Written by Falepaini
For years, I believed healing meant choosing between two forces within me—the light wolf and the dark wolf. The story goes that both wolves live inside us.
The light wolf represents love, kindness, and wisdom, while the dark wolf embodies fear, anger, and pain. And the wolf that wins? It’s the one you feed.
So, I spent years starving the dark wolf, silencing its voice, pretending it didn’t exist. I thought healing meant erasing the parts of me that hurt the most—burying my anger, swallowing my pain, forcing myself into the light. And every time it tried to show itself, I was angry with myself for letting it surface, ashamed that it still lived within me.
Then, I came across a beautiful Indigenous woman on TikTok who shared a deeper truth about the Cherokee tale—the one so many of us hear only in fragments. She said, ‘The real lesson isn’t about choosing between them—it’s about learning to feed them both.’
That moment shifted everything. Healing isn’t about erasing the parts of us that carry pain. It’s about balance, about understanding that both wolves serve a purpose.
The Dark Wolf: My Protector, My Teacher
For so long, I saw the dark wolf as my enemy. Now, I see it for what it truly is—both my protector and my teacher. It carried my wounds and fears. It fought for me when no one else did. It protected me when I had no other tools.
It kept me alert when danger was near, guarded my heart when love felt too risky, and stood as my warrior in the face of fear. It carried my pain so I wouldn’t have to bear it all at once, shielding me in life’s many battles. It was my armour, my shield.
It wasn’t evil—it was survival. It was the fire that kept me moving, the voice that whispered, “You cannot break.” It taught me resilience, but it was never meant to lead forever. It was meant to walk beside me, not ahead of me.
To abandon it would mean abandoning the parts of me that kept me alive. But to be ruled by it would mean never knowing peace. True wisdom is not in silencing my darkness but in understanding when to listen to it, when to thank it, and when to let it rest.
The Light Wolf: My Healer, My Guide
But the light wolf—oh, the light wolf—she is the guide, the voice of reason.
She is the gentle whisper in the dark, reminding me, ‘You are worthy of love.’
The flicker of hope that never fades, the quiet strength that steadies when all else wavers—guiding me back to myself.
She is peace in chaos, kindness without condition, and truth spoken with love.
She is the spirit of a dreamer who dares to believe, the soul of a healer who mends—not with force, but with understanding.
She is the light that does not blind, but reveals.
The strength that does not shatter, but uplifts.
And more than anything, she is the innocence of pure intentions—a white light, untouched and untainted, like the heart of a child.
But the light wolf is anything but naive. It does not ignore pain or pretend suffering doesn’t exist. Its eyes see clearly, but its heart understands without judgment. It knows when to stand firm and when to let go, when to fight and when to surrender. It is not weakness—it is wisdom.
It is the voice that says, “Not everything is a battle you must fight.”
It is the strength to forgive—not because others always deserve it, but because to live is to be free, not confined to a cage of resentment.
The light wolf teaches me that I am more than my pain. That life is more than just surviving. That joy, trust, and connection are not things I have to earn but things I deserve simply by existing.
It does not seek to conquer the darkness but to illuminate it, revealing that even in my heaviest moments, I am still whole.
Recognising My Own Growth
Sometimes, it feels like I’ve been standing still for years, even though—deep down—I know I’ve changed. My nervous system, once constantly on high alert, now rests at a level I once mistook for numbness. But I’ve come to realise that what once felt foreign is actually peace.
The things that used to set me off no longer hold the same power. I no longer feel the need to prove myself, to fight to be understood, to force people to see me. Misunderstanding doesn’t shake me—I let it be.
I watch, I observe, and I understand that people react from their own wounds. And I no longer take it personally.
Maybe it’s wisdom. Maybe it’s detachment. I’m not sure yet. But I know this—if the person I was two years ago could see me now, they would be proud.
The Version of Me I Once Hated
For a long time, I didn’t just dislike the dark wolf within me—I resented her. She was everything I wanted to leave behind: weak, broken, unworthy.
I ignored her, refused to acknowledge her presence. I saw the hunger in her eyes, the exhaustion in her stance. My body tensed at the sight of her, disgust curling in my gut. I would grit my teeth and mutter, You weak, useless, ugly creature.
I couldn’t stand her.
She embarrassed me.
She made me sick.
But what I failed to see was that she wasn’t my curse—She was the one who carried me.
She wasn’t the enemy—she was the one who endured, even when she was left wounded, scarred, and discarded by those who found no use for her anymore.
She carried wounds she didn’t deserve, fought battles no one saw, and kept going when she had every reason to give up.
She wasn’t weak—she was unbreakable.
She wasn’t pathetic—she was fierce.
She didn’t whisper. She didn’t beg.
She roared from the pit of my soul, unyielding
Get up. Move. Fight.
She bared her teeth at my despair. She snarled at my surrender. And when I wanted to disappear, she dared me to rise.
She was the one who chose to change—the one who refused to let the world define her. She was done shrinking, done carrying the weight of others’ expectations. She reclaimed herself, unapologetically and without permission.
I took every lesson, every hardship, every unfiltered truth, and pieced myself back together—not into someone flawless, but into someone who sees, who understands.
My shadows.
My fears.
My scars.
My power.
I stopped waiting to be tamed.
I became my own alpha.
And when I had every reason to surrender, I kept going.
Now, I don’t just acknowledge her—I honour her.
I no longer run from her—I walk beside her.
I hold space for her rage.
I hold space for her pain.
I hold space for the wolf who did the best she could with what she had.
She wasn’t something to suppress or keep caged.
She is the foundation of who I am today.
And for that, I honour her—and I am free.
What Healing Really Means
I used to think healing meant becoming only love and light. That to be healed meant never having bad thoughts, never making mistakes, never speaking up in fear of disrupting the peace.
But I’ve come to realise healing isn’t about perfection or erasing the parts of myself that are difficult to love.
It’s about embracing all of me—the beautiful, the broken, the messy, the raw. It’s about honouring the best parts of myself while holding space for the uncomfortable, gritty parts too.
At the end of the day, we are only human. No one is all good or all bad. No one is just light or just dark. We are a spectrum of experiences, a canvas of contradictions. And the more I try to deny parts of myself, the more they demand to be seen.
True wisdom isn’t found in denying my darkness or clinging to my light. It is in learning to hold both—gently, with love. In recognising that my darkness does not make me unworthy, and my light does not make me superior.
There is a time to be kind, to be soft, to lead with love.
But there is also a time to stand in truth, to protect what is sacred, to hold firm when my values and morals are challenged.
Wisdom is knowing which moment calls for which response—and trusting myself enough to choose rightly.
Healing is about accepting all of me—the light and the dark. The parts that shine and the parts that ache. The warrior and the healer. The survivor and the dreamer.
And because I’ve learned to do that for myself, I’ve also learned to do the same for others. Without judgment. Without resentment.
I am able to hold space for others—not to fix, but to witness. To meet them where they are, with an understanding of which wolf they are feeding in that moment—and the grace to know that they, too, are on their own journey.
That’s what I’ve learned. That in the end, healing was never about choosing one wolf over the other.
That healing is about learning to sit with both of them—and realising they were never fighting each other at all.
They were fighting for me.
x
The House Of Pine 
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