The Function of My Depression

This month started out really well for me. On the first of May I sent a message to a friend that simply read "It's going to be a great day!" And I meant it, and it was. The sun was shining.  I had declared my paintings finished and delivered them to the art gallery. With it came great sense of accomplishment. After a long hard winter things were looking up.

I was able to hold onto this 'good feeling' for a couple weeks, the longest I've felt it in months. Emotionally I had felt like I was on a winning streak. Sure, I had my ups and downs, my moods, but never to the point where they felt unmanageable. I felt grounded. Normal, really.

Then the depression came knocking, at first a light tap on the door, but eventually banging with a vengeance. It's presence was quite familiar to me and I know too well the inevitable nature of its cycle. My observer self watched as the depression dug in a little deeper each day and within a few days I was back to that pull-the-covers-over-my-head state. Frustrated. I knew the stability I had felt just prior wouldn't last, it never does, but I suppose I'm always clinging to the hope that it will stay longer than it does.

So I found myself at a level of functioning that takes much more of my attention than what seems ideal, and consequently removes me from being present with my loved ones. Sadness, sensitivity, overwhelm, grief, even anger this time, take over and I turn inward. My inner processes ramp up and demand so much of my energy. I move in slow motion, it kind of feels as though I'm walking through molasses. It's not something I am choosing, but something that happens to me. At times I resent it, but resistance is futile and only adds onto the frustration, feeding it and slowing down the healing process.

I try to participate in regular life but have little to offer and struggle to cope with the demands placed on me. I withdraw my presence. It becomes routine that my husband picks up the slack that I've dropped, without question, and graciously refrains from expressing any frustrations that he may carry. I know it will pass, but it still takes tremendous efforts to accept this state, and I am riddled with guilt for the person I cannot be for my family and loved ones.

It is here where the frustrations with in my life bubble to the surface. With myself, my marriage, my relationships - they become all I can see. In my relationships I contemplate how much of these problems have to do with what I am not able to offer myself. I become critical of myself and others, so I leave the room, not wanting to hurt anyone. Aware of how disproportionate my perspective becomes, I am careful not to make any big moves until I can act from a clearer view. Adaptation.

I am beginning to emerge. Much of my ability to come up from the turbulent waters comes not from what I am doing but what I am not doing. Not resisting, or becoming frustrated with being frustrated, or criticizing myself for the disfunction of my emotions - I know from experience that it is these things that cause me to spiral deeper.

But also there are things I'm learning to do to help as well.

It is important to pay attention to my emotions and try to understand what they are asking for or find a way to release them. As soon as I deny their right, I start to feel them psychosomatically. They become trapped. Sometimes this just means allowing them to be, without judgment. Other times it means acting in a way to find what they need to be reconciled. I know now how crucial it is to practice self-compassion to avoid the spell of the negative.

I am faced with the constant challenge of acceptance - of self, of my state, of others. It takes great deliberation to debunk the negative perspective that is voiding the view. To focus on the small light that is offered in the cracks.

Also to give myself permission to lean on others when its hard, and accept whatever level of support they may (or may not) be able to offer at the time. Turns out I don't have to be this totally self-sufficient superhuman and I might be surprised at what another can offer to bring solutions to my confusion.

I know from living this cycle again and again, there is a function in this depression. I can't say I like it and if there was another (easier) way I would probably choose it. I know it is hard for those who care about me to understand it from the outside. They don't want to see me in pain. But hardships are part of life and have reasons for presenting themselves when they do. I try to remind myself of the messages I repetitively see from the people that inspire me. It is said in so many ways but the message is common, as in the words of Brene Brown, "Only when we are brave enough to explore the darkness will we discover the infinite power of our light." I really believe this. However, practicing this concept is so much harder than it sounds. I see how people around me fear the the things that cause discomfort and will try at best to avoid going there. I do it too. It's uncomfortable, uncertain, and scary. Even though I now understand its ability to bring growth, it becomes hard when you are in the depths of it. But in my mid-thirties journey embodying this message of acceptance of, or perhaps even embracing, the darkness in life as a place where the greater things are rooted has never proved wrong, and every time I come out with an answer that helps move me forward.

I have spent a lot of time with my thoughts and have come to understand myself a little more. Most of this understanding, if not all, has come to me during the hard times. I have been contemplating the balance between my ability to self-support and my emotional dependency on others.  I have been exploring my truth, and am finding purpose in following it, expressing it and inspiring others to do the same through example. I've been reflecting on the amount of power I've given away through self-sacrificial practices, and am giving worth to my voice. I have become more aware of the ways I have been living according to what is expected of me rather than from an authentic place. I am giving myself permission to not have all the answers right now and to receive support from others. Again, I contemplate the balance between my needs and what I can offer to others. The purpose that lies in loving myself, in order to offer love, in unlimited quantities, to others.  It is these answers, and more, that lie in the function of my depression.

"Trust the process," I'm told. Perhaps the greatest challenge yet. When the light has disappeared from view and all you can see is the darkness, you become wrapped in uncertainty, the unknown. You must find trust in something greater than yourself to carry you along until there is light. Trust that there is a purpose for this experience you are going through and that something greater will come from it. I am beginning to understand. Each time I emerge from the depths of my depression, I come to a new understanding of myself, and growth comes from it. The next time I hit a wall I have a couple more tools to help me along my way. So I wade through the doubt, toward the hope that illuminates, sometimes so far in the distance, but its there. Even on days that I cannot see it, I don't think I ever lose the sense that something greater will come of this. Trust the process. This is what keeps me going.

Creativity, Extended

Recently I've had a strong desire to take my art to the next level. Yet I've had a great hesitation in sharing my art publicly. I contemplate the message I want to portray and the purpose for putting it out there. I've spent the last few days investigating the roots to this reservation.

About a year ago my purpose for painting shifted from something I created for the outside world to something I do as a therapy for myself (you can read more about that in this post). Art has become an expressive outlet and a coping mechanism when I become overwhelmed with the world around me. On my best days, when I get into the creative space I become calm and clear. The demands of the world diminish, the significance of how my work will be evaluated by others lifts, and I simply get immersed in the blissful process of creating.

