The Myth of Bluebeard

A cautionary tale of the naive maiden

© 2025 Sheri Gaynor. Bluebeard. Mixed-media visual journal

Lately, I’ve been reflecting on the myth of Bluebeard and how it speaks to this moment in time. For those unfamiliar with the tale, it’s a chilling yet deeply resonant story about the naive feminine—the maiden.

In the same breath, Bluebeard is more than a myth—it’s a cautionary tale that reminds us of the vital importance of protecting our wild feminine nature. It reveals the danger of seeking safety outside ourselves, of placing trust in others before learning to trust our own inner knowing. It’s a tale of what happens when we don’t have wise mentors or elders to help us sharpen our teeth and instincts, toughen our paws, and recognize the signs of danger—before it’s too late.

I first encountered Bluebeard in Women Who Run with the Wolves by Dr. Clarissa Pinkola Estés. I’ve had my copy since its release in 1992. It’s never far from sight or hand. Her book was a guide to reclaim my wild, authentic, sacred nature. It helped me to make meaning of my trauma and to remove the shame that comes with the scars of the naive maiden.

In my first reading of the book, I was deeply inspired by it’s myths and created an art series to help me integrate the powerful archetypal emotions that were awakened.

© 2007 Sheri Gaynor. Skeleton Woman. Acrylic on paper

Women Who Run with the Wolves isn’t a book you necessarily read cover to cover, though you certainly can. It’s dense. One or two pages could take days to truly digest. For me, it’s always been more of an oracle, revealing the exact stories I needed at the time I needed them. All these years later it still works that way. It’s a book I return to over and over again and recommend to my clients who are beginning their healing journeys.

Years ago, I had the honor of attending one of Dr. Estés’s week-long retreats. When it came time for her to sign our books, I handed her my dog-eared, lovingly worn original edition. She held it in her hands, smiled warmly, and exclaimed, “Un artifacto!” I was moved to tears. That book had been a lifeline in my early years of healing and recovery. Its pages are filled with penciled notes, yellow highlights, and tucked-in bits of ephemera—a living testament to my journey.

As I return to the myth of Bluebeard today, I feel its invitation once more: to trust myself more deeply, to listen inward, and to reclaim the keys to the rooms I was once afraid to enter.