The cry for the Wild Woman

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Note : I am translating this text from my diary, it was originally in French, so it may contain some weirdly phrased things. Sorry for not contributing very often. I thought that maybe this text might be an interesting one to share here.


This morning I cried


Nagawika, nagawika.


About a week ago, my daughter (2 years old) sang for the first time a piece of the song Nagawika.(it is a french child song that talks about a little Indian (american), I put the video embed in the bottom of this post.) My mother taught her this song during their weekly day together.


I immediately felt sad and found it odd. I remembered liking thins song and signing it as a child, but I felt very sad. I did not understand my sadness. Somehow, I wanted her to stop singing. I encouraged myself to acknowledge this sadness and made a mental note that this may be worth investigating.


If felt bad the days after. I did not know why. I accused my menstrual cycle and a disagreement I had with my companion. Now I believe that it all of these were partly responsible, but that this song was the point of origin of my current mood drop. (please note that I suffer from a mental disorder that is a mix between the bipolar disorder and the dissociative disorder - it has now been 15 years and it's very much under control, without medicines. I am now able to identify the causes of my mood drops, and very often it is related to an unresolved childhood thing that is trying to find his way out back to the surface to be finally taken care of)


This morning, my daughter asked me to sing Nagawika. I searched for the song on Internet because I did not remembered the lyrics correctly. I found it and immediately turned my back on her to cry silently 3 seconds into the music.

I cried because my mother loves the Indian culture, the clothes, the jewelery, the music.

I cried because when my mother was a young girl, she was very often day-dreaming that an group of nomadic (like a circus) was going to come to town, like her and took her away with them to live a bohemian life.

I cried because inside my mother there is a Wild Woman who is striving freedom


Nagawika, nagawika.


I cried because her christian education came and tied this Wild Woman down and sentenced her to permanent suffering.

I cried because my guts remember. I was a child and I understood. I understood with my guts, my instinct and my feelings. I sensed that something inside my mom was locked up and suffering.


(putting adult words on my childhood feelings)

Why mom ?

Why are you teaching me something that is giving you pain ?

How can you convince yourself that this is a good thing ? Why are you trying to convince me ? Why are you perpetuating these beliefs if they are hurting you ? Do you want me to hurt too ?

I wish you were free. I would like to see the Wild Woman broke her chains and stand up, proud and strong. I would like to see her wake up and fight everything that is hurting her, choose her path, her life, leave these beliefs behind like she was dreaming of leaving her family.


This morning I cried. I don't know if my mother will free herself someday. I know that these beliefs do not suit her. She doesn't know. Her religion was imposed on her by her parents, like she imposed it on me, and she feels that is is impossible and dangerous to reconsider this part of is life. So she hurts. She's in pain and she doesn't know it, but I know it, in my guts, like I was already feeling it in my children guts with all the strength of a wild instinct that was not yet completely tied up. I always sensed a huge ambiguity inside my mother. I made me insecure as a child, because she had these mood swings, she had two faces. Now I get it. She has to put up so much energy to keep her Wild self tied up, ignore Her calls and continue to convince herself that she is OK with all this christian bullshit. She tries to give to her Wild Woman as much liberty as the religion allows. She wears the blue earrings that I bought her at the pow-wow. She sangs Nagawika to her grand-daugher. But it's not enough. No matter the length of the rope, she is still in chains. It's not enough. It will never be enough. She might suffer all her life. I will have to find way to accept this.


A little Indian,

Nagawika, nagawika.

When I'll grow up, I'll have a bow and a quiver

With my arrows, I will hunt the Great Bison

On my horse, I will be faster than the wind.

Around the fire, I will dance all night long.

A little Indian, singing cheerfully along the way.

A little Indian, a little Indian...


I am free now. Almost free. The links are disintegrating one after another. Every once in a while, I found one and destroys what needs to be in order that I can become what I was meant to be : a free woman to whom no religion broke her instinct. I learn to know again my Wild Self, I wear around my neck a personal symbol which means that I am willing to connect with this part of me. On the back of the same wooden medal, I wear the symbol of the goddess Eris, which means to me that I accept the Chaos (in opposite of the supposed "order" that religion is suppose to give, I embrace the chaos that is part of the natural order of things, everything unpredictable and wild). I made this necklace my self, I designed it, I wear it proudly. I promised to my broken wild self that she will never have to hide again and that I will accept life as a whole, including the fearful chaos. I will accept that I don't have control, that bad things happen, that change needs to happen, that chaos exists, but very much like the birth of the universe and earth, from chaos can emerge beautiful and working things, that Nature has the power to balance herself in chaos.