"Exquisitely Untamed"*

However, I don't think I ever completely let go of what others think. It holds more weight at certain times than others, and considering another's view, if done moderately, can serve me positively. When I start to doubt my own work I will often share with my closest people, who become a vehicle of encouragement. I trust they will be honest with me and deliver their input in a supportive way. I want to see what I make from another's vantage, as I find value in the perspective that I cannot see.

While on vacation in Arizona a couple weeks ago, I found myself invigorated with inspiration as I walked through galleries of the Scottsdale Arts District. For the first time ever, I was able to envision my own art hanging on the future walls of those galleries. This was an encouraging sign of how far in confidence I've come over the last year and a half. I truly felt capable of getting to place where my art would be worthy of such display. I didn't think much about what attracted me to this idea, until just the other day.

In fact, recently I was invited to participate in a collaborative art show. I spent a month working on three pieces for the show. Switching back and forth between creating for the enjoyment and creating for the audience, my creativity and motivation stalled a number of times. I wrestled with the pressures I placed on myself to produce sellable art, which became inhibiting at times. Many times I wanted to give up but I had the lingering expectation of a deadline in play. Finding a balance in my expectations was crucial in order to allowing creativity to flow. In the end it was a good exercise in pushing myself through the doubtful voices and fears of failing and gave me a great sense of accomplishment to call them finished.

In talking to a friend about taking my art more seriously, as a career, I was advised to figure out what it is about doing art that I love the most and decide whether I want to share that with the world. At first I struggled to find an answer for this. Although the desire is there, I've been a little confused about my reasons for sharing or selling my art. I've realized that I had adopted the assumption that the only reason for an artist wanting to show their work publicly is to become known or recognized as an artist. But this doesn't quite resonate with me, nor does it fall in line with my values (in fact, the attention kind of makes me feel uncomfortable). Feeling conflicted by this narrow view has created a procrastination in starting something new. I now understand this hesitation as a result of questioning my intentions behind the desire to take my art to the next level, not wanting to want to do it for the wrong reasons. But deep down I know there is something else, something more driving this desire.

"After the Rain"*

I've recently immersed myself in learning about  the fascinating personality and work of Marina Abramovic, a performing artist who has spent her career expanding the the boundaries of art and the psyche. In a 2013 interview she offers advice to young artists, touching on what makes an artist and what makes a great artist. She says if your goal is to be famous and rich you can forget about being an artist, because success and money is not the aim of a great artist, it is just a side effect. This rang true for me, and again had me thinking about my reasons for envisioning my work on those gallery walls.

So if it is not for the attention or the fame or the money, I ask myself what is driving me to put my art out there, where does the attraction of creating for the public come from? I'm learning, much like in my writing, and many other areas of my life, for me it's all about connection.

Last Friday, I attended the opening reception for the show my art is in. As I observed from the sidelines, I noticed one viewer that seemed more invested in my work than anyone else. She spent a lot of time gazing at, talking about and expressively gesturing towards my work with a friend. When she finally moved away I humbly approached her and commented that I had noticed her looking. She asked if I was the artist and said to me, "I don't want to know your story." I wasn't completely sure what she meant by this, but decided to take it as a compliment and instinctively replied, "I feel things very deeply." She went on to explain that the girl in "Becoming" looked so much like her 12 year old daughter and that she saw herself in it too. It moved her so much it had brought her to tears. Then she told me she was going to buy it. I learnt that she had art on display as well. As hard as it was to see this painting taken off the wall so quickly (at that point it became very apparent how attached I had become) I knew it was going to the right person. I discovered a purpose in the idea that something I created from within was capable of resonating with another so deeply. I didn't know this person, but my artwork created a meaningful connection between us. We found a mutual comprehension of the expression this piece delivered. Through her affection for this painting I felt understood on a creative and emotional level, and it is my suspicion she felt her own version of this from me. And, perhaps the silverest of linings, something I created has something important to offer another, enough that she wanted to hang it in her home.

"Becoming"

So I think I have found my answer. Not unlike the role that my sister's art plays in my life (and many others), my art, in sharing with others, becomes a powerful tool in which the world potentially becomes a little more connected. The impact it has on the viewer, the ability to reach another human at an emotional level, is what motivates me to share what I create with the world.

So it is here that I will share my most recent creations with you, internet world. Whatever it may evoke within your soul, trigger in your emotions, or simply inspire in your creativity, it is my hope that it has something of worth to offer for you. Enjoy.

*Originals available for sale at the And Art Gallery in Davidson, SK

Authenticity

I dreamt last night that I was in public with no top on. I was at a coffee shop ordering drinks. I have these forget my clothes dreams often, but instead of leaving and finding clothes I continue my way and try my damndest not to care with people think. In some dreams it seems as if no one notices, although I always feel self-conscious and keep thinking I should go find more clothes. In this dream however, I was very aware of the blatant judgement directed my way. I switched between trying to cover my chest with my arm - flooded with embarrassment, and just letting it all hang out as if to say "I don't care what you think, this is me, get used to it."

I've spent a lot of energy during the last couple years paying attention to my authenticity and working on the concept that who I am is enough. Steering away from trying to fit into an image that I think others would prefer and navigating the land of my truth. This is motivated by the understanding that trying to be something I am not sucks away my energy and that leading a more authentic life will set me free.

Since becoming aware of how much of my image is fabricated from what others think of me, I've been exploring the amount of validation I want to accept from others, versus how much I should rely on myself. Depending on my emotional state and confidence, this changes constantly. Sometimes I want to take it to the extreme and not care at all what others think of me, and be totally self-sufficient when it comes to my confidence, but I have to remember that as humans we are co-dependent and we need to rely on a level of validation from others. It is pretty normal to care what someone else thinks. It is when what they think has you hustling for their approval in a way that pulls you so far away from who you really are that it becomes a false expression of our true selves. This is not a clear line, in fact it often confuses me. Especially coming from a place where I thought I didn't care as much as I did. Only recently have I become so aware of how much I fed off the praise of my achievements, as it was through these successes (academics, athletics, creativity) that determined most how I identified myself, growing up.

