The Universe Has My Back

When I was young I had an imaginary friend. Two actually, but they were kind of one and the same. Their names were Boss and God. They were tall hairy friendly monsters. They lived in a tall skinny shed that resembled an outhouse, and had to duck to get through the door. I didn't have access to that door, so after a visit, I was left to my imagination's imagination to picture what was beyond it. I pictured a vast infinite world somehow fitting within the confines of that structure, full of mystery.

I was the fourth born of six within ten years, a sensitive introvert squeezed between two very extraverted siblings, so I spent a lot of time playing in boxes and closets away from all the noise. As the quiet one in a big family, I suppose having these friends to call my own gave me a sense of importance. When I talked about them people would listen and I felt heard. My sister was utterly jealous that I had imaginary friends and she didn't (hers would come later in life). I would often threaten to send Boss and God on my siblings when they would make me mad. They became my power in a world that felt a little beyond my control. When they were with me, everything was ok, because Boss and God had my back.

Now I think it's relevant to mention I did not grow up in a strongly religious household. I was moderately involved in the church, my family likely going because it was expected of us, as opposed to a dedication to the religion. We loosely followed the cultural Christian traditions and went to church on holidays. My parents, who came from Catholic and Lutheran families waited until we were old enough to decide whether we wanted to be baptized in the local United Church, I said yes because my older siblings did. In my youth I joined the church choir and youth group because, well, what else do you do in a town with a population of 40? And besides, I liked music and I liked community.

Let it be said, though, I have nothing against the church, in fact I appreciate and live by many of the same values I've been exposed to through church. I also appreciate the sense of community a church can provide, and at times have found myself envious of the devoted for a place to belong. However there was a lot that just didn't resonate with me, and in my inquisitive nature, I questioned the practice of following a set of beliefs that seemed to be coming from somewhere outside of me. Over the years I have come to accept that we all have different practices that serve us each in the way we need. In my limited theological knowledge, it appears that ultimately, when stripped away from human interpretation, most religions simply come down to a common core value: unconditional love.

So I grew up with a vague sense of spiritual identity, not unbelieving but unsure of where I fit in.  As adolescents and young adults we were so busy just trying to find our way in the material world, we didn't put much energy into developing a sense of spirituality, or perhaps did not feel a need to. However, in becoming a parent, I felt a kind of responsibility to help guide my children to develop their identity, so I've become a bit more invested. But it wasn't until I lost my sister that the searching really began.

Niki, who grew up in the same house, in fact the same bedroom as I did, developed a strong sense of spirituality much younger, through personal experiences. These experiences were often isolating to her in their own nature, and I think left her feeling ostracized in the conservative small-town life we lived. Through lack of understanding and fear, I usually attributed anything out of the ordinary, which was often, to her diagnosed schizophrenia. Niki, on the other hand believed her experiences were very real, and the tension between what was real to her and real to me divided us. Considering the circumstances, we maintained a fairly supportive long-distance relationship, but there was always dissonance in understanding when it came to anything spiritual.  I tried to believe her, I wanted to believe her, but her reality was not mine and I just couldn't be sure. Truth is, I found it all a bit scary.

It wasn't until after her passing that I began to gain insight into my sister, her mental health and her spirituality, through my own trials. It bothered me that I had found this new empathy, the very thing that stood between us when she was alive and felt confused as to why this was happening after the fact. In opening my mind and heart to possibility, I realized I was in no position to judge what was real and what was not, to her or to anyone. The connection I had felt lost between us the day she died started to show up again, and in this enlightenment I realized this developing empathy was not about her, after all. It was to help me find my way, and she is somehow guiding me along the way.

In the last conversation I had with my sister she asked me to label my spirituality. She wanted to categorize it into an established religion, and settled on buddha. I told her I didn't feel a need to label it, that it was just what it was and didn't really need to fit it into a box. Even in its infancy I seemed to know that it needed to come from a place of my own. Looking back, I can't help but consider that this conversation planted a seed to start my journey to find my spiritual identity.

