When I was younger, I was sent for fostering. This was not the success it should have been, due to my headstrong and unwomanly ways. Oh, I learned singing, French, dancing, embroidering, and I could mimic the way of high-born ladies, though I never took it seriously, as some did. That was not the problem; the problem was that I also wanted to ride, shoot, curse and tell ribald jokes, like the boys and men. I would often finish my sewing projects early, then slip out to the stables to have my horse saddled and talk one of the grooms in to riding with me. This would get us both into trouble, and soon I would be banned from the stables. The same with watching the boys practice wrestling or swordplay. I longed to join them, for it seemed so much more interesting than needlework and gossip.

Many were horrified at my behavior, and I was sent home from more than one foster home, though I had a grand time. It is only now, when I look back on things, that I realize the embarrassment I must have caused my family. It did not endear them to those higher born families they (or rather, my mother) aspired to. Mostly, this was the case with women, who feared I would somehow contaminate their other fosterlings with my antics. The men seemed to be more amused than outraged, although I’m certain that they did not regard me as suitable marriage material for their sons and nephews.

I still don’t mind, but I understand it better. I have toned down some of my practices. However, the problem remains that I cannot seem to conform, even when I try. My mind simply does not have a place for obedience. I have prayed for guidance, for forgiveness, for repentance, but in my heart I know that I cannot change. I am too independent in my thinking, therefore, I will always chafe at the bit of proper behavior.