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The day I learned I had a wolf inside me was a day of revelations. I had just finished a “Safe and Sound Protocol” Art Therapy session. When I looked down at my paper, ready to reflect on what I had painted my heart sank and I cried. Staring back at me was a Big Bad Wolf. I was sure what that meant… I was my own bad wolf. I felt her often. Gazing into a mirror released a seething, snarling, sour breathed wolf… snapping its jaws and circling inside me. Don’t look! Mirror gazing instinctively caused me to avert my gaze for as long as I could remember… a young child.

My therapist offered that perhaps my wolf wasn’t bad – perhaps she was there to protect me? It’s taken years to understand what she’s snarling at. To understand the line she’s pacing at. She’s there to protect my boundaries. My innocent body. My soul cracking into pieces of her and me. Her hot, snarling spittle not meant for me, but another. They wouldn’t dare cross a crazed wolf would they? I bite!

I have had to learn to call my wolf home, and to soften her with assuring whispers. She had good intentions after all. “Good Girl” I murmur when she comes back inside and we are one again.

"I was My Own Bad Wolf"

"Calling My Wolf Home"

"She had Good Intentions"


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