The Wisdom of the Underworld: Clarissa Pinkola Estés and the Hero’s Journey Through Darkness
Clarissa Pinkola Estés, the Latina-Hungarian poet, psychoanalyst, and author, crafted this particular quote during her years of clinical practice and deepening engagement with archetypal psychology, likely emerging from her extensive work with trauma survivors and her exploration of myth. The statement encapsulates a philosophy that runs through much of her most celebrated work, particularly her bestselling book “Women Who Run with the Wolves,” published in 1992. Though the quote is often attributed to Estés and circulates widely on social media and in self-help circles, it captures the essence of her therapeutic approach, which weaves together Jungian psychology, folklore, and what she calls “the old stories”—tales that carry psychological wisdom accumulated across generations. The “hell” she references is not a religious punishment but rather a psychological descent into our own darkness, the painful encounters with trauma, loss, limitation, and the unconscious self that every meaningful soul must navigate.
Born in 1945 in Los Angeles to a Mexican mother and Hungarian father, Estés grew up immersed in storytelling traditions from both cultures, an inheritance that would become the cornerstone of her life’s work. Her parents were immigrants seeking better lives in America, and their narratives of struggle, resilience, and cultural displacement shaped young Clarissa’s understanding of the human capacity to endure and transform suffering. She earned her Ph.D. in ethno-clinical psychology and spent decades studying the folklore, mythology, and oral traditions of Latin American, European, and Native American cultures. This wasn’t merely academic interest but spiritual research—Estés understood that the stories people told held within them maps of the psyche, blueprints for survival and wisdom. She became a licensed psychotherapist, working with trauma survivors, refugees, and individuals recovering from abuse, which gave her an intimate understanding of how souls are broken and how they heal.
One of the lesser-known aspects of Estés’s life is her profound spiritual seeking and her engagement with various religious and spiritual traditions beyond the Christian framework in which she was raised. She spent time studying with indigenous teachers, immersing herself in the wisdom of curandera traditions, and deepening her knowledge of Jungian analysis. Her work in the 1980s and early 1990s, before “Women Who Run with the Wolves” became a cultural phenomenon, was often dismissed by mainstream academic psychology as too mystical, too narrative-based, too focused on intuition and the unconscious rather than measurable outcomes. Additionally, Estés is a longtime activist for social justice, particularly for refugees and immigrants, having worked extensively with asylum seekers and individuals fleeing violence. Her commitment to these populations directly informed her understanding that trauma and survival are not merely individual psychological matters but deeply political ones.
When “Women Who Run with the Wolves” was published, it became a surprise bestseller that would remain on the New York Times bestseller list for over 200 weeks and transform Estés into a public intellectual. The book, which consists of interconnected essays built around myths, fairy tales, and psychological analysis, was aimed at recovering the instinctual, creative, and wild nature of women that she believed had been suppressed by patriarchal culture. The quote in question—about strong souls going to hell—became representative of her larger thesis: that psychological and spiritual development requires descent. This idea was not original to Estés; it echoes the hero’s journey as described by Joseph Campbell, the underworld descents in mythology from Persephone to Inanna to Orpheus, and the Jungian concept of individuation, which demands engagement with one’s shadow. However, Estés articulated this concept in a distinctly contemporary and accessible way, speaking directly to readers who had experienced trauma and were seeking meaning in their suffering.
The cultural impact of this quote and Estés’s philosophy cannot be overstated. By the late 1990s and early 2000s, her work became a touchstone for a particular strain of feminist spirituality and what might be called “empowerment psychology” that emphasized resilience, the redemptive power of storytelling, and the notion that one’s wounds could become one’s gifts. The quote circulated in women’s groups, therapy offices, rehabilitation centers, and yoga studios. It was embraced by trauma survivors seeking validation that their pain had purpose, by women reclaiming their power, and by anyone who had experienced psychological or spiritual crisis. However, this popularization also led to certain critiques—some scholars and therapists argued that Estés’s work, while inspirational, sometimes romanticized suffering or oversimplified the complex realities of trauma recovery. Others pointed out that not all suffering necessarily leads to wisdom or transformation; sometimes trauma simply breaks people, and it’s dangerous to suggest that pain always has a silver lining.
Yet for many readers and clients, the quote’s power lay precisely in its assertion that descent is not meaningless. In a culture that often pathologizes sadness, that insists on quick recovery and positive thinking, that treats depression as a disease to be eradicated rather than a message to be understood, Estés offered a different framework. She suggested that the “hell” one experiences—the dark night of the soul, the abyss of loss or betrayal or failure—is not a detour from meaningful life but potentially central to it. The second part of her quote is equally important: the return, the healing of others. She was articulating