Women Who Run With The Wolves, Vasalisa, and North Carolina

 "Being good, being sweet, being nice, will not cause life to sing.” So goes an outstanding passage from Dr. Clarissa Pinkola Estes’ critically acclaimed book. “Women Who Run With The Wolves” is the title, and Dr. Estes isn’t afraid to force women, particularly the “good girls” to look deep down inside, and find their true wild, defiant spirit.

As said, Dr. Estes’ writings have inspired women for years. What drew me to the book exactly? Other than a South Park reference (hah!) I can’t really say. At least I can’t exactly pinpoint it at first…but deep down inside, as I go deeper, I got tired of being the “good girl.”

So going into said “sweet, scared little girl transforming into a strong, fearless woman” I want to summarize a bit of Dr. Estes’ take on the tale of Vasalisa and Baba Yaga. I myself hadn’t been familiar with the tales of Vasalisa before reading this book, but I knew a bit about Baba Yaga, the feared crone of Slavic folklore. According to the age-old legends, Baba Yaga is a hideous hag who lives deep in the Russian woods in a moving house. As the house stalks through the forest on chicken feet, Baba Yaga herself flies close by on a mortar and pestle, searching for poor unfortunate lost hikers to eat.

In “Women Who Run With the Wolves” the Vasalisa tale analyzed is the very typical wicked stepmother and stepsisters taking advantage of the too-nice stepdaughter. To summarize, sweet, uncomplaining Vasalisa lets the fire go out one cold night. In the dark Russian woods, this of course isn’t a good thing. The stepsisters, wanting to be rid of nice little Vasalisa, send her out into the forest to find Baba Yaga and get some more fire from the terrible crone. The stepsisters claimed a deep fear of the woods, and so therefore Vasalisa must go in their stead. With only an “intuitive” doll, her mother’s last gift to her, for company, Vasalisa passively heads out into the wilderness.

I want to break from Vasalisa’s story right here and divert a little back to my own experience. Naturally, I was (was) very, very much like Vasalisa for most of my life. The too-sweet girl who allowed everyone and their aunt to take advantage of her, usually at my own expense. But I want to get into my own “journey into the deep, dark woods”…a literal, physical journey no less. I’m talking, of course about my first summer in the deep woods of Appalachian North Carolina.   

To make a long story short, we found the place out of the blue. And my parents took a leap of blind faith and sent me to this summer camp that no one in our area had ever heard of…in rural western North Carolina, of all places.

Anyway, again, to make a long story short, I ended up *loving* the area. While over the years, the camp staff could be hit or miss (although many were terrific, not to mention that the camp director, who I am still very much in touch with, is out of this world!) …something about Appalachian North Carolina pulled me in. (Don’t worry, I’m still tying this into Vasalisa, Baba Yaga, etc.!)

For those of whom have never been there, there is indeed an eerie, mystical air about the Appalachian woods. First off, the Appalachian mountain range are the oldest mountains on the planet. Geological estimation puts the age at approximately 480 million years. The rolling slopes show the erosion that has occurred with time. How could this ancient mountain range be some sort of “Baba Yaga,” the ancient and fearsome, yet often wise and helpful, crone? "Baba Yaga’s character is multifaceted, with her actions ranging from helping or hindering those who seek her aid. She is known to test the courage and resourcefulness of those who encounter her, offering guidance and rewards to those who prove worthy and punishing those who fail.” 

How can the southern Appalachian mountains, and the dark and foreboding, yet not in a bad way, forests that cover them be someone’s own “Baba Yaga” or even the forested home of said “Baba Yaga?” And is the extremely timid, meek little girl, stepping out from her *extremely* sheltered life, into these woods for the very first time in her life “Vasalisa?” Yes. I very much see that timid, meek little girl – my (former) self as Vasalisa.

I can almost say now that this area became my “Baba Yaga”…and of course, at that time, I was very much indeed Vasalisa. I was the “good, sweet, nice” one at my school. Not only that, my nickname was “Giggles.” Why “Giggles?”

Maybe because if you don’t laugh…you’ll cry.

And this timid, sweet person stepped into the North Carolina wilderness still “Giggles”… a meek, passive, malleable façade hiding a very angry, hurt interior. And Giggles followed me into the dark woods of Appalachian North Carolina.

But a milestone that I reached that very first summer there…

Is the first time that I was ever called “brave” in my entire life (at least long as I could remember.) I remember my eyes bugging out, wondering what sort of alternate universe were we in? WHAT???! Someone thinks I’m “brave?” I thought that I was the “coward!” The “sissy!” The “bubble blowing baby who deserves to be beaten senseless by all of those able-bodied!” At least all of those were what I was back home…and I was hardly emboldened that first summer in North Carolina. So why the “brave” one? A lot of the individuals back home would more or less have been shocked… “just how timid is everyone else in the group if she’s the brave one?”

Another trope that Dr. Estes brings up in Vasalisa’s story is the “too-nice” mother. I’ll use my external factors, such as societal views and expectations, as the metaphor for the “too nice” mother. I indeed was not *always* the “good one, the sweet one, the nice one.” I was an extremely strong-willed, assertive person once...at least as a very small child. But, due to both my upbringing and external factors, that changed. Very much so. In most situations, the disabled and/or neurodivergent one is fetishized as the “good, sweet, nice, innocent one.” We are scolded and silenced, told “that’s not nice” and “you’re too sweet to act that way” if we attempt to stand up for ourselves, try to voice our opinions, even in the most trembling voice. Show *any* sass at all, use any language stronger than “darn it” …meanwhile we watch, frustrated and hurt, as our neurotypical/abled peers are allowed to be “teens/twenty-somethings.”

