An Invitation to the Wild Ones
by Crystal Craig

To the women who feel the pull beneath their ribs —

a restless ache for something ancient, something real.

To those who are tired of smiling small,

who long to shed the weight of shoulds and silence.

To those who crave the taste of sea salt on their lips,

bonfire smoke in their hair, brambles tangled like a crown.

You are welcome here.

Come as you are —

laughing, weeping, furious, tender.

Come to stomp your feet into the earth,

to dance in ways no one taught you,

to move like a storm, a prayer, a birth.

Let your voice rise. Let it crack. Let it be too much.

Let it be everything.

This is a space of ceremony —

not the kind that requires permission,

but the kind that remembers how it feels to belong.

To be among women who won’t flinch at your howl,

who will scream with you, sob with you,

paint with you, plunge with you,

spin under the stars until the sky forgets its name.

No performance. No apologies.

Just the fierce grace of being human —

raw, radiant, alive.

If your bones are humming reading this,

if something wild in you whispered yes —

then come.

Let’s create it together.

A ceremony of being.

This is not a metaphor. This is a real invitation.

Message me if your spirit says yes — time is too short to wait.

And if this already exists somewhere, if women are gathering like this, please, show me the way.

I am ready.