The Wild Self

A Buttons and Bows Tale

“The doors to the world of the wild Self are few but precious. If you have a deep scar, that is a door, if you have an old, old story, that is a door. If you love the sky and the water so much you almost cannot bear it, that is a door. If you yearn for a deeper life, a full life, a sane life, that is a door.” ― Clarissa Pinkola Estés

The Proprietress seemed slightly amused, though not surprised, by our request to meet regularly to hear her stories. She had two stipulations. First, we’d have to meet on a day when she wasn’t hosting her Tall Tales for Kids program or the weekly AA meeting for women. Second, we’d have to agree to share our own stories as well. “Stories are like food - they’re meant to be consumed and shared,” she said. “My stories will feed you and yours will feed me. That’s how we learn from and support one another.”

“Will you use our stories in your designs?” I asked.

“Only with your permission,” she replied. “But I don’t think you need to worry. For example, you know the “I Run With Wolves” design your cadre likes so much?”

“Sure, they’ve been wanting to hear that story since we found your store.”

“Well, most people assume it’s based on the book by Clarissa Pinkola Estés.”

“Women Who Run With Wolves.”

“Right, but the book was just the catalyst. The story that prompted the design came from one of the women in the 10-step program. She’d been reading the book and wanted to talk about her mother’s journey. Would you like to hear it?”

“Of course,” I said.

Wolf at the Door

(Dedicated to all the women who’ve taught me how to run)

Once upon a time there was a woman named Wilma (named after her great grandmother Wilhelmina from Germany). Wilma was born in the early 1930s before women could get credit cards or purchase their own homes. She met her husband while they were both serving in the Navy. She’d joined the Navy to help her mother - who’d worked three jobs after her husband left to put food on the table. Now that her daughter was grown, she wanted to go back to school to become a nurse.

Wilma’s new husband, Carl, was an attractive, dark-haired man - six foot two and well-toned with the self-assured, coordinated movements of an athlete and the cocky attitude of someone who’s always been popular. He hailed from a well-known and well-off southern family that had seen to it that he mastered the social skills required to move with confidence and alacrity through high society. In short, he was a sweet talker, and Wilma fell for him hard.

Naturally, given his family’s status she assumed he would be a good provider. Unfortunately he turned out to be a mean drunk who liked to spend money on expensive toys. Some of those toys included a train that ran around their backyard, an Airstream camper trailer, and a truck to pull it. The trailer and truck were a point of contention between Wilma and Carl because purchasing them meant Wilma would have to wait two more years before they could afford a second car for her to drive to work. In the meantime, Wilma walked the three miles to and from the high school where she worked as a teacher.

Things between Wilma and Carl reached a boiling point when he announced that the family would be attending the Pioneer Days celebration being hosted by the Airstream club in Joshua Tree National Park. Wilma had just three days to clean and restock the trailer, come up with costumes for her three and five-year-old daughters, and find a kennel that would board the family dog. In the end, no kennel was found, the costumes were held together with safety pins (sewing was not Wilma’s strong suit), and they arrived at the campground only to discover that Carl had forgotten to book a campsite. No campsite meant no hook ups - no electricity, no water, and no sewer. The family would be using the public restrooms and eating Fruit Loops for dinner.

By the next morning, Carl had convinced himself that he was the real victim of the situation. “You know how busy I am, Wilma,” he said over his second bowl of Fruit Loops in less than 12 hours. “Why didn’t you check our reservations when I told you about the trip?”

By the time Wilma had the girls fed, dressed, and ready to attend the festivities Carl was working on his third beer and had decided there was no point in staying. He loaded everyone into the truck and drove out of the campground with the camper fishtailing behind them. Wilma was understandably concerned about their safety but grew even more alarmed when he pulled off the interstate onto a narrow, two-lane strip of asphalt leading nowhere. Eventually, Carl pulled over near a huge rock outcropping that looked like a giant had been building castles. “Get out,” he said when the truck finally stopped.

“What?” Wilma said.

“And take that damn dog with you.” When Wilma refused to get out, Carl threw the truck into park, got out, and stalked over to her side of the truck. There he jerked the door open and dragged her out. Marto, the family dog, and their oldest daughter Liz immediately jumped out too. “Get back in the truck,” he shouted at his daughter.

“No,” she said, running away. Even at five she’d had plenty of experience dealing with her father’s drunken rages and knew enough to keep out of reach.

“Fine then,” he said angrily. “You can die out here with her.” Then he climbed back into the truck and drove away with his youngest daughter sobbing in the back seat.

“Is he coming back?” Liz asked, taking her mother’s hand.

“I don’t know honey,” Wilma replied, “but the first thing we have to do is get out of this sun.” She led the way to the nearest rock outcropping where they found a cool spot beneath an overhang. When they heard the first coyote howl, Wilma removed the belt she was wearing, attached it to Marto’s collar, and pulled him close to her side.

Wilma wasn’t sure how long she and her daughter and the family dog were left in the desert but it was long enough for her to make some decisions. By the time the truck and trailer reappeared the late afternoon sun had baked the landscape into heat waves and Wilma was getting seriously worried about dehydration. Carl brought the truck to dusty stop and waited inside the air conditioned cab until Wilma brought Liz and Marto over. Then he opened his door, stepped out, and leaned on the hood. “I hope you’ve learned your lesson,” he said. “What do you have to say for yourself?” he demanded.

Wilma, who had thought long and hard about what to say next, lowered her eyes and said, “I’m sorry, Carl. It was my fault for not checking the reservations.”

“You’re damn right it was,” Carl said. “Now get in. We’ve got a long drive ahead of us.”

“I wish I could say that Wilma left her husband immediately,” the Proprietress said. “But apparently her brother-in-law was on the local police force and she worried he’d force her to go back to Carl. Eventually, however, she got legal and financial help from her sister and moved her two girls and the dog out of town.”

“Was Liz the older daughter who shared the story?” I said.

“I can’t tell you that,” the Proprietress said. “It’s called Alcoholics Anonymous for a reason.”

“Oh right, sorry about that,” I replied. “Well it’s an incredible story and I know the cadre will love it.”

“You’ll explain about sharing their stories, too?”

“I will,” I promised. “We’ll be in touch soon.

Copyright 2024 by Jena Ball. All Rights Reserved.

Once again, many thanks to the friend who shared this story. If you or someone you know has a story they’d like to share about your own journey to empowerment, I’d love to hear from you. I’ll be featuring one or more stories each time I share a design with a goal of helping us get to know one another better and build community. Questions? You know where to find me :-)