Authenticity has earned a spot at the top of my core values. However to be authentic is a vulnerable experience. It requires discarding the cover-ups that we use to stay 'safe,' and facing those fears of third party evaluation. At the same time there are other factors that play in when putting your whole self out there, and it is important to consider how it affects other values and other people involved.

One way I like to challenge myself in this light is through my blog. When I write I am exposing a side of myself that I have rarely talked about, even most of my family hasn't been privy to many of my emotional experiences. So I have developed a ritual in deciding whether or not to publish each post. Prior to clicking publish I make sure to ask myself each of the following questions:

"What is my intention behind sharing this?" If my answer is for attention, I won't share it. If it is an honest expression of my thoughts, feelings, experiences or beliefs then I move to the next question.

"What does this post offer to others? Is there a significant message or silver lining?" It is this message that gives me a purpose to put the writing out there for others to see. I have many private posts I've written as a way to sort out my thoughts or to express myself, that I will not share because they were written for myself and I feel they don't serve a purpose for others.

"Will what I've written hurt or offend any of the readers?" Sometimes I write about experiences that involve others in my life. I'd never want to compromise the dignity of another in publishing a blog post. If sharing what I write risks causing hurt to another, it just isn't worth the trade off.

"Is this written from an authentic place? Is it true to me?" The answer to this one is especially important and if the answer is yes, I always find the courage to put it out there, regardless of the judgement that might be out there. Because if it is coming from my truth, and if I deem my voice as worthy as the next guy's then I owe it to myself to allow it to be seen. There is a breath of fresh air in this.

Saying that, putting myself out there is still very hard for me. I'm generally a pretty private person, and quite sensitive to criticism. The minute I press share, although the answers to the questions above satisfy, I feel anxious. This usually lasts through the rest of the day, doubts swimming around in my head - of whether my writing has any value, whether anyone will read it, and if they do, whether they will think it's ridiculous or disagree. But at the same time I know by doing so, by facing my big fear of rejection (judgement and criticism) I am working to give my voice more confidence, and from this comes a a sense of liberation.  I find a freedom in not allowing a need for validation from others to keep me quiet.  Also, this allows the purpose of blogging to take priority. In working to let go of needing any response from my readers I can take comfort in the the mere chance that sharing my journey could help even one person, just as hearing about other's experiences has helped me.

I know it is hard to let go of how you are perceived and judged by the world, and there is probably some sort of survival mechanism embedded deeply in our desire to do so. But I do think our society has carried this to an level of influence where we, more than not, tend to become someone that comes from an image outside of ourselves instead of what we're really made of. As a result we behave in a way that takes us beyond our defence and serves as a detriment to our emotional survival.

I dream of a place where individuality is celebrated over conformity. Where we encourage one another to look deep inside and listen carefully to what their voice is telling them, and to have the courage to follow it. Where we stop judging one another out of fear, insecurity and self-preservation. It's an upstream journey, living in our truth when so much of what we see and hear is telling us to join the rest of the crowd and move downstream. But following the path meant for you will take you to the place that you can call your own, that gives you the breathing room to really discover yourself. There is strength in your raw truth but it takes courage to find it. If you tune inward and are willing to stand on your own you will discover the freedom that takes place away from the crowd.

"You are only free when you realize you belong no place - you belong every place - no place at all. The price is high. The reward is great." ~ Maya Angelou

The Bear, the Battle and the Gift

We crouched down hushed, sure not to disrupt the peace of our surroundings offered by the forest. The air still, the trees lush. Taking turns the animals graciously presented themselves to our view. As each one appeared we called its name, and it answered by retreating back to the safety of the woods. I got up, took the hand of my two year old son, and strolled away from the crowd to a pocket in the trees. A bear appeared. It approached us grudgingly and we cautiously backed to a corner of the clearing, opposite to the crowd but within line of sight.  The bear lowered its head, shook it threateningly and grunted. I called for help from the crowd (which consisted of a combination of strangers and people I knew well) but they either ignored my pleas or gestured that I was on my own and continued about their leisure. Still holding my son's hand, I positioned him behind me, feeling assured that he would not be hurt under my protection. Each time the bear approached I swung my one free fist with a force just enough to make it back off but only for a moment. Each time I hollered for help, I got no response, and felt frustrated by the lack of attention. Giving in to the notion that I was on my own, I turned my focus inward to an informative voice that affirmed my ability to take on this bear. In that moment I stumbled, falling to one knee and the bear stood on hind legs towering over me, but I swiftly recovered and continued a strong fight in my defence. The bear never bared its teeth, only threatened its dominance to intimidate. Despite the threats, I maintained a sense that I was okay, I was going to be okay, feeling calm and grounded. Persevering, I eventually knocked the bear out, and the large animal visually became smaller as he surrendered to unconsciousness. I thought to myself, "This bear may wake up eventually, but for now I've won this match." Then I woke up.

Last year was an emotionally difficult year for me. In the changes I've taken on and the barriers I've faced I've spent a lot of time navigating unfamiliar places. I don't think I would have gotten through it safely without the surmountable support of my close friends. I was extremely lucky to have the people around me that I did. I relied heavily on their availability particularly in my most anxious moments of uncertainty and doubt. They helped carry my load, and talking it through helped me sort so much of it out. I'll be forever grateful for the love and encouragement from others when I couldn't find it within myself. All along, however, I knew this level of dependency wasn't something that could be maintained forever and at some point I would need to become more self-reliant in my emotional coping. I recognized the unconditional treatment I received as something I wanted to find in myself, for myself, and this love offered by others became a model for my vision - and eventually my practice.

