Saturday, July 22, 2017

On Weeding My Garden... On Friendship...

I was talking with a "friend" today.  I was reminded of all the times we confided in each other, laughed until we cried, and supported each other.  I would have done anything for her.  In fact, there were times that I did go the distance in support of her.  After our conversation today I was left feeling heartbroken and insecure. Then a song came on that reminded me of our fleeting but powerful friendship. We were friends for a short while…until we weren’t anymore. Something happened.  The relationship was lost, and sometimes, I miss it tremendously.
The piano playing during the second half of the chorus is one of those times when I miss her.
I used to think that I was good at friendship. I used to think that I had something to offer. Until an avalanche of hurt came along and buried this belief I had about myself. Until I was left holding broken pieces of everything I knew to be true. Until I let seeds of self-doubt slip between my fingers and cover the ground beneath me.
Eventually, the seasons changed, as they always do, but those seeds began to grow and weeds began to rise. Those weeds slowly wrapped themselves around my limbs and ultimately, they tied me to a new truth; the one that said I wasn’t worth anything as a friend anymore. The one that said I had fallen short of being enough.
I have struggled to navigate my way through friendship since I was young.   I have struggled to stand strong in friendships. I have struggled to trust them. I have struggled to believe that I deserve them.
And then, there are days like today…
A day when the ground is soggy and the earth is rising in growth. It's the type of day when the temperature is warm but the overcast sky gives you shelter from the heat. It's a type of day that is clearly summer but provides you with the excuse to stay in and reflect. It’s vulnerable and messy and raw. It’s the type of day that makes my emotions run wide and my memories run deep.
For a long time now, I’ve stared at the footprints around me and counted each one as a mark of failure on my part. A mark of inadequacy. A mark of rejection.
And on many rainy, muddy summer days, I notice those footprints of failures and lost friendships. They are the imprints of everything I couldn’t make right. But today, I also noticed something else; I noticed that I hadn’t made any footprints of my own. Because I had never moved. I had never stepped forward. I had never walked away from the pain and the hurt.  I just kept letting their demons consume me.  
When others were done punishing me for my failure, I have always simply picked up where they had left off.
Today's realization and reflection; today's hurt, made me wonder…how long can any one person remain entangled in a truth that someone else hands them?
Summer is about beginning and growth and vibrancy. It is about claiming your rightful place in this world. It’s about rising from the ground and standing tall in honour of who you have fought to be.
It’s about changing and standing strong in the heat of the sun and in the thunderstorms that follow the intense heat. 
I’ve decided that I would like my Summer of 2017 to be about untying myself from the weeds that have held me hostage.  It will be about forgiving everything I was never able to be.  It will be about hearing that beautiful song and knowing that I did the very best that I could with all that I had for my friendship. It will be about weeding my garden and ridding of the insidious roots that tell me I'm not good enough.  I will stand tall and strong knowing that I will always go to any lengths for the people I love, but I won't allow them to tear me down in thunderstorm of their turmoil.  
Because, in our frailty of being human, we will end up failing others. But, when we don’t make footprints of our own, we will end up failing ourselves.

Saturday, March 4, 2017

On What I'm Begging From You... On Invisible Illness

***In my life I have watched as several of the people I care about must have suffered and even died from an illness that no one could see. This one is for those whom suffer from invisible illness. For mom. For Krystal.***


Let me tell you a story; one that is close to my heart, but admittedly from my own perspective, not the sufferer's. I'll do my best to convey the sentiments although I may have it all wrong. 

Imagine for a moment.... you're excited for a weekend working at an awesome outdoor concert festival. You'll be surrounded be fun-loving people, music and your passion. You'll laugh and be the life of the party and make everyone feel like a million bucks. You'll take some awesome selfies, probably post some SnapChats of the fun from your perspective. After all, that's who you are. 
Then mid way through the first afternoon you notice that you're losing feeling in your lower half. Weird. Onward. Selfies. Snapchat. Belly laughs. By the evening you can barely walk as you can no longer feel the steps you're taking. You use the washroom only to hear yourself urinate but feel nothing. Concern. Confusion. Snapchat. Insta. Sing a song. Maybe it's time I head to the hospital!