So the too-nice mother can be metaphorized as my upbringing, societal views and expectations, and Baba Yaga, in turn, the deep woods of Appalachia. Were the wilds of North Carolina one hundred percent responsible for me finding my voice (rather regaining it)? Not one hundred percent, but a fair amount of it. I find it interesting that Vasalisa and I both shed off our “sweetness” and became bold and courageous in the deep dark woods. Eastern Europe, North Carolina…they’re quite a long way apart, but still the wilds. Both have a way of making you face your fears.

(Note: I will admit to having never been to Russia, etc. or anywhere close to that part of the world. Nor am I hugely Slavic myself. I get that I may seem as though I’m rambling, trying to find ways to tie Vasalisa into myself…bear with me.)

Here is one way that I believe that North Carolina/Appalachia helped me “find myself/my voice” etc. Many, many people with very strong ancestral connections to the British Isles, such as myself, also tend to feel a deep connection with Appalachia. It’s startling really…it was even said that the Scottish and English settlers to North Carolina “never even truly left home.” And of course, millions of years ago, the British Isles were indeed geographically connected to Appalachia (millions of years…the Appalachian mountain range is truly ancient…just like Baba Yaga) …so in many ways, it really is true. We simply moved from “one side of the mountains to another.” (Note: Of course, acknowledgement does need to be given to the native Cherokee people, who have inhabited southern Appalachia for thousands of years.) So as someone who has a very deep ancestral connection and spiritual pull to the British Isles, where the inhabitants have, from time immoral, been courageous, strong, resilient people, no wonder the “other side of the range” was like finding “the true me.”       

Again, it wasn’t even the camp itself. Again, the staff could be hit or miss, although we overall had many truly terrific counselors, and once again, the (now retired) director was amazing! She and I are still very much in touch! It was more so the overall area. The deep woods force (former) “blueberry eyed sweet muffins” (Dr. Estes’ words) like me and Vasalisa to find our true brave, tough, assertive selves. And the woods can be physical, such as Vasalisa’s deep Slavic forests or my wild Appalachian mountain range. But they can also be fear and uncertainty…of the unknown, of our true selves, etc. Of course, most individuals venture slowly into the deep forests. Again, the deep woods are a place of the unknown. But once we’re in…we have a tendency to want to explore more. And once we’re out…just as Vasalisa did at the end, find our fire and strength.  

Fire? Yes, at the end of the tale, the Yaga gives Vasalisa a flaming skull on a stick and screams at her to go. Taking the skull, Vasalisa makes her way home. When she finally arrives home, much to the chagrin of her sisters, who thought that they were sending her off to die, Vasalisa’s new bold, fiery energy burns the wicked stepmothers and stepsisters to cinders.

So, at least in Dr. Estes’ Jungian analysis, the flaming skull of fire represents Vasalisa’s new courage, strong will, and knowledge. Is it a burden at times? Yes. But is it a good burden? Also yes.

What was my “flaming skull” that the North Carolina wilderness gave me? My own voice, yes (at least it was the beginning of finding my voice) but is there anything else? I would also say newfound knowledge…and a taste for justice. A way to look around at the world at large, and notice the shocking way that those with varying differences are seen and treated. And by being given my “flaming skull” … I hope to be able to help others find theirs.

What is my true dream, that this once-mysterious place in North Carolina inspired me to consider? I would love to open up my own place to teach neurodiverse young adults wilderness search and rescue and outdoor skills…and also self-advocacy on the side. That’s my vision. I gained my voice and power…so that others could find theirs.

So are the ancient Appalachian forests a version of the Yaga, the ancient dark goddess? They can certainly seem that way. And was I Vasalisa, who was shaped into a strong, courageous person by said “Baba Yaga?” Very much so.

“Sweetness can fit into the wild, but the wild cannot fit long into sweetness.” So goes another one of Dr. Estes’ quotes. And how true is that. Our world has no place for nice women and good girls.

“Go out in the woods, go out. If you don’t go out in the woods, nothing will ever happen, and your life will never begin.”

Would my “life had never begun” had I never, meekly trembling, set foot in Appalachian North Carolina? Would I have continued being sweet-people pleasing Giggles? Very much so. Would I ever have found my voice? Not likely. “Being good, being sweet, being nice, will not cause life to sing.” So what if having a voice makes some of us (particularly disabled and/or neurodiverse women) “bad girls?” Do it anyway, no matter how tiny and trembling your newfound voice may start out as.

Whether physically or metaphorically…go out into the woods. GO OUT INTO THE WOODS. And when you do…to quote one of my favorite counselors, whooping and cheering at me, upon hearing me telling someone, in my soft, shaky, voice (and bracing myself to get into trouble for attempting to stand up for myself)… “um…I don’t like that…”

“Whoo-hoo! You GO, tough girl!”

Hear that? You go, tough girl! Go out into the woods…and get a hold of your own Flaming Skull. You GO, Tough Girl!

A great re-imagining of the Yaga as a young woman rather than a fearsome crone. Credit goes to Iren Horrors of DeviantArt.