In recent months my support network has shifted its shape and the support I had is not as readily available. I find myself attempting to grip the frayed strings of what's left to find my way back to the security of the place I once knew. But that's not what this transformation is about. Change is hard. Uncertain. As someone who has always struggled to embrace the reality of change, I am coming to realize that most of the struggle comes from resistance. As these changes take form I find myself in a position away from the crowd, where my only option is to become more self-reliant. As a consequence I'm learning how to be a greater source of comfort for myself in the face of my emotional challenges. Albeit difficult (not unlike being cornered by a bear at times) and probably not what I would choose if I still had the security of last year's supports, I'm beginning to see this as a new phase in my journey. Phase two. My energy is divided between life's constant responsibilities (in the dream, protecting Archer) and tending to my mental health (battling the bear). It feels overwhelming, even threatening at times, but I'm able to hold on to this nurtured notion that I am capable, discovering a fresh confidence in my own strength.

As the crowd stood back and watched me sweat through my one-handed battle with this bear I momentarily assumed a victim's role, but just as quickly chose to let it go and focus on my battle. Had I held onto that victim identity I probably wouldn't have had the energy to take out the bear. In reflection, perhaps the crowd's reaction was not an act of neglect, but rather an alternative (more informed) form of support. Perhaps their confidence in me preceded mine. And by waiting on standby, they were gifting me the opportunity to discover my own strength, ready to jump in if the bear were to ever bare its teeth.

The Cliff

I'm at the edge of a cliff. The view from here is clear and vast and beautiful. At times it feels as though I am at the top of the world. I have places to go, dreams to fill. At first I walk along with reservation, remembering from my past that the ground could give away at any time. But the longer I move along solid ground, the more confidence I have in it's ability to hold my weight, eventually forgetting how thin the ledge I walk on actually is. The sun beams with promise, warm on my face. I start to skip. I run at times. I walk with a presence. I breath in the view and plan my path ahead. Aspirations, goals, ambitions build up with an affirming clarity and I steadily carry the expectations that they bring, feeling strong, even unstoppable at times.

Abruptly, the ground beneath breaks, the rock crumbles, I stumble. As I fall I grasp for any rocks that make themselves available to me out of the cliff's wall. Afraid of the murky waters that lurk below I desperately cling to whatever grip I can find, but struggle to hold on for any significant length of time. This takes incredible energy, desperate to get back to the place at the top, where my aspirations await. My fear of falling just feeds the force of gravity, moving me in the opposite direction I try to go. I panic. I become frustrated with the wall for being what it is, for not being what it isn't. I become angry with myself for being so foolish to think the ground could hold me and the weight of my ambition, and for not paying attention to my step, for not being strong enough to make my way back to the top. I discount any inevitability of the situation.  The more I fight to climb back up the more tired my grip becomes. I slip again and again and fall, each time, further away from where I started. With each loss of footing I collect more scrapes and bruises. Occasionally I'll take respite on a ledge on the wall just long enough to assess the injuries I have accumulated. The more attention I pay to them the more I realize the significance of the pain they cause. I want to escape this pain so, despite feeling worn out and wounded, I try to climb away from it, no matter how impossible at this point. But the harder I try the more tired and frustrated I grow and the further away I move from the place I want to get to.

Eventually the ground finds me, but I am not at the top. I am at the bottom. And to my surprise it is dry. As my foot touches down I release my tired grip, at last my attempt to climb surrendered. I look up, and touch fingertips to the cold damp wall of my decent. Smoothed by currents from past tides it offers no ledges within reach that would allow me to resume my climb.  I am alone. I stop and listen. I can hear waves crashing in the distance. I stop straining to see the view that was offered at the top of the ledge and take in my immediate surroundings. I notice the quiet stillness of this place, the cool calm. By now the pressure of getting back to the top so quickly, so desperately has lifted off my shoulders and ironically I feel lighter. I could wander, but the still air invites me to settle here. I sit, taking residence in the place I have come to. Although somewhat unfamiliar and a little uncomfortable, it brings a sense of peace, a place that I somehow know is for me. As I sit, the sand below rearranges itself to accommodate whatever shape I need to be. If I am not careful I just might become complacent with this place whose arrival I so vigorously resisted just moments ago. I come to understand that it is my job to sit still, pay attention and tend to my wounds. To wait. For how long? I have no idea. But to find faith in the idea that this is the place I am meant to be right now, and hope in the idea that if I wait here, in time the tide will come, gradually lifting me up high enough to find my sure grip. With the weight lifted and a restored strength I will ease my way back up to the vantage of my desires, and by the time I reach it perhaps things will look a little different than they did before I fell.



"the stillness
you are busy trying
to fill

is the origin
of your authenticity + truth

why then, may I ask
are you so afraid
of what you thirst?"

Sarah Blondin, live awake

Opening the Mind and Letting Go

A couple months after my sister passed away I received a message from someone that had met her years ago in the hospital, who also happened to be called Niki. She explained how they shared a journey similar in struggles, bonded over a common connection to the spirit world, and found affinity in having the same name. This Niki was at the beginning of her spiritual journey when they first met, and she expressed how my sister was a source of comfort and support at this scary period in her life. She sent me a photo of a painting my sister had given her during their time together. It is a dramatic image of a mermaid embracing a fish, their tails are intertwined. This image had significance to Niki (the friend) as she, un-beknown to my sister, had been using 'just keep swimming' as a mantra to get through her fearful moments. I was grateful that she shared this story with me, as hearing about the impact my sister had on others brought comfort in the midst of my grief.

I thought this would be the last time I would hear from this person. But then, just a few weeks ago she sent another message telling me she had been consulted in regards to the painting she had and it was my sisters wish that I have it.

This triggered a number of emotions and left me with an unsettled feeling, uncertain of how I should feel or respond.

First of all I didn't feel entitled to this painting, it wasn't originally meant for me. It was such an intimate exchange between the two of them and I didn't want to take that away from her. This offer triggered a lot of emotional memories associated with past experiences with my sister and her schizophrenia. Based on the the history of my sister's tendency to discard most of her possessions in the midst of a schizophrenic episode, and in learning the history of how they met, I admit my mind immediately went to the assumption that it was a result of a schizophrenic delusion.

