Autumn: Hey everyone, welcome! Today we're jumping into a book that's less of a casual read and more of a deep dive—"Women Who Run With the Wolves" by Clarissa Pinkola Estés. It's quite the journey! Rachel: <Chuckles> Ah, yes, the Jungian exploration, right? Digging up those buried metaphorical bones. So, Autumn, is this where I finally discover my inner wolf? Autumn: Perhaps, Rachel! But it's less about finding a literal wolf and more about rediscovering the Wild Woman archetype—that primal, instinctual part of ourselves that society often tries to tame. Estés uses myths and folklore to help us unearth that raw, creative energy that is hidden. Rachel: An archetypal treasure hunt then, complete with witches, wolves, and probably a healthy dose of existential contemplation? Autumn: You're getting the picture. Through stories like Vasalisa, Baba Yaga, and The Red Shoes, Estés explores what it means to reconnect with your intuition, deal with loss, and ultimately find renewal. It's about embracing our inner wildness as a source of healing and power. Rachel: Sounds pretty intense—and definitely poetic. But let's give our listeners a clear roadmap here. What exactly are we focusing on today? Autumn: Good point. Today, we are going to unpack three core aspects. First, what the Wild Woman archetype actually is, as a symbol of our instinctual wisdom and creativity. Second, we'll look at the struggle with those inner predators—you know, those nagging doubts and fears—and how to use intuition as a guide. Rachel: And third? What awaits us after all this internal conflict? Autumn: The healing power of creativity and community. Estés suggests that stories—ancient ones or our own—can be lifelines, connecting us not just to each other but to our truest selves. Rachel: Myth, inner demons, and a creative rebirth of sorts. Definitely a lot to chew on today, but I guess that fits with the whole “wild” theme. So, shall we get started?

Autumn: Definitely. Let's dive right into the Wild Woman archetype, because it's “really” the heart of Estés' work. She sees the Wild Woman as this instinctual, almost untamed essence within all women – a force that links us to our creativity, our intuition, and our natural cycles. It's like this huge wellspring of vitality that often gets pushed down by what society expects of us, but it's always there, you know? Rachel: So, it's not about suddenly going wild in a crazy way, but about getting back to something primal -- almost like an internal compass, right? Autumn: Precisely! And Estés uses myths to “really” show us what reconnecting with the Wild Woman actually looks like. Let's talk about "La Loba," or "The Bone Woman," it's such a great metaphor for all this. La Loba is this old woman living out in the desert, and she collects the bones of wolves that have been broken or forgotten. She carefully gathers them, and then she sings over them. Her song brings the bones back to life, turning them into a living, breathing wolf that runs free. Rachel: So, she's like the patron saint of lost instincts? Dust off these wolf-bones, sing 'em a tune, and bam — wild, liberated self restored? Autumn: More or less! But the power here is in the symbolism of the desert and the bones. The desert stands for those barren, tough times in life where we feel disconnected or suppressed. The bones are the core of who we are. It’s like no matter what we lose or bury, that essence is still there. When La Loba sings, that's the act of revival, creativity, remembering. Rachel: And that revival doesn't happen with a group, it’s solitary. Like someone meticulously piecing together a shattered vase, but the vase is a wolf... But why wolves? Autumn: Wolves are symbols of instinct, freedom, and survival. Estés draws parallels between wolves and women – they're both often misunderstood and endangered by forces that try to tame them. To reclaim the wolf is to reclaim our raw, unfiltered selves, to trust our instincts and live authentically. Rachel: Hmm. I get the metaphor, but isn't "La Loba" kind of harrowing? Like, you're wandering a desert collecting remnants of yourself seems exhausting, not empowering? Autumn: True, the journey is exhausting, but that’s where the transformation happens. Wandering and collecting is intentional. Estés isn’t sugarcoating this—it’s hard work, often painful. But women reclaim the parts of themselves society tells them to discard: their intuition, their creativity, their inner wildness. Rachel: Okay, so La Loba shows us the personal, solitary side of reclaiming the Wild Woman. But what about when someone else gets involved, like in "The Skeleton Woman"? Autumn: Ah, great question! The story of "The Skeleton Woman" takes this reclamation into relationships. It’s about vulnerability and how connection can reanimate forgotten or suppressed parts of yourself. Rachel: Reanimate, huh? Bit strong for dragging a skeleton out of the ocean, no? Autumn: Well, that’s the brilliance of it! The Skeleton Woman was cast aside, forgotten, and left to rot