Through my soul searching it occurred to me that I have the choice to see the world in a way that serves me best. The world was my oyster. I began to look within, finding podcasts, books and people that resonated with me, creating a custom fit outlook to suit me. It opened up conversations and I started to surround my life with like-minded souls.

As if a light flicked on, I found a sense of belonging, and suddenly the world didn't feel so heavy. Giving up some trust to the universe, I was able to let go of a need to control everything, and the world became much lighter and brighter. My identity became visible, my sprirituality more clearly defined.

Acceptance is my totem. Trust the process, my mantra. Love is my purpose. Moving with the flow of the Universal Will towards the potential of wholeness that I naturally am is my occupation. We find fulfillment through connection, and vulnerability is the path to this connection. I choose to believe there is more than one right answer, but the path I take is the exact one I need at the time. Everyone is good and if you give them a chance, it will be revealed. Pain has a vital role in growth, holding just as much value as joy. Everything happens for a reason and it is up to us to discover that reason and learn from it. The Universe has my back. To name a few...

I have come full circle to that childhood security, trust in a mysterious something bigger than myself to keep me safe. Perhaps, then, I knew where I belonged all along, I had just forgotten for a while.

Dreaming up a Dream

Last night I had a dream about my dream home. Placed in the ruralist of the prairies, on the outskirts of the smallest village you could imagine. Befriended by a wide view of the prairies - just field and living sky. Apple tress and peach trees grew fruitful within arms reach.

The road that led to this farmhouse was narrow, steep and curvy. The house had an abandoned look and no one had lived in it for some time, even the for sale sign was missing letters. In my dream Rod and I had decided to buy it on a whim, impulsively, something quite out of character for us. I kept bringing up this fact to others in confronting my fears on the decision. The old house was so big, beautiful, and full of flaws. The floors were heaving and tilted, I worried about the foundation being solid enough. The first day we got this house we had just planned to look at it and show it to my parents. But this turned into an exploration as we began to peel back cheap fixes to reveal the original structures beneath. Again revealing its innate beauty and potential, yet in dire need of maintenance. I flipped back and forth between feeling like it was so right for us to strong insecurities about the stability of the structure. With the insecurities the view out the windows transformed into a golf course, cityscape and disappointment.

People started showing up. Some were there to help, but most were there just to take up space, many acting reckless. At times I was naked or in just a robe. Vulnerability. More and more people came to visit. Before I knew it we were trying to entertain in a house that didn't properly function. The previous owners, a large extended family, came and expressed their grief over the house that they had abandoned. It wasn't good enough for them, but they mourned the loss of it and the changes being made. The house filled with people inside and out, coming and going. The toilets weren't working yet and the water was not usable, and people started to feel ill. It was chaos.

Sometimes when I wake up from a dream I instantly know there is a significance in its symbolism. A metaphor of something current I am dealing with in my life.

I've been drumming up a dream bigger than me. Initially as it flowed in it felt electric and each day brought more on it. I couldn't stop thinking about it, believing in it and telling others about it. They got excited and encouraged me with a "Yes!" It was an energetic momentum that propelled me through my days with an extra skip in my step. I saw a need in our community and an empty spot at the head of the table. I thought, "Why not me?"

It wasn't long for the anxiety to set in. At first I was blindsided by it hitting me at a time when I thought I was managing my mood cycles so well, the anxiety seemed out of character.  Until I realized that I don't sit too comfortable too long and I was transitioning into another expansion. One mountain conquered, onto the next. It was new, significant, and uncertain. Of course, anxiety. Whether it was the weight of the anxiety, intensity of the full moon, or natural flow of my cycles, the momentum slowed and I did too. I became a bit more grounded, facing many doubts about this dream, feeling a bit in over my head, and confused as to where to start and what it would look like. "Why me? What do I know about building a community up? What do I know about creating change this big?"