You see early in my sister's diagnosis, anything she did that was out of the 'norm' of my own experiences, I understood as a symptom of her schizophrenia, especially anything that had to do with religion or spirituality. Her experiences were so unfamiliar and scary (to her and to me), so my first defence was  to chalk them all up to her diagnosis. It wasn't until a few years ago, after a conversation with someone for whom I held high respect and revered as very grounded, that I started to shift my perception. I was enlightened to the idea that if this person could be so open to the possibility of a spirit world and a connection between that and the living world, why couldn't I? I began to open my mind to the possibility that maybe my sister was able to somehow tap into the spirit world, as she claimed, and began to question my right to judge what is real and what is not? Or what is real to her? Just because my experiences are different than another's doesn't make that person's experiences wrong or not true.

In practice, this was a sensitive subject. Sometimes the messages she claimed to receive from her spirits were a threat to her well-being and those around her, even dangerous at times. From this new perspective the line that divided the schizophrenia from the spiritual realm became obscure, if there was one. But it was her reality, and knowing from experience any judgement on my part would just cause resistance, and trying to change her perception would not be helpful (or ethical) and only result in conflict. I found the best fit for me in her life was to be a source of unconditional support, and one way I was able to do this was in entertaining her reality (the exception being when it put her in harms way). Although I never fully articulated this to my sister, I found that this attitude shift changed our relationship. Reserving judgement, I became more accepting of her spiritual experiences and I believe she picked up on this. I became a safer person in her life and as a result my presence in her life was more readily received by her. In recent years she became more open to sharing some of her spiritual encounters as I became more open to listening to them.

So you can probably see how this could have initially triggered an immediate defensive and undeserving feeling around attaining this painting, bringing me back to that attitude early in her diagnosis. After sitting on this for a few days, and upon further inquisition I was told that Niki (in spirit) had come through to Niki (on earth) expressing that she felt this was her best painting and it was her wish that I have it...which struck me as a very Niki (sister) thing to say.  The message from Niki (friend) read "While I love it dearly, I love the idea of you having it more." Just as my perception of my sister's spiritual experience changed, my perception on this situation began to shift. Plus, her eager willingness to part with this gift was the confirmation I needed to let go of my reservations around receiving this painting.

At this point in my life I am not sure what I believe about the afterlife or how I would define spirituality. It is a vulnerable subject and from what I know of myself, I am not sure I will ever come to a strong conclusion, I kind of like to sit somewhere in the arena of 'anything is possible.' I have ideas I like more than others, about spirituality and connection and energies beyond scientific proof. I take to heart little coincidences that seemingly take place at the most significant times and in just the right places.  I have a feeling this (spirituality) is something I will always be exploring for myself.  What I know and what I believe will likely be ever-changing based on my experiences and a growing understanding of myself. And, I suppose, the mystery of not knowing for sure combined with the flexibility in choosing what I want to believe are part of the appeal of remaining permeable in my beliefs.

I know that I do believe in allowing each individual the right to a religion or spirituality that serves them best, and I hope that they would do the same for me. In testing this story on a few of my most trusted people I found myself saying, "While I'm not sure I believe in the possibility of my sister channelling through to a living human, I don't not believe in the impossibility of it." Each person I spoke to was affected deeply, in their own way likely influenced by their own belief system. But what I found common among each of them was their validation & acceptance of my experience in this situation, reserving all judgements, sensitive to the emotional hold this event had on me. It has occurred to me, despite any differences in their own spiritual understanding, they each put their beliefs aside to celebrate the significance of this story to me, while empathizing with the way I was affected. They opened their minds and sat with me in my experience, even if just for a second.

 So I sent my address, let the situation settle in my mind, and put it out of focus for a few days.

Then the painting showed up at my door. Opening the package brought much excitement, as I imagine the birthday packages I used to send to my sister would have. The painting was much larger than I had envisioned and more beautiful in real life, matching the colours in my house beautifully. I found myself overcome by a much different feeling in receiving the painting than I had in receiving the initial message. I felt a deserving recipient of this beautiful piece and found some amusement in the idea, or possibility, of this painting being sent to me by my sister from the afterlife. I hung it proudly in my hallway and whenever I notice it I imagine my sister greeting me with a little 'hi,' in that playful manner she so often embodied.

In reflection, a couple important lessons have come from this:

One, I'm learning that some things are not meant to be held onto forever. This painting, once one of (friend) Niki's most prized possessions has now become one of mine. She receives more satisfaction in the thought that it brings me closer to my sister than in keeping it for herself. This is generosity at its purest and makes me rethink my attitude toward my possessions and their fluid purpose in my life. It helps me to better understand the habitual theme in my sisters life of letting go of material things, because she got more fulfillment out of the idea of someone else needing them than in keeping them herself. This thought brings attention to the not so coincidental coincidence that I received this painting through someone, who not only shared my sister's name, but based on this brief encounter, eerily appears similar in character as well.

Two, I am reminded that keeping an open mind is one of the greatest gifts you can offer to another and also to yourself. Opening my mind to possibilities fostered a bond that brought my sister and I closer together, bringing a greater acceptance between us and allowed us to share things that we wouldn't have otherwise. It also created a shift in the way I felt about receiving this painting and enabled an appreciation for this exchange that would not have otherwise occurred. And I'm not sure I would be willing to share this story here had my friends reacted differently to my experience and my perception of the whole situation. Keeping an open mind to another's experiences, putting yourself in their place, and accepting their experiences without judgement is, in my belief, the greatest nourishment for developing the deepest of connections, and the perfect recipe for bringing people closer together.

Let's Talk 2018

It's Bell Let's Talk Day, a campaign to open up the conversation about mental health in Canada, one close to my heart - now more than ever. I feel this initiative is important in helping to alleviate the stigma that keeps us quiet and judging. Last year was perhaps the first time I allowed myself to admit that I fall into the category of those that struggle with mental illness. I felt an obligation to participate in the social media campaign, but I was in no shape or form to speak up on that platform. I was extremely lost and vulnerable and wasn't ready to put my story out there. I now realize that that was ok, but at the time I didn't feel so, I just felt pressure to share and a lot of shame in not being able to live up to this expectation.