4 weeks later you're still in the hospital. They've tested and prodded and made conjectures. People has visited and speculated. Flowers are sent. Worried loved ones are frantic to help you. The worried phone calls and text are frequent. Snapchat. Selfie. Laugh and play all while laying in a hospital bed unable to feel your legs. Finally, a doctor gives you the diagnosis.  Multiple Sclerosis. Your brain has lesions on it that on the bad days will cause you immobilizing pain, on other days will cause to feel nothing in your extremities, on other days you'll have some grace and feel mildly better. The myelin that covers your brain will continue to degenerate. They will try to mitigate your symptoms with daily injections that invade your skin to the tune of 8cm into your flesh. Snapchat. Send a joke, laugh, make new friends in the hospital bed. 

It's now been 7 months since the diagnosis. The months have spent searching. You have searched for the right medications; searched for the answers to how this illness is affecting your brain; searched for connections and relationships. Searched for the "you" that was there days before your 30th birthday. Some days you find the answers and you celebrate! Most days your search yields more pain, confusion, loneliness, more fear, more needles -- more reality.

Laughter....

Snapchat....

Selfie....

Dancing....

"You look so good. I had no idea...". 
"But you seem to be so happy. Are you sure you're sick" 
"You're so positive and strong" 

Each time she is told that she "looks good" or "looks like you're ok’ by people who have little concept of even the lengths she has gone to just to connect with them at all, it carries with it an additional pain of appearing ‘well’ or ‘normal’ despite how awful she actually feels.

Our culture does its best to ignore the existence of illness, especially when that illness is chronic, invisible, complex and as a consequence doesn’t fit inside the mainstream idea of what ill-health means or apparently ‘looks like’. Instead the focus is on the beautiful, the youthful and the healthy, as if in denial of pain, illness, and suffering. Mainstream media also seldom caters for those with ill-health, disability, limited mobility or pain but exclusively the ‘well’ population. She is expected to wear her illness on the outside all the time. Ironically, despite your discomfort with her pain and your wish for her to be "normal" again, you expect her to let this disease take her good days. You see her on those good days and wonder if she's really sick at all. After all, she looks so good. She doesn't let the pain and anguish of the past 7 months swallow her.  She refuses to let the uncertain future fill her with despair and darkness. 

When you live with a condition that defies others’ ideas of chronic illness or cannot be placed neatly in a box, sadly it’s often the sufferer who is expected to explain and even defend the very symptoms that thwart their very existence. Living with constant pain, needles to ease that pain, fatigue and even the mental health issues associated with chronic pain and life-altering illness, means that her life is already full to the brim with challenges. Yet her inability to ‘be well’ coupled with looking healthy presents further challenges, from being disbelieved and poorly treated, to being judged or repeatedly advised on how to ‘heal’ herself.


The biggest grievance I have is that those around her, even the ones that care the most, often do not believe what she is going through is real because to others she “looks good.” She laughs. On her good days, she tries her hardest to make sure that this disease doesn't rob her of her sense of self and her charismatic personality. On her bad days, she suffers in silence barely able to get out of bed while the depression and anxiety of her sudden universe-shattering diagnosis threaten to consume her. Sadly, this makes her feel as if she are being called a liar. 

Ironically, those with chronic conditions would like nothing more than to gain complete control of their lives and not have to adjust to any limitations at all! Nonetheless, their bodies do not always cooperate with their desires, no matter how much they want it to. 

I beg of you...celebrate her good moments with her.  

Sunday, January 22, 2017

On Being Right

Last month, during these very same cold winter months, I reached out to a friend. I sat across from her in our local pub, my eyes fighting to look up from the floor and I asked her for forgiveness.

Several months ago, I had hurt her. She had hurt me. 

