks drop and belly laughter shakes. Spaces where silence is sacred, tears are holy, and no one is trying to fix anyone.
She needs to be witnessed in her becoming. To bring her mess, her magic, her medicine—and have it received.
Because wildness isn’t about going it alone.
It’s about coming home to who we are together.
The village is calling.
Let’s meet there.
The Women’s Fire was created for this! It is a gathering for wild-hearted women to sit together, speak truth and remember who we are beneath the noise. If you’ve been craving soul-deep connection, this is your invitation to come find your tribe.