So instead of sharing with the world I found a safe place to start talking, in a trusted friend. Reaching out for the first time and confronting my depression turned out to be a life changing start to self-improvement. I learnt the value in vulnerability and each time I ventured out of my comfort zone to explore my struggles through conversation, I learnt something new about myself and the ways I've been getting in my own way.  Beginning to understand the value in opening up, I started to confide in a few other trusted friends, signed up for therapy, and took to blogging, finding this new freedom in being able to express the things I'd been holding inside for years out of shame and fear of judgement. The more I opened up to others, the more they opened up to me, the deeper these connections grew. I also started reading about others stories and started to realize that my battle was a lot more common (and justifiable) than I ever allowed myself to see it as. Suddenly I wasn't such an anomaly, I wasn't as alone as I made myself out to be. It turns out my problems were real and the stigma I placed on my own mental health began to lift.

Don't be fooled, these conversations were (and still are) difficult, particularly in the beginning. I find myself cautiously contemplating how much I share and to whom I share with. I've learnt there is a delicate balance in how much I can lean on these supports before its weight becomes too much bear for that particular relationship and that you have to learn ways to take on some of it on your own.

It isn't easy making yourself subject to judgement and rejection with your greatest vulnerabilities, but in my experience the gains far outweigh the risks. The more I face these fears the more comfortable I feel talking about my mental health and the more benefits I see coming from it, not just for myself but for others too.  By openly speaking about these things I give others permission to do the same, just as others have done for me in sharing their stories. I no longer feel shame in talking about my depression and anxiety. I can bring it up in conversations and find a purpose in sharing it through my blog, in the hopes that it may help someone else dealing with their own versions of depression and anxiety. I think it's working. Almost exactly a year after I first reached out, I received an email from one of my blog readers. She recognized some of the challenges wrote about in herself and asked if I would meet with her to talk about it. See what's happening here?

So when you hear this campaign encouraging you to talk, and see these brave people speak publicly about their mental health, the thought of taking part can be intimidating. I give those people a lot of credit and agree that it takes a lot of courage to put your face on a public campaign around mental health. But there is another way to be courageous in the face of mental health. And I bet each of those featured in that campaign started here. The courage it takes to face the discomfort of those fears of rejection, judgment, shame of your mental health struggles. The courage it takes to open up for the first time you decide to talk to someone about things you've harboured for years. The courage it takes to show a side of yourself you've never allowed to be seen, even by those who have known you your whole life.

A public campaign is just one way to reduce the stigma attached to mental illness. Yes, conversations will change how we think about mental illness. But you don't have to shout to be heard. It's amazing how far a whisper can be carried. Who knows how a private conversation might change not only how you think and talk about your own mental health, but also how those on the receiving end think and talk about their own or others they know who struggle? Often it is the most intimate encounters that create the biggest ripple effect.

Mental Health is not something you have or you don't, it is something we all have and everyone has their own trial in maintaining a good balance. Mental illness is more common than we allow ourselves to think it is and for those of us who are directly affected, the idea that we are alone in it is what leads to the belief that there is something wrong with us. As long as we keep it from view, we will never counter this attitude, and continue to nurture the very mindset that keep us down.

Let this be permission for you to talk about you own mental health challenges, whether it be a public expression you know or with just one other person, sharing only where you feel safe doing so. You just might find the more you talk, the more you will want to talk and, as I have, discover a new freedom in allowing your truth to be seen, letting go of the shame that keeps us silently disconnected.

Raising Girls

When my first was born I was told I had a girl. I remember that intense feeling of joy that you get when you don't know whether to laugh or cry, its just so big you can't really contain it. They handed me the most miraculous thing I had ever created. A real live tiny baby human girl.

These days it's pretty common to feel a bit scared for our children futures, with all the tourmoil that is happening in the world combined with the seemingly inevitable trends that are detrimental to our children's development. But after watching Oprah's empowerment speech from the Golden Globes, I was reminded of all the ways that our children have an advantage, the movement toward greater gender equality - bringing new hope taking place for girls (and boys) today, counteracting the uncertainty for future generations.

For as long as I remember having any opinion, this has been a passionate subject for me. I revelled in the idea of proving my abilities to debunk others attitudes about the limitations that being a girl might bring. I was raised in a family that nurtured all my ambitions and never once received the message that I couldn't do anything I wanted, especially because I was a girl. Sports became my thing and I was given every opportunity that my brothers had (if not more, in lieu of my growing passion) In fact it was encouraged, at age nine, when my mother, with the help of a five dollar bill, encouraged me to join my brother's hockey team, the beginning of a lifelong love affair with the sport. I grew up playing on the boys teams right through midget. At 5'4" & 125 lbs you can imagine the reservations my parents had watching me face off against guys twice my size and weight in a contact sport, but they let me choose and I chose to persevere. Looking back I admit I was in over my head at times, and am quite lucky I never broke a bone, for the amount I got knocked around. My hometown team as supportive, I was treated no differently than the rest of the team. The attitude from other teams was different, but the backlash I received only drove me to work harder.  To this day I still feel I am capable of doing anything I choose to pursue if I want it bad enough, and I can use my strengths as a woman to my advantage in this pursuit.

This is the attitude I want to instil into my girls (as well as my son), especially in a world that is so often sending messages that are contradictory. I take raising my girls especially seriously and am careful about the messages I relay, especially when it comes to my own insecurities. It's a challenge and sometimes I fail. Last week, in a amped up argument with Lucy about what she was wearing to school, I regretfully said something that contradicted the very message I hope to relay to my children. After unsuccessfully trying three pairs of pants on, I claimed they were probably too tight because she eats too much candy. As I heard the words come out of my mouth I felt like they were coming from someone who was not me and instantly regretted what I just said. As a kindergartener the size of her body isn't largely influential on her sense of self (yet), so I feel that this comment didn't have the impact it potentially could have had if she were older or someone else. But as my girls transition through an age where they are becoming more and more influenced by the external world I have more responsibility to teach them to own their own attitudes about their bodies and sense of selfs, and  messages I send to them must be concentrated in positive affluence to counteract the negative influence of the world around us. After this remark, I feel I have some making up to do, and will do my damndest to model this self-love, self-acceptance, self-compassion that I am working so hard to learn at 35 years old to my girls as they grow. To stress that it takes all shapes and sizes and kinds of people to make the world and that we all matter. To love and celebrate myself and my children for who they are at the core, their authenticity, their individuality and the strength of their will, even on days that this very thing makes my job so much harder.