It was because of something that I did but more importantly because of something that I didn’t do. I stayed silent when she needed my voice. I stood distant when she needed my strength. I cowered away when she needed my bravery.

Last year, I failed my friend.

I failed her because – sometimes – our quiet nothings can do even more harm than our loudest somethings.

Last month, when I finally found the courage to let my eyes meet hers, I felt every ounce of my humility rise within me. I felt everything I had done and everything I had failed to do. And I felt the only two words that were left to be said…

“I’m sorry”

And as the words came out of my mouth, I felt that tear form in the corner of my eye; the tear that you try to hold back. The tear that so often marks the beginning. The tear that sometimes means the end.

My friend reached across the table to me, grabbing my hands in hers, and quietly said “It’s okay, Nat! Let's forgive each other”

My two words had somehow torn down a wall between us. My two words had brought us closer together. My two words had set us both free.

We spent the next little while acknowledging our pain and asked forgiveness for our collective wrong doings. We put all of our honesty and all of our vulnerability and all of our frailty on the table and together we built something with it; we built our new story.

I reflect back on that moment a lot because it was one of my greatest lessons in humility. It was a lesson in what it meant to just say, “I was wrong and I’m truly sorry” and to allow someone else to hold that truth in the palm of their hands.

It can be a really hard thing to do sometimes.

But I think that the world breaks a little bit every time a relationship is lost to pride. When we don’t allow ourselves to break open...the entire world breaks around us as a consequence.

Every time we choose to be right instead of choosing to be happy, something is inherently lost in the struggle. And, eventually, we all end up losing. We lose our integrity; we lose our connection; most of all…we lose each other.

And the thing of it is that we’re just imperfect people loving these imperfect relationships.

We are filled with insecurities and hurts and a whole bunch of bruises we’ve gathered along the way. So we tend to break things and lose things and take things for granted.



We can also fix things. We’re really good at fixing things.

Sometimes we take the broken pieces of our hearts and tape them back together again.

Sometimes we hurt and we wait and we love until the gaping holes inside of us begin to heal.

Other times, we sit quietly in a room together with the only two words we have left to say.

“I’m sorry”

And, if you’re really lucky those two words just might be enough.

Friday, November 25, 2016

On The Struggle to be More

Somewhere – floating around in this world – is a picture from my 11th birthday.
My friends and I were all crammed on the single set of monkey bars that were behind our row of townhouses. The paint was chipping off the red metal bar; the neighbors watched from their own adjoining backyards while we laughed. My Mom stood back in the grass under an overcast day while the ten of us scrambled to keep our gangly limbs from dropping to a tiny patch of concrete below.
Somewhere – floating around in this world – is a picture of a perfect moment. My perfect moment.
For as long as I can remember, there has been a tension inside of me between who I am and who I want to be. There has been a struggle, a battle, that I could never quite resolve. It was there when I was eleven years old and it was there for the twenty years that followed and it was there every day in between.
The struggle was there telling me that the person I was would never be as good as the person I wanted to be. The person I thought I should be.
I wanted to be popular. I wanted to be noticed. I wanted to be asked to prom. I wanted bigger boobs and I wanted smaller teeth. I wanted the boy that broke my heart to tell me he was sorry and I wanted the girl that tormented me to tell me she was wrong. I wanted long, luscious locks that didn’t have a mind of their own. I wanted to be a world-class athlete. I wanted to feel pretty. I wanted to be delicate and I wanted to wear pretty dresses. I wanted to eat chocolate without feeling guilty and I wanted to wear shorts without feeling ashamed. I wanted skin that didn’t have freckles and I wanted a laugh that was cute. I wanted to be able to sing and I wanted to soar. I wanted narrower hips and I wanted wider vocabulary. I wanted phone calls from friends and I wanted dates on Friday night.
I wanted to matter.
And I remember – during my 11th birthday – feeling that way for a little while. I remember it so very clearly. 
As friends joined to celebrate the day, as I ate cake with reckless abandon, as I thought about the year to come I forgot for a brief moment that any part of me was lacking.
Somewhere – floating around in this world – is a picture of me feeling that way.
This time of year always makes me feel nostalgic. A new year is just around the corner and for me, it has always felt like an opportunity for renewal. It is a time where I  hope for authenticity and a chance to try – one more time – at “getting it right”. My goal, as each year passed, was to lessen that gap between who I am and who I thought I needed be. I was convinced that the more “right” I became the less isolation I would feel.
If you had asked me – at this same time last year – if I still carried this desperation around with me. I would have said no. I would have told you that – with age – I had stopped even thinking about it and that I had indeed grown out of it. And honestly, I believed that to be true at the time.
But it’s been a tricky year for me. It’s been an even trickier last few months for me.
It’s been a year of letting people in and of letting people go. It’s been a year of feeling invisible yet being fully seen. It’s been a year of finding my own security and discovering other people’s lack of it. It’s been a year of healing old wounds and, of course, finding new cracks.
And all of it has made me realize that, perhaps, I wasn’t over it at all. I had simply found new measuring sticks with which to determine my worth; my skills as a parent, the words I wrote, the number of likes on Instagram, the number of Instagram followers I had.
Here's the thing…
They never added up. Which meant that – given the philosophy of life I had subjected myself to for so long – I never added up.
And it recently hit me. Like a bulldozer. Like ten thousand pounds of unbearable truth knocking the wind out of me all at once. And when a bulldozer hits you…the harsh reality is that you’re out of commission. You’re done. It’s over. There is nothing left to do but let yourself be crushed by what is real.

