People always thought of me as badass. My parents were upset when I turned my doll's stroller into a brick carrying truck with 5, my family was shocked when I went to college against my mother's will with 18, my friends adored me when I left Germany with 25 to seek adventures in France and Portugal. I became a tough business chick, was well of for a while and played the stock market till I was broke - and all that on high heels or cowgirl boots.
I was a fighter. Nothing came easy and I behaved like Sarah Connor without the gun. I actually loved shooting cans with my antic Spanish rifle, ah, the power of the bang, the fierceness of Anne Oakley.
Everything was about making it, proving myself, being somebody. And I totally badassed that; I opened a construction company and a restaurant in Portugal without a clue what was expected of me. You learn while doing; you fake it to make it. I showed them. I might be blonde but I'm tough.
My badass me took what she wanted.
Unfortunately stomping your foot doesn't help if you believe that you don't really deserve it, and what we fight for can be lost five minutes later.
My dad said: "Can't you ever be normal?" Everything in me screamed: "No, why don't you see how cool I am?" He couldn't. So I moved even further away. I put my naked feet on the floor of an art therapy college in Santa Fe and learned to cry. Life was hard, my dad was mean and I wasn't that cool after all.
In a "dance your dream" session I met the two personas who ruled me: the pretty princess on the pea and the demanding warrior. The judgment I had heard all my life was either: you're too whiny, (sensitive, girly) or too bossy, (fearless, tomboyish) and I was always too much. Two years into the sessions I had it with crying. I decided to stick with the warrior, at least it didn't hurt that much. Wrapped in sexy fashion I was a punky boy.
I had said one thing loud and clear though: I want to know what life is all about.
I had to face the answers: my feet brought me to places where I was supposed to learn about my myth, my mindset and beliefs that had forged me into this hard, defensive being. Crazy stories which I'll tell when you have your feet up on your sofa table, cozy at home and up for wild visions and dark passion.
I saw, I heard but please, why should I listen?
In fighting mode we're too busy to slay our enemies rather than seeing them as messengers. The F word became my buddy. I was dreaming to move to Mars with Elon Musk cause this unfair planet made me too angry; I was imprisoned in this job I hated with these people who did not see my talent but treated me like....
So I totaled my car.
It didn't cost me my life but a big chunk of money. All I had at the time. For three months I was on foot and rode with coworkers to the job; the bike rides on the streets of LA had scared the heck out of me. My life was halted. I sat in it. Literally. In my arm chair. For hours, feeling the despair underneath the anger. And there was that guardian angel idea I really didn't want to believe in.
If somebody would watch over me, would my life suck this much? My son had left, my dog had died and then, one of the dark nights of my soul, my dad died. Before he could become the dad of my dreams. Before I could show him all I am.
I was alone and that emptiness was gruesome. All I had was that familiar but tiny voice that always showed up but I only paid attention to after the dramas: everything will be okay, it said, soften up, listen....
Not giving up is badass: to walk on even if your feet hurt like hell.
Three years later I met Rosanne, an intuitive life coach and started fighting with her about words, all those weak words I hated... Revenge felt so much stronger than forgiveness, my No was so much more powerful than my yes. It was humiliated having to clean other people's mansions to get my kid through college (of course without my dad that wouldn't have cut it) why the hell should I accept to be humble? I had to fight for what I wanted. I had to fight for my freedom.
What is hard breaks easily. My armor was cracked and finally pieces fell of. I felt life rather than intellectualizing everything. I kicked and screamed and learned to accept what is: I was tough to hide my feelings and my fear. Everything I liked or disliked in my life was my own creation.
To be afraid and dare to live anyway, that's badass.
To trust that life is our friend not enemy - even when shit happens - that's pretty breath taking.
On this planet it's not fight and aggression that will win in the end. We don't need more Testosterone. We need pink socks for our feet.
I was grinding my teeth walking the streets of LA - in pink sneakers - not judging people but looking at them, thinking: "I love you." Honestly? This was so silly, so weird... but at the end of the day I was different. Life was different. Baby steps, said Rosanne, but for me this was huge.
To admit to be scared is a big deal, especially for a rebel.
I followed up with a bunch of things I was admittedly scared of: not to react but to respond, not to lash out but to accept unfairness, not to criticize but let people make mistakes.
Behind every mask sits the wish to be loved.
To focus on people's essence rather than their exterior - that's badass.
My fierce impatient warrior girl was seriously annoyed. I had called her Gina and she had tripped me many times in my attempts to manifest love. We are badasses not sissies!! she demanded. When I was finally ready to say Good Bye to her I visualized her moving into a retreat of her choosing, where she could act out anything she wanted. A few days later I drove down Los Feliz Boulevard like hundreds of times before but this time I saw a beautiful mansion with a golden sign: "Gina's villa".
Everybody fights. A badass isn't afraid to walk away. A badass doesn't have to be right.
To respond from our heart no matter what - that's badass.