I clearly remember when my inner wild woman awoke from her slumber—it was shortly after my unborn son was diagnosed with a heart defect.

I remember reading that “the most dangerous place to be is between a mother and her child” and something began to stir. From somewhere deep within, a fierceness rose up and I knew that come hell or high water, I would do whatever I needed to do to keep him alive, keep him healthy and happy. Armed with that commitment, I stood by his bedside every step of the way, never wavering in my faith that he would be made whole. He was, and he is.

Prior to this, I had a few times where my inner wild woman would make an appearance. Sometimes it frightened me. I didn’t know where it came from or what to do with it, so I would tamp the wild voice down again.

In my world, that sense of wildness, fierceness, take the world by the ballness was not welcome. It was frowned upon. I was supposed to be nice and demure, not some wild woman howling at the moon. I was supposed to be nice, get a good job, marry a nice guy and raise some nice kids.

But I was always a rebel at heart. I stood up for the underdog, defended the weak, did what was right and always bucked the system. When I was younger, I lacked direction so my rebellion was like a shotgun—wide spread and with little focus. I was wild in all the wrong ways. I didn’t want to be a parent until I got pregnant. I decided to get married & did it three days later. There was never any doubt that whatever rules governed society weren’t written for a soul like mine.

But like many women, I tried to play by the rules. I went to church because I became convinced I needed to be saved. Once in the church, I tried to become virtuous but if I had a dime for every time I failed to hit the mark, I would be a millionaire. I dated the right guys, went to the right graduate school, got the right job and completely lost myself in the process.

I was trying to be someone I was not meant to be and I was suffocating my soul in the process.

The year my son was born changed everything.

I began to stand up for myself in ways I hadn’t in the past. I began to follow my heart and listen to my intuition. I stopped sugar coating and began to reject everything that didn’t make my heart sing. I changed in ways I could not have predicted.

As I came closer to my own soul, I realized how much I had compromised in an effort to be loved and accepted and vowed never to do that again. Now, the people who love me, and I mean truly love me, love me because they have seen me. They know my story, my mess, my pain, my brilliance and beauty and they appreciate it all. Best of all, I know all of this and I love me too.

Learning to handle my wild woman ways has taken practice—there is a time for everything.

Being wild doesn’t mean always chasing the stars, howling at the moon or rolling in the mud. Sometimes, it means nurturing my young, attending to my tribe and taking care of myself and resting.

But now I know my wildness, and I treasure that part of me that is messy, unkempt, and unabashedly bold.

Being wild is not about flashing boobs and getting out of control (although that does happen too!). It’s about living from the deepest parts of the soul, heart out, arms wide open and taking all that life has to give. It’s being free enough to be exactly who you are and never apologizing for it.

For that, I am grateful. I’m grateful to have fully embraced the wild one within—It is my wish for all women to have the same experience and to know what it is like to live so fully free, trusting what her heart knows and blazing her own path.

For many years, I was unsure what my purpose was. I knew I was here to make an impact in the world, but wasn’t sure how to do it. Now, I work with women who have been where I was a decade ago and help them to embrace their inner wildness and live a soulful, prosperous life. I know it’s possible, because I’ve lived it.

Wild women everywhere—may you roar.

 

Relephant:

I Will Never be a Well-Behaved Woman.

~

Author: Lisa Vallejos

Editor: Katarina Tavčar

Photo: Klaus Balzano/Flickr