The reality is I'm just not one of the cool kids. I’m not a china doll that is easily dressed up and I’m not a handful of flawless features. But I am a great friend with age spots and ruthless hair. I am not the girl that all of the boys liked in school, but I am the girl that one boy loves for life. I am not an athlete that the world will remember but I am someone who one student will remember for changing their life. I’m not someone who pulls off red lipstick very well and sometimes my past hurts like hell. I don’t leave my impressions with my lips, I leave it with my heart and sometimes I leave it behind in pieces. I’m not the girl that stands out in a crowd for being pretty but I am the very definition of beauty for two little souls that see nothing but magic when I walk in a room. I’m not the girl with perfect legs but I am the girl who walks with purpose and love every single day. I’m not the girl with the most ‘likes’ or the most followers but I am the girl that will make you feel special and loved. I’m not necessarily the person that people notice but I am the person is on the right path.

As I enjoy these last few weeks before another year rolls around, the truth is, that all the things I've been struggling with won't be wrapped up with Christmas ornaments. I'm not sure I'll ever be done.  I'm determined to make things different - to be better - to be more. 
The biggest truth of all is that somewhere – floating around in this world – is a picture of me on my 11th birthday being the only thing I’ve ever needed to be

Tuesday, November 1, 2016

On "I'm Sorry" and Forgiveness

I don’t know why some people break the way that they do. I don’t know why some people come out of storms virtually unscathed, while others completely shatter. I just don’t know. But I do know this; regardless of what happens to us while we endure the whirlwind of pain that comes with letting go, the only way out of it is through this one word; forgiveness.

I know this because I’ve had to do it. I know this because I’m one of those people who shatter. I know this because I’ve sat there, aching, waiting for someone else to bring me the closure I thought I needed to move on. I know how much it hurts. I know what it’s like to want just one day without being drawn in by the pain. I know what it’s like to wonder why the rules didn’t apply to me.
But here’s the thing…
When the box you’re being handed stops being enough; when the apology stops being enough; when the final goodbye stops being enough, it means that the gaping hole inside of you is no longer about someone else. It means the sadness and the grief and the torment is no longer about losing them.
It means the person you really need to forgive is yourself.