as bones underwater. A fisherman hooks her, terrified at first, but he takes her home to untangle her. It’s through his willingness to sit with her fearsome presence—to face his own discomfort—that they both transform. Rachel: So, he doesn’t just toss her back and call it a day. Admirable. And dealing with bones sounds like facing our messy, hidden aspects. Autumn: Exactly. The transformation here doesn’t happen through avoidance. It happens when the fisherman allows himself to be vulnerable—when his tears fall, they bring the Skeleton Woman back to life. She rebuilds herself, layer by layer, until she’s reborn. Rachel: Okay, but practically, what does this reanimation look like in modern relationships? Like couples in therapy confronting their skeletons? Autumn: In a way, yes. This story underscores how intimacy and vulnerability bring us closer to our authentic selves. It means confronting fears and letting go of defenses, both as individuals and in relationships. The Skeleton Woman’s awakening is a metaphor for emotional work—turning fear and avoidance into trust and renewal. Rachel: So, her resurrection isn’t just her finding life; it’s the fisherman stepping into courage and empathy to bring it about. Autumn: Precisely. And it mirrors what we learn from "La Loba": transformation requires effort. Resurrecting your inner wildness or fostering authentic connections with others, it’s a cyclical process of loss, discovery, and renewal. Rachel: Seems cyclical—the desert, the ocean, the return. Like, you’re never done. Reclaiming the Wild Woman is ongoing, it is? Autumn: Absolutely. That’s why Estés frames the Wild Woman archetype as a personal and collective journey. It’s about returning to our instincts, but understanding that this reclamation is never linear. Life’s cycles—loss, stagnation, rebirth—are unavoidable, and embracing them is central to reconnecting with our authentic selves. Rachel: I guess that tracks. Life isn’t a straight line; it’s a swirl. And these myths—La Loba and the Skeleton Woman—validate that messiness, even celebrate it. Autumn: Exactly! Both stories remind us that no matter how broken, buried, or scattered we may feel, our wild, instinctual nature remains within us. Reclaiming it—whether alone in the desert or through relationships—is the key to living authentically and fully.

Autumn: So, moving on from the Wild Woman archetype, that naturally leads us to intuition, right? Especially when it comes to facing those inner predators we all have lurking within. Estés describes them as those destructive forces—fears, self-doubt, societal conditioning... you know, the whole shebang. By actually tackling these and really tuning into our intuition, we can, like, break free from harmful patterns and reconnect with our empowered selves. Rachel: Right, that lines up with how "Bluebeard" and "Vasalisa" come into play. Two stories, two totally different paths, but both are about staring down those inner demons. "Bluebeard" is about confronting the predator in that locked room, and "Vasalisa"... well, she's nurturing her intuition through those tricky tasks in Baba Yaga's neck of the woods. So, where do we even begin with all this? Autumn: Let's start with "Bluebeard." It's probably the clearest example of that inner predator. In the story, Bluebeard is this ominous guy who marries a young woman and straight up forbids her from opening this one locked room. Of course, curiosity gets the better of her, she opens the door and bam! She finds the remains of his previous wives—women who, just like her, married him but became victims of his... tendencies. Rachel: Sounds like the plot of a psychological thriller, honestly. Bluebeard isn’t just a villain, though. Is he more of a symbol? Like, what does he “really” represent here? Autumn: Exactly, he's symbolic. He represents the "shadow self." In Jungian psychology, the shadow is the part of ourselves we try to hide—unresolved traumas, fears, that nagging societal conditioning that tells us, "Don't trust your gut." Bluebeard lures women in, charms or intimidates them, and basically aims to squash their intuition and independence. That locked room, that forbidden door, is really a metaphor for all the truths we're told not to uncover. Rachel: So, by opening that door and taking a peek inside, the bride isn't just being nosy. She's actually kicking off the process of dealing with the predator chilling inside her own head. Autumn: Precisely. That act of looking is a game-changer. Her survival hinges on her being willing to face the truth about Bluebeard—both out there and inside her. Estés actually argues this is a universal struggle for women. If we ignore our intuition, we leave ourselves open to harm, whether it's bad relationships, questionable decisions, or just giving in to what society expects. Rachel: So intuition is like the flashlight you need when you're wandering around this very scary metaphorical haunted house. How do you even know you can trust it in real life? It’s easy to pick out