The Return of the Wild Woman: A Visual Journey Into Inner Strength

The Return of the Wild Woman: A Visual Journey Into Inner Strength
There is a woman inside you who never forgot who she was.

In today’s world, we often talk about work related strengths as if they live only in job titles, tasks, and metrics. But before they were named, these strengths already lived in you — as instinct, intuition, resilience, and creation.

This visual post is inspired by Women Who Run With the Wolves — and it is not a lesson, but a remembering. A poetic return to the voice within. A gentle, ancestral way of reclaiming the strength that was always yours.

Each image is a breath. A pause. A mirror.


“Do you remember who you were before the world told you who you should be?”

There was a time — before performance reviews, productivity hacks, and job titles — when your work related strengths weren’t something you had to prove. They were simply part of who you were. They lived in your curiosity, your ability to listen deeply, your wild desire to create. They showed up in how you organized your toys, how you soothed a friend, how you built entire worlds in your imagination with twigs, paper, or old fabric scraps. Back then, your value didn’t depend on recognition. You just were. Somewhere along the path, the world began to tell you to sit still, to follow, to behave, to become “marketable.” And little by little, you started to forget. But the forest didn’t. The bones of your original strengths are still there, buried just beneath the surface, waiting to be remembered. Your earliest work related strengths were never about competition — they were about connection. They weren’t forged in pressure, but in play. And they weren’t meant to impress — but to express. Returning to that memory is not regression. It is reclamation.


“There is a woman inside you who never forgot who she was.”

She is not gone — she is quiet. Beneath the noise of deadlines, approvals, and digital demands, your Wild Woman waits. And with her, the truest version of your work related strengths. Not the ones you list on LinkedIn or mold to fit a job description — but the strengths that come from knowing yourself. The strength to say no. The strength to begin again. The strength to rest when everything screams hustle. These are the strengths that don’t always get applause, but they build empires from the inside out. When you reconnect with her — this woman who never forgot — something real shifts. You stop performing your strengths, and you start living them. You lead without shouting. You create without asking permission. And you work from a place that feels like home in your body. Your work related strengths become more than skills — they become extensions of your essence. They become sacred.


“She whispers truths you’re not yet ready to explain.”

Your most powerful truths don’t always arrive with clarity — they arrive as whispers. And often, so do your most authentic work related strengths. They emerge in quiet moments: when you feel something isn’t right but can’t yet articulate why. When you sense a shift is coming before anyone else sees it. When your body says “pause” while the world says “push.” These whispers are not distractions — they are guidance. But the modern world teaches us to ignore them, to override intuition with logic, to silence the wild in favor of the polished. So your knowing gets buried beneath systems, expectations, and noise. But even buried, it lives. Even silenced, it speaks. Listening to the whisper of your soul is an act of rebellion and return. And when you do, you may find that your work related strengths were never meant to make you fit in — they were meant to make you remember. Remember that emotional intelligence is a strength. That your creativity, your empathy, your ability to hold space, your way of feeling the room — all of that is work. All of that is strength. And all of that is deeply, divinely yours.


When La Loba Sings, Strengths Come Alive Again

“The soul comes back to life when you dare to sing your own song.”

There comes a moment when silence becomes too heavy. When you realize you’ve been living from the outside in — performing, pleasing, producing — and in that performance, your true voice has grown faint. But like La Loba, the wild woman who collects bones in the desert and sings them back to life, you too can resurrect what was forgotten. Your work related strengths may not look like anyone else’s — and they’re not supposed to. Maybe you don’t lead with authority, but with softness that disarms. Maybe your gift isn’t in efficiency, but in depth. Maybe your power isn’t loud, but it is true. To sing your own song means to stop mimicking and start remembering. It means letting go of the version of success that was handed to you, and instead building one from the sacred bones of who you really are. Every time you speak with integrity, create with intention, or choose alignment over approval, you’re singing life back into your soul. And every time you do, your real work related strengths rise — not to compete, but to contribute. Not to dominate, but to heal. You are the singer. You are the bones. You are the resurrection.


“To be whole, a woman must dance with life, with death, and back to life again.”