I think throughout our lives, we form certain relationships with people – either through circumstance or through choice – that bring us face to face with the most insecure parts of ourselves. In that connection – for whatever reason – we see our own darkness, our own fears and our own unhealed wounds. I believe, when we are confronted with those people, we can unintentionally bring more than just ourselves into the relationship. We can bring the five year old in us that is desperately seeking our parent’s approval; we can bring the twelve year old in us that is being bullied at school; we can bring the twenty-one year old in us that he doesn’t love back.
We can bring our hurts with us. Hurts we didn’t even realize were still there.
When those already hurt parts of our selves end up wounded again, the closure isn’t in what they need to give us, but rather closure is in what WE need to let go of. You can wait for that person to set you free, hear you out, put up a fight for you, but that person didn’t chain you up in the first place.
That person can’t say, “I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you I was proud of you when you were a little girl…my parents never said it to me either”.  
That person can’t say, “I’m sorry I stopped being your friend and spread rumours about you when we were young…I was hurting and hurting you made me feel less alone”
That person can’t say, “I’m sorry I was too afraid to tell you how much I cared…my feelings were pretty scary for me”
But you can say those things.
You can stare that beautiful soul of yours in the eyes and say, “I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry I ever let you believe that you weren’t good enough.”
“I’m sorry that other people took their pain out on you”
“I’m sorry I didn’t stop you from projecting your own hurts onto someone who couldn’t fix them”
“I’m sorry for letting you use a present relationship to try to heal an old wound”
“I’m sorry I never gave you permission to feel hurt when you needed to”
“I’m sorry for holding you hostage to a past that you couldn’t change”
And then you forgive yourself.
You can forgive yourself.
For everything you couldn’t do and everything you couldn’t be.
Because it’s okay. It’s okay to let people in and to be sad when they leave. It’s okay to have pains that instantly take our breath away and it’s okay for them to heal. It’s okay to accept an apology that you weren’t given and it’s okay to give yourself grace even if someone else doesn’t. It’s okay to make mistakes and it’s okay to wish you had done something differently. It’s okay to want closure and it’s okay to also be afraid of it.
But it’s not okay to keep holding onto a box filled with stuff that isn’t yours.
.

Tuesday, July 12, 2016

On What You Can Learn in 16 Birthdays

It seems like just yesterday I was walking into the residence and spotted a very handsome guy across the hallway.  I remember telling my girlfriends that I thought he had one of the most beautiful smiles I’d ever seen. There was something about him that made me instantly know that he was destined for me.  We stuck like glue.  That was over 15 years ago when I met the love of my life.  I always thought it only happened in movies when people fall in love immediately and “just know” that they are going to spend the rest of their lives together.  Well, fortunately, it does happen in the real world and it happened to us.  I remember telling my mom, after dating for only a few days, about this amazing guy I had met and that I knew I was going to marry him some day!  Like she said, when you know, you know.  And I did!  So I want to write a letter and not just any letter.  A letter to my love on his birthday…


Ryan,

Where do I begin? Oh yes, happy birthday babe.  As I sit here and think back on the past fifteen years, I can’t help but smile with a faint tear in my eye.  We have had the most amazing journey so far.  We’ve had times where we can laugh until all hours of the night, cry on each others shoulders, and sit without saying anything at all.  I can’t imagine my life without you.  You are my rock.  You are my soul.  You are my strength when I am weak.  You are my encouragement.  You are my best friend.  You are my happiness.  You complete who I am and who I was meant to be.  You are always there for me when others aren’t.  You always tell me the truth even when it hurts.  You love my family as much as your own.  You can always make a bad day good with just a smile and a flash of those dimples.  You cherish your friendships and I love that.  You make the world a better place.