Bluebeard as the bad guy. However what if you can’t tell the difference between a gut feeling and just overthinking something? Autumn: That's such a good point. Estés focuses on building awareness—noticing when something feels off and not just dismissing it. It's about tuning into that inner voice, even when the world is telling you to ignore it. The bride's first mistake in the story is pushing aside her unease about Bluebeard until it almost costs her everything. The thing is, intuition isn't always this loud, booming voice; sometimes it's just a subtle feeling of discomfort that we really need to pay attention to. And self-reflection—on patterns, on outcomes—is key to really sharpening that skill. Rachel: Aha, So really paying attention to those little nagging feelings can lead to self-awareness. But what's next? I mean, acknowledging the predator isn't the end of the road, is it? What do you do about it? Autumn: Definitely, and that’s where "Vasalisa" shines. This story is less about spotting the predator and more about building up intuition as a tool for survival. Vasalisa's journey starts when her not-so-nice step-family sends her into the woods to get fire from Baba Yaga, the witch. The forest—the unknown and scary—represents life's challenges, but Vasalisa has this doll, a gift from her mom who passed, to help her. Rachel: Is this doll her inner GPS? A built-in Siri for life-or-death situations? Autumn: Kind of! The doll represents her intuition. It's small, but it's strong, and it guides her through all these dangerous situations. When she has to sort seeds from ash or tackle other impossible tasks, it's the doll that shows her what to do, whispering advice and making sure she survives. By relying on this little helper, Vasalisa learns to trust her instincts, even when she's terrified. Rachel: Alright, but let's not just breeze past Baba Yaga. She’s like the anti-fairy-godmother. Is she just scaring Vasalisa into growing up, or is there something more to her role? Autumn: Baba Yaga is a test, but it's a test Vasalisa needs. She stands for the wild, untamed wisdom of the feminine—fierce, unapologetic, and powerful. Through Baba Yaga's tough tasks, Vasalisa learns to be resilient, resourceful, and to “really” connect with her own inner strength. Baba Yaga doesn't hold back; she challenges Vasalisa. By doing so, she pushes her to develop the self-reliance and the grit she needs to take on any predator, whether it's internal or external. Rachel: So Baba Yaga is like a tough coach, getting Vasalisa ready for the real deal, while that doll—her intuition—is the tool she’s practicing with? Autumn: Exactly. And the result of this journey is empowerment. Vasalisa doesn’t just make it out of the forest; she comes back with fire—the literal and symbolic light of her own transformation. The fire she brings back to her step-family is clarity, wisdom, and the power of trusting yourself. Rachel: What’s “really” striking to me is that both stories emphasize action. Bluebeard is about having the guts to open that door and face the darkness. Vasalisa is about learning to trust your inner guide while navigating the curveballs life throws at you. Neither is passive. Autumn: Precisely. And they both show us that reclaiming intuition isn’t a one-time thing—it’s an ongoing process of listening, acting, and growing. Both the bride and Vasalisa had to face fear, accept the reality of what was happening, and work through these things to get their power back. The takeaway? Don’t ignore the predator, trust your gut, and know that growth comes from facing challenges rather than running from them. Rachel: Okay, practical time. I mean, if you’re not dealing with an actual witch in the woods or an evil husband with a locked room, how do these lessons even translate? How do we build intuition or confront these metaphorical predators in our lives today? Autumn: That's a great question. Estés suggests things like mindfulness, journaling, or meditation to “really” get to know your inner self. These can help you spot patterns, whether it's constant self-doubt, bad habits, or people who bring you down. It’s about taking a step back, observing, and making thoughtful choices instead of just reacting. Facing predators means being honest with yourself about your fears or limiting beliefs, and then facing them with courage and self-compassion. Rachel: So “really”, it’s all about building that internal trust, right? And maybe being okay with messing up sometimes? Not every gut feeling is going to be perfect, but the important thing is the ongoing process of tuning in. Autumn: Exactly. Intuition is a skill. Like any skill, it gets better with practice. By “really” engaging with our inner predator, and by trusting our instincts, we reclaim our personal power, and we also reconnect with our true, instinctual selves. Both myths show us that intuition and resilience are key to navigating the tricky parts of life. And even when things look "really" dark, transformation is always possible.