There comes a moment when silence becomes too heavy. When you realize you’ve been living from the outside in — performing, pleasing, producing — and in that performance, your true voice has grown faint. But like La Loba, the wild woman who collects bones in the desert and sings them back to life, you too can resurrect what was forgotten. Your work related strengths may not look like anyone else’s — and they’re not supposed to. Maybe you don’t lead with authority, but with softness that disarms. Maybe your gift isn’t in efficiency, but in depth. Maybe your power isn’t loud, but it is true. To sing your own song means to stop mimicking and start remembering. It means letting go of the version of success that was handed to you, and instead building one from the sacred bones of who you really are. Every time you speak with integrity, create with intention, or choose alignment over approval, you’re singing life back into your soul. And every time you do, your real work related strengths rise — not to compete, but to contribute. Not to dominate, but to heal. You are the singer. You are the bones. You are the resurrection.


“Even the smallest ideas wait to be brought into the world.”

Strength isn’t linear — it pulses, it sheds, it returns. Just like the moon, just like the seasons, just like you. In the cycles of your life, you’ve been taught to glorify the rising — the growth, the doing, the performance — while hiding the falling, the grief, the rest. But your deepest work related strengths are not found only in action. They are revealed in your capacity to die with grace — to let go of old versions of yourself, to release roles that no longer fit, to mourn what once worked but now feels hollow. And then, to be brave enough to begin again. Over and over, this rhythm: life. death. life again. You are not broken when you pause. You are in rhythm. And from this rhythm, a wiser form of strength is born. One that leads from wholeness, not hustle. One that embraces both light and shadow. One that knows: every creative cycle includes loss, and every loss carries the seed of reinvention. Your work related strengths do not weaken when you fall — they deepen. And when you rise again, they are no longer just strengths. They are stories. They are scars that shine. They are sacred truths you carry back with you from the underworld.


“Are you ready to listen to your Wild Woman?”

She will not shout. She will not push. She speaks in tides, in dreams, in that soft knowing behind your ribs. The Wild Woman inside you has been waiting — not to give you instructions, but to remind you that you already know. She doesn’t ask for strategy; she asks for silence. And in that silence, you’ll hear what’s been forgotten: that your work related strengths are not confined to roles, platforms, or expectations. They are relational, soulful, ancient. They live in how you hold a vision. How you carry presence. How you stay grounded while others rush. And how you choose to rise again, every time something in you breaks open. Listening to her means letting go of the noise that says you’re too much, or not enough. It means remembering that your depth is not a delay — it’s a design. Your intuition is not extra — it’s essential. Your softness is not weakness — it’s wisdom. Are you ready to stop proving? To stop waiting for permission? Are you ready to lead, love, create, and work from the core of who you are — not the mask? Then listen. She’s still speaking. And she’s speaking in the language of your own work related strengths.


Final Reflection


To fully embody your work related strengths, you must return to the woman who carried them quietly, long before the world asked for proof.

She didn’t wait for applause.

She didn’t rely on metrics.

She trusted her rhythm, honored her instincts, and let her presence speak louder than performance.

But how do we live that truth in a world that constantly demands more — in jobs, in homes, with children, with deadlines, expectations, and bills?

You begin with the smallest acts of remembrance.

You breathe before you respond.

You pause before you push.

You say “I’m not sure yet” instead of pretending.

You protect time for stillness and treat it like it’s sacred.

You let your tears rise without shame.

You give yourself permission to begin imperfectly, to create slowly, to rest without guilt.

You notice what drains you — and you start saying no, even when your voice shakes.

You remember that being a woman does not mean performing perfection — it means being fully alive.

And being fully alive is the most powerful strength you’ll ever bring into your work.

So whatever you are — entrepreneur, artist, caregiver, dreamer, employee, leader — know this:

Your work related strengths are not achievements you collect.

They are not items on a checklist.

They are how your soul moves through the world.

They live in your laughter, in your boundaries, in your honesty.

They live in how you rest. In how you return.

In how you rise gently after falling deeply.

Your strength is not out there.

It is something you remember.

And remembering is not weakness — it is a sacred act of power.

If this moved something in you, save it. Share it. Let it live in your rituals. And come back to it whenever you forget who you are.