Being Brave: From Devil Child To Fearless Warrior

I’ve lived a life that’s full. I traveled each and every highway . And more, much more than this, I did it my way. — Frank Sinatra

I have always been brave.

From the time I was a toddler, I have been relatively fearless. My mother called me opinionated, stubborn, hard-headed, and even stupid at times. For years I believed some of these labels, retelling the stories I’d been fed as comedic fodder for friends and acquaintances.

Despite holding on to the narrative, I kept a steadfast determination to move in the direction I wanted.

Throughout my childhood, I climbed trees even after I fell out, jumped off anything high despite constantly twisting my ankles, made the friends I wanted to make — usually from the “wrong side of the tracks,” — wore the things I wanted to wear, and played the sports I wanted to play.

As I got older, I learned to keep decisions to myself that I knew would be unpopular with the major players in my life.

These choices often incorporated travel.

With Sagittarius rising, travel was alluring for me even though it was a huge bone of contention from my overly protective father. He struggled immensely with being unable to bail me out of a jam should a sticky situation arise.

To date, however, the scorecard is firmly in my favour.

I travelled to England alone when I was fourteen to see my godmother. She had been my father’s sister-in-law and had a profound influence on my life. I adored her and believed she was the only person who truly allowed me to be me. There was never any judgement from her, a far cry from the family and culture I was raised in.

That trip was not without extreme stress for my parents (unbeknownst to me) due to South African Airlines’ worst plane crash in history the day before. Six weeks later, I touched back down in Durban, South Africa with nary a scratch and a photo album full of memories.

At eighteen, I headed to the Pacific Northwest in the US to be an exchange student. It was only a two-month program, but this time my father was pleased as punch that his oldest daughter was participating in the program he had chaired for so many years.

At twenty, I backpacked through Europe for nine weeks on my own. My parents were initially opposed to this idea, but as I was working full-time and had my own money, there was very little they could do about it.

I look back on that decision today, and even I am amazed at my bravery of that trip.

To lessen my father’s fears of his blue-eyed girl being out in the cruel world alone, I allowed him to arrange accommodation with a range of Rotarians so he knew I was safe at different stops along my route. It saved me money and allowed me to see things I wouldn’t have as an ordinary tourist.

The trip was also extremely therapeutic and helped me gain strength for a decision I’d been wrestling with — coming out of the closet as a lesbian. That is a story unto its own and you are welcome to read about it here. Suffice it to say that it was not without a new set of challenges but, once again, I came out the victor with only a scratch or two.

My itchy feet stayed numb for about a year and then began to tingle once again. I quit my first job working for a bank and headed back to the US Pacific Coast to be an au pair for a family just north of Los Angeles. The experience prepared me for one of the biggest snubs I would ever make to the patriarchy— I didn’t want children of my own.

Considering that lesbians can't fall pregnant “the natural way” and the general populous didn’t expect it from “my kind,” the decision to remain childless had almost no impact on the years to come.

I returned to my homeland and began the process of settling down, eventually buying a home in the ‘burbs with two cats and a partner. With safety becoming more of an issue and the economy in decline, new challenges needed to be traversed.

At thirty, I emigrated with my ex-partner to New Zealand. Despite adamant objections from her mother and my father, we knew it was the right thing to do and my status changed from traveller to immigrant — a label I have worn proudly for over twenty years.

Four years later after giving the country and the relationship all I had, I parted ways with both and moved to Australia alone with my two kitties in tow.

The ten years I spent in Australia were incredible. I made amazing friends, learned a lot about who I was, got my health on track and then lost it, had more than one spiritual awakening and put myself through university, completing two degrees in Psychology. Whether studying part-time and working full-time, or studying full-time and working two jobs part-time, the six long and arduous years resulted in two of my greatest achievements, graduating college… twice.

That first walk across the dais in 2015 was one of the best moments of my life.

When I decided to try my luck at moving to the USA in 2017, I was met with a lot of “why” and “you’re crazy,” but also thankfully, some support from a few close friends. Again, my mind was made up, my soul was calling, and I was going to answer that call irrespective of the naysayers.

My attempt came to a devastating end as I ran out of money, unable to convince school districts to hand out one of the elusive H1-B visas I needed to stay.

Now what?

I had pinned every last hope on a successful transition to the land of the red, white, and blue, with no thoughts of failure. I headed to Costa Rica to figure out the answer. They needed English teachers, and I needed a job — stat!

Although the Central American country tagged Pura Vida (pure life), is incredible and the people are wonderful, I was deeply unhappy. I had left the only place that felt like home and fell into a slight depression as I mourned my loss. I needed the comfort of my culture, my language, and my kitty, so after seven months, I made my way to Canada.

This is where I have been based ever since, travelling in an out every six months to renew my visa. Despite believing that this was my forever home, I haven’t been able to get the universe or the Canadian government on board to grant that desire, leading to even more questions.

• Where do I belong?
• What am I fighting for?
• Is it all worth it? This fight to stay where I feel at home?

I guess questions beget questions — sounds somewhat biblical, doesn’t it?

Over the last five years, I have had to be braver than I ever thought possible. Being a digital nomad and chasing visas at almost fifty is not for the faint of heart, and it damn near broke me!

A change in perspective.

Possibly one of the biggest triumphs of the last few years has been questioning the narratives handed to me as a child. I have begun to reframe these stories to ones I feel are more accurate.

The devil child who wouldn’t listen became the little girl who knew her own mind and wouldn’t compromise. The opinionated teenager became the good leader. The hard-headed woman who made idiotic decisions became the strong, brave, and fearless warrior travelling around the world as if going to the corner store.

While I am still working on referring to my choices as brave rather than stupid, I am committed to changing my patterns of thinking as I eradicate others’ versions from my internal narrative.

Being brave is possible for every human being and don’t let anyone tell you differently.

For some it is easier and comes more naturally, for others it is fought for, either way, we all have the warrior within. I believe that we are all born with a soul on a mission and sometimes that soul is bloody-minded —my most definitely is one of them. When I obey her tall orders, life becomes a little easier — not less challenging, but my emotions become easier to manage.

For me, the key to being brave is learning to trust my intuition, knowing that everything that happens is designed to get me to where I need to be. I have had to let go of fear and replace it with faith. Not an easy task, but a necessary one.

From boarding a flight at fourteen to backpacking through Western Europe alone, from coming out as gay to walking across a dais to shake hands with the university chancellor, my triumphs have been many — something I needed to be reminded of.

Yes, there were times, I’m sure you knew when I bit off more than I could chew. But through it all, when there was doubt , I ate it up and spit it out. I faced it all, and I stood tall , and did it my way . — Frank Sinatra

Onwards and upwards my brave warriors!

Please feel free to buy me a coffee if you like what you read.