A girl asked me about our wedding the other day. She was young and excited and wanted to hear about all the pretty details.
“Wow”, she said. “That must have been the best day of your life”.
I smiled at her, in all of her youthful exuberance, and I agreed “it really was a great day…but there have been so many more since”.
“Wasn’t it the BEST, though?”, she persisted. She needed to hear it. The twenty-five-year-old standing in front of me needed confirmation that the wedding day she was so anxiously dreaming about was going to be the best day of her life.
And that’s okay, because, right now, she’s young and excited and has watched one too many romance movies. One day, she’ll understand.
She’ll understand how much more there is to look forward to. She’ll understand, if she’s as lucky as I am, that only after the dress has been worn; the flowers have died, and the food has been eaten that the real fun begins. She’ll understand that, while a wedding is great but a marriage is better.
When I woke up this morning, on your birthday…I wondered what I’ve learned about you in 16 of your birthdays celebrated together. The truth is…I know nothing about the fairy tale that girls dream about! The bigger truth is, I don’t need to know anything about it, because “we” aren’t a classic fairy tale. “We” aren’t this universal truth that applies to all. We are us. You and me. Our crazy lovely life. Our family. And that’s what I’ve learned 16 celebrations later…

Babe, it’s the way you run your fingers through my hair when I’m crying with my head on your chest. It’s the way you let me think that I’m hilarious. It’s the way we can spend hours and hours in a car together without killing each other. It’s the way we dance with our boys. It was the look in your eyes when you feel hurt. It’s the way you took care of me after we had our babies. It’s the way you tell Kingston how smart he is. It’s the way we get through life as if we are inextricably connected. It’s the way you think that 25 Facebook likes is just the beginning of what my writing will do one day. It’s the way you put your head on my lap when you are hurting. It’s the music we listen to as we drive. It’s the immense joy we found while binge watching Dexter. It’s the road to Patson court and Jack Astor’s and crooked cobblestone walkway to OUR first home. It’s our own backyard and starry nights in the hot tub. It’s my endless tears and your endless patience. It’s the way you kiss me goodbye each morning. It’s the way you let me embrace my insomnia. It’s the way you fold laundry. It’s the way you never complain when I spend too much money on coffee. It is a stocked wine shelf and morning coffee.  It’s watching the sunset over Three Mile Lake and your breath on the back of neck while we sleep. It’s the warning signals you give off when you’re hungry and the way you still love me even though I never put gas in the car. It’s the way you hold my hand when you’re driving and how nuts it drives you when I leave the car a mess. It’s doctor’s appointments and mortgage payments and first days of school. It’s embracing the big things and bickering over the little things.

One day that excited 25-year-old girl, if she’s as lucky as I am, she’ll understand…

She’ll understand that the best day of her life isn’t going to be her wedding day or the day she meets her Mr. Wonderful, it’s going to be all of the days after because then she’ll realize that her wedding day was only the beginning.
And as I woke today, 16 birthdays later, I did actually know one thing for sure about the man I married…
I’d choose you all over again.

Today, Tomorrow and Always,
Happy 35th Birthday, Handsome

Me

Sunday, June 12, 2016

On Loving Your Village


I think sometimes we forget that life is not an island. We think that we live in these remote places of our mind, all alone; making new memories, healing past wounds and discovering a new self.
Yet we forget.

We forget that our decisions, actions, our immense pain... all ripple. Our experiences radiate out and extend to the people that care about us most; whether we want it to or not.

Sometimes things happen.  Sometimes life happens. Sometimes it happens in tiny little increments as the days and months pass.  Sometimes it happens all at once...at two o'clock in the morning...while the rain pours down outside your bedroom window and you can barely keep your eyes open and stop the tears from soaking your pillow.

Either way, sometimes...it happens. And if you're lucky (really fucking lucky) you have a handful of people who will raise you up and meet you at the shore. They draw you out of your secluded mind and remind you that you aren't in it by yourself. They will sit next to you, listen to you and bring you out of isolation.





The last year has been challenging for me in a lot of ways. But if it has taught me anything, it's that I'm one of the lucky ones. From the unexpected phone calls; to the code red tea dates; to the text messages that made me laugh. It was a reminder that my struggle isn't an island either. It never was and it never will be. As I start to pick myself up off the rocks I can see the waters begin to calm and the tide begins to change... the ripples begin to calm.

I am beginning to see a familiar reflection staring back at me once again. The gratitude that is flowing from my soul is immeasurable.

Love your village hard, my friends, because of them, you will float instead of sink.