One way I can do this is through the lens. I love the challenge of capturing the true personalities of my kids on camera. They've become accustomed to just continue with what they are doing when I bring out the camera. I want to portray them as their naturally, just doing what they do, doing what they love. I want to show them the value and beauty in who they are. These types of photos, where their personalities really shine, have become my strongest storytelling images.

Yesterday I received a highly anticipated book called Strong is the New Pretty. If you are familiar with this book you can imagine my excitement. It is a collection of photographs of girls doing their thing, showing strength and authenticuty through their passions, each paired with a quote from the girl in the picture. They are captured by Professional Photographer Kate T Parker, also a mother of two young girls. I admire her work greatly, as well as the way she raises her girls and the message she is portraying through her project. It falls perfectly in line with my values and all I discussed above. I wanted this book not only for inspiration as a mother and photographer, but also as inspiration for the rest of my family. However, I didn't anticipate the potential ability it had to strengthen the bond between my girls and I, through a shared experience of becoming inspired, which was realized the moment I sat down with Scarlett and started reading. I got that similar choked up feeling I had received the day she was born, in realizing the opportunity this book was creating in relaying the very messages to my daughters that I wanted to through these photographs and quotes. Scarlett sat attentively and asked about the words she didn't understand. This has become a tool for opening up this discussion of many life topics, including dreams, resilience, perseverance, individuality etc., something I realized I was previously struggling to make time or find moments to do. We read the first five chapters in one sitting. She continued to navigate her way through the book when I got up to resume my many responsibilities that go with being mom. Seeing this left me very happy.

Side Note: Another lesson came out of this moment for me. I often feel guilty for not spending enough time doing things with my children. I will sometimes resent having to do things I do not enjoy or when it is inconvenient to do so. Then I feel guilty about not wanting to spend more quality time with them. Sitting down with this book and reading it with Scarlett brought me a lot of joy. It occurred to me that I have choices in what activities I do with my kids and if I choose things I want to do or that serve a greater purpose for me, I will enjoy them more and we will all get a greater sense of fulfillment through our time spent together.

Since receiving this book I've been inspired to gather my favourite images that show the strength and true nature of my girls into a collection. Here is just a sample...

Learning to Feel

I feel deeply. This is something that has been said to me a handful of times by different people in the last year. It's not that I didn't know or believe this, but I had a hard time understanding what that meant, relative to other people and how they feel. I can only know the capacity to which I feel and can only speculate the capacity to other's peoples experience based on how much of what they feel they actually express. However, the more I understand my emotional needs, the more I understand what this means for me and the less it becomes relevant to others experiences.

Growing up I cried a lot. It wasn't very favourable for people around me and I was criticized a lot for being a 'big baby.' Life didn't feel fair most of the time. Crying and pouting was the only way I knew how to express that. As I grew older and acutely aware of how this affected how I was perceived, I worked hard to keep my feelings from being seen, as many of us learn to do. In Grade 7, the year I gave into more peer pressure than I did the rest of my teen years, I adhered to a friend's request (or bribe, possibly) to go shove a friend who she was mad at. So I did. I don't know why I did, but I did, and she pushed me back, I hit my head on the desk and cried in front of the Grade 7/8 class. My sister came home that day telling me how humiliating it was to hear her sister balled like a baby at school. I was really embarrassed. I secretly vowed to never cry in front of anyone again. With one or two exceptions, I kept to my word until through the rest of high school. To this day I've mastered the skill of holding myself together when it is required and still have difficulty crying in front of others. That was the first time I consciously started to bury my feelings. Sadness, anxiousness, joy, excitement and all the ones between.

The summer of 2016, approximately six months after I lost my friend Chanda and her family in a tragic car accident I started to notice my emotions surfacing at a new intensity. Feelings that were unfamiliar too. It didn't feel like a choice, but rather something that was happening to me. This brought on a feeling of being out of control and consequently anxiety. I later asked my therapist what can cause this and he gave me three theories:

1) Grief - ✓
2) Repressed feelings - ✓
3) Open to change - ✓

Looking at this list, I really had no chance in keeping my emotions down. I thought this new way of feeling would be a phase, the intensity something that would stave off and I would feel somewhat 'normal' again soon. But this has become my new normal and a year and a half later I am still adjusting to this intensified state of feeling, still struggling daily to figure out how to handle the amplitude of my emotions. I am in constant need of reminding myself that I am uncovering 35 years of repressed feelings and cannot expect to 'fix' it overnight.

After talking to a few people about this, as I suspected, I've realized this is an experience unique to me, to this time in my life. I am sure there are others who have gone through something similar but I've come to the conclusion it is not very common (that or people just don't talk about it). It has taken some work to understand that this doesn't make it wrong or made up, it is just my journey and I have to learn the best way to handle it for myself.

One of the hardest feelings to get a handle on is this anticipatory feeling of joy or excitement. It makes me nervous. For the most part, the low feelings weren't new to me, I've become pretty accustomed to them over the years (yet still aren't easy to deal with) but the highs are new and intense; fleeting, yet euphoric in nature. When I feel really happy I am riding high on my cloud, but I can't help but fear its mortality. I forebode it, anticipating the crash that is bound to follow, as if planning for it will make the landing softer. I almost always fall off my cloud. Fearing it only makes me fall harder. It comes with a sense of failure, frustration & disappointment. However, allowing this fall to be part of the process actually softens the blow. It is constant learning experience. The more I accept the place I am in the less time I spend getting up and dusting myself off.