But in order that this balance can work, some things have to die so new things can be created. This cannot happen if you cannot let go. Si, I guess that today, I needed to cry. I needed to acknowledge this, accept this, grieve all of this.


Nagawika, nagawika.


I am glad that I cried. I also yelled silently, hidden from my daughter "DAMN BITCH !". I was talking to religion. Christianity is a spreading disease. It makes me mad to think about all of those who, like my mother, like me before, are feeling this pain. I see clearly the difference between my mother and my aunt, who are tho very different siblings. My aunt is comfortable in her christian beliefs. It seems to be an appropriate answer to the way she is made. It does not cause her any paint at all, contrary to my mother. It does not work for her. We are Wild Women, I know it know, and I also remember knowing it before. I regret spending the most part of my life trying NOT to remember. Is there hope for my mother ? I very much hope so... but I cannot accept this quest. It's not mine. It's her way, and all the energy I could put trying to open her eyes would be a huge waste. In French we say "On ne peut pas faire boire un âne qui n'a pas soif", which means "you can't force a donkey to drink if he's not thirsty". You just can't deconvert someone. No matter how much you are convinced that these beliefs don't fit with the person. The only thing I have the power to change is my own life, my own feelings. I will continue on my path of acceptation, I will welcome those long-lost childhood feelings of rage, pain, fear, incomprehension, powerlessness and sadness. I will grieve, and I will heal.


I know the process so well now. I must have done it a thousand times. I'm a therapy veteran. If you are on this path with yourself, keep going. It gets easier. The first time you dig inside your own shit, you are convinced that it's going to kill you. But you survive, and then another buried dark shit is willing to come out and you do it again. At some point, your brain finally understands that you are able to survive all of these shits and you are no longer terrified. More annoyed than scared, really. You're like "oh, shit, I was planning to clean up the attic... I guess I will cry my eyes out and draw some very intense pictures today instead." And life goes on. And your attic waits. And then you feel better, everything is out, the grieving process is over, the people who loves you are still there, you feel the inside void that you can sometimes hear outside after a huge storm. You know yourself better, because you went to this dark place that you avoided for so long and discovered that what was there was something that you could deal with. You are exhausted, but you are stronger than before. You don't know it just yet, but you just destroyed one of your weaknesses, and that is an awesome thing to do. With time, you will have the feeling that you have so much more energy. You will realize that, as a matter of fact, being afraid of all these shadows inside you was way much more exhausting than facing them. You will go outside and share this with the world and you will feel like an old wise person.


Maybe in a few years, my life will be an example for my mother and free her. I'll continue to live my life and try to be as much happy as I can, and maybe, someday, she might burn her bible and howl at the moon with me.


Thank you for reading.







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I was diagnosed with bipolar 6 years ago.  Before going on meds I was crying incessantly. And psychotic.  Been on Lithium 6 years and happily sane, except oh how I have WANTED to cry so many times since then at life's cruelties.  I have only been able to twice in 6 years.


I understand withholding tears in public, but embrace those private tears!


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So beautiful that you have embraced your wild woman! I hope that you find others who are doing the same. I know several here who have overcome years of oppression and now find delight in the freedom of the wild.


A year ago I was at a student singing recital and a young East Indian girl sang the song from Pocahontas "Colors of the Wind" and I wept. I had never heard it before, but it echoed my current path so much that it struck a deep chord within me.


I hope your mother will overcome her fear and embrace the call within. You are right, she does feel it, and probably longs to dance around the fire, but feels afraid of the angry Christian god. Show her the way.



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I think your post is beautiful. I hope that you and your mother are able to be fully yourselves and feel free. 

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For most of my adult life I've alternated between feeling amazing and feeling like a pile of human trash.  As I've grown older the peaks and troughs of of my mood have diminished.  I was never diagnosed as bipolar but I'm almost certain I've experienced it to some degree.  I will say it is still possible to leave Christianity and still be imprisoned by your mind.  

Do you have the original French text readily available?  I know that subtle meaning and emotion are lost in translation.

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