Autumn: So, after exploring the shadows, we arrive at our final destination: the healing power of creativity and community. This is where Estés masterfully weaves everything together – intuition, resilience, and the Wild Woman archetype – highlighting how creativity and connection act as these powerful catalysts for both personal and collective growth. It “really” completes that journey, doesn't it? From struggle to finally finding renewal. Rachel: Right, so we're emerging from the caves of shadow work into the sunshine of shared experience and creative expression. Is this where storytelling and art “really” become the heroes of our narrative? Autumn: Precisely. Estés “really” emphasizes that creativity isn't just a hobby; it's a lifeline, a necessity. Let's take The Red Shoes, for example. That story “really” explores the dangers of losing touch with your authentic creativity and identity. It's about a girl who gets completely consumed by these red shoes and ends up trapped. The shoes force her to dance non-stop, leaving her completely drained, isolated, and detached from her true self. Rachel: Hold on, so these fabulous shoes turn evil? What's the catch here? Are they cursed, or is this a metaphor for something deeper? Autumn: Oh, definitely deeper. At first, the shoes represent self-expression – the girl's desire to dance reflects her inner creative spirit. But they become a trap, illustrating the dangers of seeking external validation at the cost of your true self. The more she relies on the shoes for joy and identity, the more control she loses over her life. Rachel: So, it's about creativity gone wrong, right? Like when art becomes too commercial, or the need for approval kills the spark of inspiration. What happens to the girl? Does she eventually hang up the shoes, or does the metaphor keep her spinning forever? Autumn: Exactly, that's the core of the story—she has to make a drastic choice. To get her freedom back, she has to sacrifice what's holding her captive. The imagery here is quite gruesome—she literally cuts herself off from the shoes. It symbolizes how painful it can be to break free from toxic patterns or external pressures that stifle your creativity. But only then can she reclaim her agency and reconnect with what she truly wants. Rachel: Okay, so it's not just about ditching the shoes, but about escaping the obsessive need for perfection or other people's approval. But what's next? If those shoes are gone, how does she rebuild? Autumn: That’s where community and authentic creation come in. Estés suggests that reclaiming your true creativity, creativity born from instinct, that’s where healing begins. This might mean rediscovering old passions, trying new forms of expression, or finding environments where your creativity is nurtured. Rachel: Right, it’s not just about escaping destructive patterns, but about actively creating something new, whether it's art, ideas, or just a healthier you. But the idea of rebuilding after trauma feels even more resonant in The Handless Maiden, doesn’t it? Autumn: Absolutely. It's a powerful example of how individual resilience and community support work together in healing. The story follows a maiden whose father cuts off her hands—a very visceral image of losing your power and ability to create. She starts her journey alone in the wilderness, but she begins to heal when she finds a community. Rachel: Wow, so she loses not just her sense of self, but the very tools for creating her identity. That's heavy. What's the wilderness symbolize here? Autumn: The wilderness is a place for raw survival, but also profound self-discovery. Stripped of everything, the handless maiden has to confront her pain, build inner strength, and find new ways of being. But importantly, she doesn’t heal alone. Finding a supportive community empowers her to heal and reclaim her agency, both physically and emotionally. Rachel: That whole idea—reflection followed by community support—feels pretty universal. But how does she get her hands back, so to speak? Is it symbolic, like regaining the ability to create and take action? Autumn: Exactly! She eventually reconnects with her hands, which represents reclaiming her power and creativity. It is a great metaphor for how healing involves both self-reclamation and accepting help to rebuild. The community gives her strength, showing how transformation is a collaborative act. This extends to storytelling itself, which