My love and fear for that farmhouse were a reflection of my feelings for this dream. Somewhere, deep down in my heart's centre I hold fast to this dream, despite the feelings and thoughts that try to knock it down. I hold onto the memory of the inspired moments and the energy they had created, the initial decision to make the purchase. Because, like that house, I see such a potential. In the dream I never once decided to give up on the house, despite the people that got in the way, and interestingly, throughout the dream, my parents and husband stayed committed to the renovations, understanding and sharing some of my doubts, but moving forward with willingness.

So in service to a greater purpose, I make a vow. When I lose momentum, I find the encouragement of my cheer team and rely on their energy to help me along. Acceptance is key. I know I will face resistance, people reluctant to change and people just getting in the way. Like moon and sun, winter and summer, this dream will be subject to its seasons.  There will be a time to work on the dream house, and there will be a time to stay idle, I am reminded to not rush through the process if I want to ensure a solid foundation. Accept the difficulties as part of a building process. Small steps, bottom up, trust, patience, teamwork. Remain fixed on its potential beauty. And most of all, remain tuned into my heart's greatest desires, the originator of this dream.

Sparkle, We Meet Again

Somewhere along the way I had lost my sparkle. At least that's how it has been explained to me in various ways from various people. I saw it too, a lull clouded my life. I stopped smiling all the way because it didn't feel genuine, laughing felt foreign. The colours around me became a bit less saturated, the air harder to inhale, my body felt heavier, and I began to experience life from the inside out.

I can't really tell you when it started...slowly, gradually I guess. Before I was responsible for anyone but myself I think it was a lot easier to fill my bucket, without a whole lot of extra effort, with perhaps the exception of a few big transitions to grow through. When our first was born, yes, it was an adjustment, but I found surprise in how easy and instinctively parenting came and kind of felt like I was killing it.

Somewhere during my childbearing years, however, I lost hold of that sure confidence. I remember looking back at my life a year after my second was born and realized I had been depressed since her birth without really knowing it. I worked my way out of it (but did I?) in a traditional achievement oriented approach, and within a year I was religiously following a exercise and nutrition plan and kicked my ass into killer shape. One day, while evaluating my body in the mirror, I realized the dissonance between how I looked and how I felt and I asked myself, "Will it ever be enough? If I can't be happy with my body now, will I ever feel skinny enough, strong enough, muscular enough?" I think at some level I knew it was an issue with much deeper roots (another topic for another day).

Those years in between are a bit of a blur, I don't remember much, I imagine most of my energy was spent just trying to keep up with two toddlers and all the responsibilities that come along with them. I had been warned by a number of 'more experienced' parents that going from two to three kids is a huge adjustment. Ignorantly, I brushed off their comments as character to their less-than-desirable attitudes and went along my marry way, convincing my hubby we wanted another. Shortly after our third was born I found myself knocked facedown on life, and have been working my way back to my feet ever since.

Of course I can't blame it all on the little guy, after all, how could you with that smile?! Some pretty major life things have happened in the last four years that have contributed to personal setbacks. It was more a mere accumulation to the load, that became too heavy and I buckled at the knees. Eventually, old strategies became redundant and I had to start to learn life differently. I reached out, became vulnerable, and took up therapy and medication to help carry some of the weight while I relearned how to be me in a more authentically crafted life.

So in the process my sparkle got buried in the rubble. Once in a while it would make an appearance, but never too long lasting before life's happenings would frighten it away. Most days I spent what energy I had just trying to stay on my feet, and became discouraged often as I would somehow get knocked down whenever I started to dust off my knees. But something in me knew the sparkle still lived, and over a matter of time this little guy would make its long-awaited appearance in my life again, and stick around for a while.

Beneath all the hard work, a better something was happening. It was difficult to see, especially by an outsider, but despite the persisting doubts, I knew it was happening at some level and it had to start to show eventually, didn't it?

I can't give credit to any one strategy in my life to finding my sparkle, as it has been a much more complex process than that, and so many experiences and relationships have contributed to the Now version of me. But I can tell you the day I recognized it. Not long after a healing session where I was encouraged to keep moving in the direction I was going, but with more permission, I attended a yoga festival and my sparkle and I were reacquainted. Through guided visualization I found it buried deep in my core. As I acknowledged it's presence, a tiny light illuminated the dark of my inner womb. This acknowledgement was all it took to stimulate its confidence emergence. My relationships with others and with myself transitioned. I became surrounded by a community of soul nourishment, providing a safe space for my vulnerable little sparkle to come out and play, fear demoted to the backseat.

