Tuesday, 8 April 2014

Growing Pains

Pain!  A lot of pain!  This is what I feel when I watch families treat each other like they don’t matter.

Pain, when I see families cut each other off because they don’t all act, speak or think alike.

Pain, when families would rather believe rumors then hear the truth.

Pain, when they spend years apart because of out of place pride killed the love between them.

Pain, as they get older, regret and hurt finally takes over and there’s no clue how to fix it.

Pain, when it’s too late. 

Pain, when no one will allow you to talk to them, no return calls, no birthday calls and worst of all, no Christmas. The cut to the heart when you see a family member somewhere, you wave and they just walk away.  You wonder, ‘what did I do?’  You know deep in your heart you did nothing but be different and you can’t help it nor do you want to.

 Pain, that they don’t know anything about you. The judgment call was made and that was the end of it.

Pain, when the person who was your rock turns away from you for no reason.  

Pain, when your rock moves away from a certain area because people talk too much and lie yet your rock just did it to you.

Pain, when you are adopted to fix a marriage and when you didn’t, you were in the way.

Pain, when you are constantly put down but it’s better than being ignored, so you are grateful for the put downs.

Pain, growing up believing you are stupid because it’s all you heard.

Pain, when you are sent away to private school because it’s easier than having you around.

Pain, because everyone tries to tame your spirit. 

Pain, when a parent remarries and the step-parent doesn’t want you around because you come from another marriage, so you can’t have a relationship with your half-brother and half-sister.

Pain, when your adopted Dad dies and no one tells you for 5 months.

Pain, when your Mother dies, leaves you money but the rest of the family doesn’t feel you deserve it because you are adopted.

Pain, when you grow up and pick a mate who is as cruel to you as your own two families.

Epiphany, when you decide to stop trying with either family because you are just exhausted from their ignorance and cruelties.

Joy, when you get your Private Pilot’s License because now you know you are smart.

Joy, because your travels taught you to communicate with anyone from any walk of life without reserve. 

Joy, for all things different because it makes the world go round. 

Joy, for being able to accept people for who they are.

Joy, for picking and choosing those you now call family.

Joy, for knowing the wisdom of, “believe nothing of what you hear and only half of what you see”.  

Joy, for having the courage to find out the truth in all matters. 

Joy, for being you and no longer trying to fit everyone’s cookie cutter.

Joy, for the written word so you can share with and learn from others.

Euphoric, for loving yourself first and letting your spirit soar!

Copyright © MMXIV Juanita Sullivan.  All Rights Reserved

Monday, 10 February 2014

Flying Wild

My life as a wild woman started before I came flying out of the shoot of life by arriving considerably later than predicted just to show the doctor who was boss.  We Sagittarians do that.  Speaking of flying, at the tender age of 3 months, I was on my first flight from Yarmouth, Nova Scotia to Lima Peru, South America.  My adopted father was there flying for a small branch of an American Airline.  I spent the next 4 ½ years riding horses,  becoming bi-lingual in Spanish and English and being spoiled rotten by maids who let me drink coffee when Mom wasn’t looking.

Seeing as we lived in a rather large house I had no problem running and hiding when the doctor came over to give me a shot… for some made up childhood disease.   I knew it was really for calming my free spirit and that wasn’t happening folks!  By the time they found me, the doctor was long gone.  I did get trapped later though under the guise of going to get ice cream… after the shot!  
After moving back to Miami, Florida, my 3rd grade teacher sent home a note asking my parents to please direct me to not correct her when she is teaching Spanish.  Mom sent a note saying, “No, Juanita is fluent in Spanish so you must have said something incorrectly in order for her to correct you”.  Good shot Mom!After my parents’ divorce I started acting out like most teenagers do.  I was smoking cigarettes and sneaking out late at night but not really going anywhere, just wanted to sneak out.  I became a habitual runaway and to teach me a lesson I was sent to a private Catholic school in South Carolina.  Surely the nuns could control me!  Everything was locked up tight at night and heads counted.  This school was out in the middle of nowhere and I really didn’t know where I was but that was ok because I was back in Florida a week later after I broke out of there!  Then I was sent to an upscale private school in Florida for the up and coming snobs of the century.  I was back in Miami about a week later.  Can’t keep a good runaway down!

As I got older my wildness and independence grew stronger and deeper and since these are part of my being, my stabs at marriage didn’t work out.   Had they been more of a friendship and partnership to start with they might have worked but I allowed things to move forward too fast.  My bad.  I don’t do well with being told what to wear, where I can and cannot go or what to do with my life.

My life has been full of some amazing experiences, love, travel, children, standing up to town councils and winning, getting my pilot’s license, surviving bus accidents, surviving abuse, surviving being homeless and so much more.  I have learned so much but never really knew what my calling in life was till the last year.  We all have a calling or gift we were born with.  The idea is to find that gift and then use it to help others.  I have found I have at least two gifts and I am working on developing both of them.  Should I find I have others, I will develop them too.

Now I am back home in Nova Scotia and letting my wildness fly.  I will continue to be a pain in the butt to those who don’t get me because they haven’t asked.

Copyright © MMXIV Juanita Sullivan.  All Rights Reserved

Sunday, 19 January 2014

Freedom Writer

As I sit here and try to decide what to write for the Wild Woman, I realize I have a thousand ideas and don’t know where to start. I am overwhelmed with the knowledge that I, as a woman, can write whatever I please. This battle was fought for me in the past by strong women who sacrificed much of their lives and some, their lives. There are some who are still fighting and what sort of person would I be if I didn't help this fight? There were even men in the 19th and 20th centuries that fought for our rights. (1)

We are in the 21st Century and there are women in some of the farthest away places who don’t even know that women have rights.  I am thinking of women in native villages in forests so far from the normal realm of understanding, that they are totally forgotten if ever known about at all by some.

Native American Indian women had more rights than the European women who came over with their husbands and fathers to build a new life.  How ironic. (2)  These women even owned their own teepees and lodges. (3)

I personally feel we should take care of this freedom of speech and be honorable in what we say.  We shouldn’t take this freedom and use it to hurt others.  Having said this, I do feel that we should speak up and also write about those things which can hurt a human being whether we are woman or man.  I also feel we should write about what we know in order to help others.  There are many who feel they are alone in life struggles who could face those issues better with moral support by those who have been there and done that and still are.  We all have a story or two in us, if we absolutely feel we cannot write but want to tell it, find a writer and tell them your story.  I for one will volunteer for this and I would guard your identity if you so choose.

I lost all my rights once. These were rights that soldiers died for and those in the past also fought for and I didn’t go to jail.  As a matter of fact, prisoners had more rights than I did at that time of my life.  My rights were taken from me by a former military man who became my physical abuser.  Forget writing, I wasn’t even allowed to go the store alone.  I wasn’t allowed to have a friend he didn’t approve of, so therefore I had no friends outside his family.  One day I walked away from that 6 year ordeal and regained my independence and self-esteem.  I got a job, got back up on my feet, rented a cute little bungalow in San Diego, California and moved on with my life.

I will never give up any of my freedoms again, especially the freedom to write, I will die first!

(3) http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mandan   (lodges and villiages)  2nd paragraph.    Indian women owned their own lodges.

Published on wildwomancommunity.wordpress.com  Jan. 22, 2014

Copyright © MMXIV Juanita Sullivan.  All Rights Reserved