Estés frames as a communal ritual that allows you to transform personal pain into collective resilience. Rachel: So, creativity isn’t just about painting alone—it’s about creating with others, sharing that story and finding a connection. How does this work for the average woman juggling the chaos of the 21st century? Autumn: Well, Estés stresses how important it is to create or join spaces where vulnerability and honest expression are welcomed. These could be support groups, creative workshops, or informal gatherings, providing opportunities to share experiences and draw support from each other's stories. This act of sharing can transform isolation into solidarity. Rachel: And we can't overlook those old communal storytelling traditions Estés loves, like quilting bees or storytelling circles. They're not just passing the time; they're rituals for processing hardship and building resilience together. Autumn: Exactly. And the stories often draw from ancestral wisdom, incorporating elements of shared heritage and struggle. For example, in The Handless Maiden, reconnecting with her hands mirrors the healing that occurs when women tap into the knowledge and support of those who came before them. Rituals, like dancing or painting, become acts of defiance against limitations, fostering both individuality and emotional strength. Rachel: Like Maria Lujan's Butterfly Dance, which Estés describes. Her dance wasn't just a personal act — it was a testament to shared heritage and to present strength, a creative act that connected past and future. Autumn: Precisely. Her movements were a reclamation of cultural identity and personal power, reminding us that storytelling and creativity are deeply communal, deeply healing. They connect us to ourselves, to others, and to the generations before us. Rachel: And I think that's the key. Reclaiming creativity after The Red Shoes or finding connection through The Handless Maiden, storytelling and expression are ways of confronting pain, finding strength, and creating something transformative. Autumn: Absolutely. Estés reminds us that healing is never a solitary act—it’s a cyclical, communal, and creative process. And through storytelling, we not only heal but contribute to a larger narrative of resilience and renewal.

Autumn: So, today we've really taken a journey, haven't we? Through the Wild Woman archetype, the importance of trusting our intuition when facing those inner struggles, and the transformative power of creativity and community. Each myth – “La Loba,” “The Skeleton Woman,” Bluebeard, Vasalisa, even “The Handless Maiden” – they're all such powerful metaphors for reclaiming our most authentic, instinctive, creative selves. Rachel: Absolutely, Autumn. But what “really” stands out to me is just how practical these lessons can be. I mean, whether it’s tuning into that quiet voice of intuition, facing those fears head-on, or finding comfort in community and creative expression, these myths offer us way more than just abstract ideas, right? They give us “real” tools to navigate the challenges we face every day. Autumn: Precisely. The Wild Woman archetype, it “really” teaches us that no matter how lost or disconnected we might feel, that inner spark – the creative, intuitive, resilient core – it never truly disappears. It’s just waiting to be rediscovered. And these myths, they're like maps, showing us how we can reclaim that wildness, confront the things that haunt us, and find renewal through creation and connection. Rachel: So, here’s the ultimate takeaway, I think: Life can sometimes feel like a chaotic mix of deserts and forests, locked rooms and endless dancing, right? But the work of rediscovering yourself, whether you do it alone or with others, is such worthwhile endeavor, you know? Make the time to sing over your bones, “really” listen to that inner voice, or even just create space to tell your own story. Autumn: Exactly! As Estés so beautifully reminds us, our stories – both the ones we live and the ones we share – they're like lifelines. They reconnect us to our true selves, they heal the parts of us that have been broken, and they reignite that cycle of creativity and empowerment. And, you know, maybe we all just need to take a moment, embrace a little wildness, trust our gut, and create something meaningful from our experiences. Rachel: And with that, I guess we'll all keep running with the wolves – whatever that looks like for each of us.