Today I can smile and mean it. The air is lighter, easier to breathe in. I have found the confidence in my gifts and inspiration to share them with the regular world. Ambition, hello! Shit, I might even have a sense of humour. For a brief moment I held the suspicion that this feeling better was just a familiar high at the highest peak of the biochemical rollercoaster, just before the fall, and it was all just an illusion. But then I had a low week. Make that two. But this time life didn't knock the wind out of me. I still had good moments, and didn't feel that familiar feeling of desperately treading water, it was more like floating, riding it out, managing with ease. Turns out the sparkle floats.

Others have noticed too. They tell me so. And they show me in a I''ll-show-you-mine-if-you-show-me-yours kind of way. I take a lot of satisfaction knowing I can effortlessly brighten another persons day simply through my presence. It really keeps me going going.

I look back on the last few years and all the energy I have put into getting to this shiny checkpoint and think to myself, "It's about fucking time." I know life challenges aren't magically going to disappear and my days are going to be all rainbows and lollipops. I'll likely even have moments where I feel like throwing in the towel. But I have found a new confidence in all this that tells me I still have joy, and I deserve the light it brings into my life. As it turns out, I don't always have to take life so seriously (aha!). Somehow I imagine holding this sparkle closer to my heart, sharing its warmth, I'll find more ease in the hard days. And the tools I've collected along the way will help me manage until it is the sparkle's turn to brighten up. Comfort resides in the knowing that its always there, some days it may dim a little lower, but nonetheless, always there.

The Expression of Gift, the Gift of Expression

So much in my head leaving trails of light, like shooting stars that fade in an instant. I often observe the pondersome conversations that go through my mind, the processing, the creative doings, and think I should write this stuff down, but so often this little urge is dismissed as I carry on with the everyday. Sometimes it seems such a waste to keep it all to myself, only to disappear out of sight beneath the covers of new emerging thoughts. I have a vast world happening within, waiting to become recognized...a world of wonder, of revelations, a world of gift. I am a vessel of creativity. Today I vow to begin a writing practice, for my sake and for yours. I do not yet know what this looks like, how often or what I will write about, I suppose it will evolve as I do, and I will put it out there when the inspiration hits. For my experiences and perspectives, in merging with my creativity and depth have much to offer -- to whom I do not know. Perhaps to everyone and no one specifically at all. To those who choose to spend their time receiving my offerings.

Expression is a large part of my real life being, and I've spent a lifetime holding so much of it in, out of feeling unworthy of the space I take up. This is changing as I begin to take ownership for who I am, where I exist. Little by little I give myself permission to show the outside world the depths of my inside. Sometimes when I open this window, revealing this view into my soul, the expression spills out in flow and the rest of the world appears not to exist in that time.  Through writing, art, speaking, dancing, any way that inspires to converse with anyone who is listening, this is the path to my freedom. For it is here that I let go. I release the tension built up at the dam created of fear and unworth. It is here that I embrace the begging permission to live in my truth.  I choose to believe the more I can love and let love, the more the universe will bring these things back to me, energizing my prerogative, and enabling the flourishing potential of my gifts. In this expression I hope to inspire others to do the same. To find what they love, to live it from their deepest expanding selves, where their unique gifts will reveal, contributing to the creation of a better world. I paint hope to inspire hope in others, so that they can inspire it in their others, and so on, a ripple of healing, spreading infinitely.

Grief, Guidance and Growth

Two years ago today I sat in my therapist's office, feeling pretty good about my progress in my coping. I had spent the previous six months dissecting all the things holding me down in my locked state of depression. I was fully immersed on a mission to learn to give and receive love more freely, confront my fears, improve my sense of worthiness, kick perfectionism and strip away the mask I had been hiding behind most of my life — when I look back, it was probably more than I should have taken on all at once. But in that office, for the first time I felt my efforts were starting to show and I was finding confidence in my ability to work through it all. In discussing my progress with my therapist, I declared, "If I were to lose someone close to me today, I think I would be ok."

