Though I was reluctant to be born, I was attracted by the music.

Crazy Brave, by Joy Harjo, 2012 (memoir)

One thing that has started to become clear to me as I immerse myself in the world of female writers is the need to be aware of my slight-to-pervasive subconscious tendency to start reading autobiographies from the perspective that the writer is a victim.

This tendency can be even stronger when the writer belongs to a minority or marginalized community.

Maybe it’s the activist in me, who wants to defend those who need defending. After all, women have often been mistreated — and worse — and deemed less important than men throughout the centuries. Of course, this doesn’t mean that we are victims, or any less important than men. (However, sometimes we do have to sit with that, have to face that we have been made victims, before we can stand tall.)

In her powerful memoir Crazy Brave, about growing up as a member of the Muscogee Nation and the path she took to becoming a celebrated poet, Joy Harjo refuses to see herself as a victim, helping to snap me out of the tendency to make her one.

I would feel a little discord as I’d read about her experiences as a child, with an abusive, alcoholic father and later an abusive stepfather. And as she grew up, about her attraction to abusive men who drank too much. It’s like there was a second narrative playing in the back of my mind as I read: “These people had everything taken from them. They were sad, scared, angry. What were the men supposed to do, what were the women supposed to do, and the children?"

But what I noticed was that Harjo’s voice was (way) stronger than this voice in the back of my mind.

Through her telling of her story in a way that celebrates and champions herself, I soon realized that the discord I was feeling was my inability to feel sorry for her. Harjo took my hand and pulled me along her journey, showing me her courage and her strength, until I dropped my desire to feel sorry for her somewhere along the roadside.

It’s inspiring to see someone standing tall as a warrior throughout a life filled with mistreatment and loss. It's a beautiful reminder that when you are mistreated, it has nothing to do with you and certainly shouldn't be allowed to shape your life.

It’s also beautiful to hear the beliefs of Indigenous Americans through their own voices.

“Because music is a language that lives in the spiritual realms, we can hear it, we can notate it and create it, but we cannot hold it in our hands. Music can help raise a people up or call them together for war. The song my mother-to-be was singing will make my father love her, forever, but it will not keep him out of the arms of other women. I will find my way to Earth by her voice.

Though I was reluctant to be born, I was attracted by the music. I had plans. I was entrusted with carrying voices, songs, and stories to grow and release into the world, to be of assistance and inspiration. These were my responsibility. I am not special. It is this way for everyone.

… As I approached the doorway to Earth, I was hesitant to enter. I kept looking over my shoulder. I heard the crisp voice of the releaser of souls urge me forward.

“Don’t look back!”

And I remembered how earth is a heavy teacher yet is so much loved by the creator of planetary beings. I did not want to leave mystery, yet I was ever curious and ready to take my place in the story.”

Joy Harjo is a hugely talented, award-winning artist, musician, and master of the written word. A resident of Tulsa, Okla., and a Muscogee Creek citizen, Harjo currently serves as the U.S. Poet Laureate. Her many awards in poetry include the Ruth Lily Prize for Lifetime Achievement and the Academy of American Poets Wallace Stevens Award.

Follow her on her website.