Most of my therapy appointments are spent talking about how to deal with my emotions; labeling, investigating what they are asking for and trying to provide that for them. To an extent this is a natural process for me and something I started before I started therapy. But now more than ever, I find it a really difficult  process, especially since my sister passed away. Grief has a way of clumping all my emotions into a ball, and untangling the strings can be a frustrating process. Experiencing new emotions at new intensities, can make it difficult to even label them, which is the prerequisite for all the other work required. It takes great concentration and a quiet space to do this. But I've learned it is a necessary part of my well-being. I know this because when I neglect to do this, it shows up through  tension in my body, my body takes on these emotions, building up and becoming congested, often blocking my concentration, affecting my level of functioning. The minute I start to get irritable or critical is the moment I know I need a time-out. This is where I turn the lights out, lay down & do my work. Sometimes it involves asking myself what I am feeling. I start listing feelings that come to mind and the ones that elicit an emotional response within are the ones I dig into. This often starts a chain of insight into the processes that are lurking beneath the surface and more than not results in a cathartic experience, a release. I've never cried so much in my life as I have in the last six months, but I see it as an integral part of improving my mental health. Contradictory to what the world told me most of my life, crying is no longer something to be ashamed of but necessary in well-being, and even, believe it or not, a sign of courage. Sometimes when I don't feel like putting the effort in or don't have the energy to investigate I will listen to music or a meditation. Regardless, I almost always get up feeling a sense of relief, tension lifted. I often feel guilty for spending so much time on myself, but I must remain cognizant of the way this work creates a better balance which helps to improve the quality of my interactions with those around me.

Learning to feel has been one of my main focuses in my inner work. I've gone from a tough love approach to validating my feelings and it has been life changing for me. Don't get me wrong, this way is a hell of a lot more work, more than I ever imagined it would be. But hard work isn't new to me and when I can see it pay off, that is the biggest reward. It is motivated, not only by the desire to improve my quality of life, but also my want to do my best as a parent. In teaching my children these skills as they grow up, hopefully they aren't faced with such a great challenge of learning how to deal with their emotions for (what feels like) the first time as adults too.  Especially my Lucy, sensitive in nature, her emotions are bigger than five year old body and already one of her greatest daily challenges. I need to constantly remind myself to (appropriately) allow my children to see what is going on with me, and model how I deal with it. For most of my life it didn't feel safe to talk about my feelings, to express them the way I needed to. But I've been blessed with a handful of people in my life who have recently held space for me to do so and by talking it out it helps me to better understand my process. As a mother I feel it is my job to provide a safe place for my children to do so, through talking about our feelings together and teaching them that whatever they feel is ok, valid. This is hard to do, when you throw in all the other factors into play, but recently has become a major priority in my daily parenting.

Sometimes I get resentful at the complicated chaotic matter I seem to be made up of, that being a deep feeler currently requires so much work to keep my head above water. Yet, I must not ignore the beauty of my sensitivity either, the depths to my experiences that others may never have the capacity to feel, and the vast potential that this gift has to offer for those in my presence. Living in my truth involves accepting the whole of who I am, deep feelings and all.


Photo courtesy of Jennifer Baker Photographix

People are Kind

Today started out as one of those 'I just want to curl up and stay in bed and not talk to anyone all day' kind of days. But the crumbs of something I had recently read about how it never pays to stay small must have been lingering, so I dragged my hardly-put-together self and the little guy to the grocery store upon my husband's request. On good days I have had some of my favourite encounters with strangers at the grocery store, but today I wasn't into making anyone else's day, I was just getting the job done, dragging my feet in the process. An hour later my cart was full of strategically stacked groceries, carefully in a tower, so I proceeded to the checkout, feeling some relief in the idea of going home.

The woman behind me in line, about my age, had two young kids who were constantly demanding her attention, while Archer sat quietly observing his surroundings. As I packed up I secretly admired her patience in juggling the tasks of unloading her food, keeping her toddler from jumping the cart and responding to the chain of questions and statements that come with having a preschooler. As she started to load up I noticed we were packing our groceries into the same brand of tote and I thought about commenting on her taste, but voted against it as I didn't feel much like making small talk. We kept to ourselves and she finished before I did, loaded her kids and started to go, but then came back. She asked if I wanted any help loading up. I gracefully declined and said something to the extent of "Oh, I'm good. I only have one kid here today, but thank you." This gesture caught me off guard, surprised at the thought that I was the one who needed a hand when she had her hands more full with an extra kid, and got to wondering what it was that inspired this offer. Maybe it was the worn out expression on my face or my withdrawn disposition that she saw and related to days like this? Or the brief moments of eye contact made a couple times in the isles as we passed one another, relaying a sense of understanding for this messy-young-family phase in our lives? Or maybe she caught a change in mood when at the till I was interrupted with a phone call from the Kamloops RCMP with questions regarding the estate of my sister (who passed away 7 months ago). Or maybe it was simply that we were both wearing toques. I can't say for sure. But I'm convinced whatever motivated her to go out of her way to offer help to me, even with her hands full, stemmed from a perfect combination of intuition and empathy. I thought about this gesture all the way home, its simplicity and the impact it had on me, lifting me from the depths of 'Jessland' into this blog post.

It turns out I didn't need the help packing up, but I did need the offer. It was the little boost that I needed to release me from the spiral of self-loathing, so I could get on a little better with my day. It was a renewed reminder of the goodness of people, on a day I when I was swallowed by habits of self-defeat and dwelling on my relationship struggles - a switch in focus. I started to recall other incidents I've had in the store that left me feeling impacted. Like, for example, a couple months ago when a lady I didn't know complimented the way I looked (apparently I was having a more put-together day that time) during a time I was contemplating/doubting my style, and it really boosted my confidence in my wardrobe choices and self-presentation.

These acts make me want to do better. Better for myself and better for others. They remind me to pay attention to that little voice nudging me to connect with that person beside me. You never know what's going on in someone else's world, or how badly they might need a little kindness in their day. A gesture you may feel is ordinary could be the very thing that prevents them from going home and crawling into bed for the rest of the day. It could be the thing that inspires them to do something randomly good for someone else when that person needs it most. Even the smallest of impacts can lead to a ripple of kind-doing, with an incredible potential to create lasting impactful experiences. And then, in the accumulation of all the little moments of goodness, the world becomes a better place for everyone.