Around 4 am the next morning there was a knock at the door. It was the local police, and I instantly knew it was about my sister. She had taken her life sometime between 10 pm and midnight the previous night. As her listed next of kin, we were the first to be notified. The officers at the door were my husband's coworkers, one of them I knew well. All he could say was "I'm sorry." I realized there was nothing else he could say to me to make it better. When they left I turned to Rod and said. "Wow, your job really sucks sometimes."

I sat on the couch, half in shock, processing. Not crying, but the tears flowed in a continuous stream down my cheeks. I felt extremely grateful to have Rod by my side. He made the necessary phone calls: Kamloops RCMP, the Coroner, my parents. I don't think I could have done it.

I had no idea how to take the seeming coincidence between what I said in therapy that day and my sister's death. I didn't understand it. To add to it the night before my session I had a dream where I lashed out on my sister, like full blown tantrum, and I woke up thinking I didn't realize I had all that anger in me. And two days previous to that, my sister had accepted my recent friend request on Facebook. Then a few days after her death I dreamt that we met on the street in our hometown and I told her I was ok with her choice. Now that I think of it, the place we met in that dream was next to a lot which my mom later turned into a memorial park in my sister's honour, but I never told my mom about this dream. There seemed to be this chain of events that were all connected, yet disjointed, and I could not make sense of their sequential occurrences.

At this point my current spiritual understanding was in its infant stages of development. As a child I was lightly exposed to the United Church and we followed loose Christian traditions, but that was pretty much the extent of it. I was born and raised with a critical mind. I questioned things that didn't quite resonate with me, and although I share many of the same values as I heard in church, something felt limiting about it and I never really settled with it. So I grew up with a vague sense of understanding when it came to how I fit into the universe.

Over the past two years through my grief and many accompanying experiences I have developed a much more confident understanding of my world. I've learnt to search within to find this understanding. As a result, purpose, direction and spirituality have blossomed. And as I better understand my truth, while observing my growth I begin to realize that my sister and I were more alike than I ever had  acknowledged. I suspect Niki saw this, however, and often tried to sway me in her direction. As my mental health struggles became more resounding, I developed a much greater empathy for her struggles. As I opened my mind and started having conversations with others around the subject of spirit world, possibilities arose and the line between what is real versus illusion became much less defined, I surrendered the authority to decide what is real and what is not. My newfound empathy led to a greater acceptance of her experiences, beliefs  and choices.

I struggled with the timing of all this. Why now that’s she’s gone, do I have the ability to support her in the way she needed so badly when she was alive? Through my recent experiences I've become more like my sister; imagine the conversations we could have had in her life, imagine the space I could have held for her, and she for me. Where as our relationship was special and connection strong in a way, it was distant in a way too, and our encounters became further and fewer between. We never were able to completely open up to one another. That was the sister bond I envied in other families. I was so close, but it came too late.

Only in the last couple months have I been able to see another angle to this. It came about through two significant conversations. The first was with an intuitive healer. After my session it became apparent to me that I wasn't gaining this insight into my sister's experience to support her, but rather as a part of my own healing. I opened widely to the possibility that she is, in spirit, is guiding this process, that she is helping me to better understand myself.

The second conversation was with a friend who happens to be a grief support worker. She offered an analogy that stuck with me. She said, "Usually I like to say as you grow in your identity, it starts with someone else holding up a mirror up for you until you can take that mirror and hold it for yourself. But in this case, you were holding the mirror for your sister, and then she took it and turned it around to hold for you." Since childhood I was typically the one looking out for her and often put my needs second. The idea that she is helping to carry some of my load now brings a great sense of comfort.

And guess what? I am ok. It's been hard, harder than I could have ever imagined. But I am ok.

My mom recently told me you get to choose how you want to see the world. I knew this in a sense, but I think hearing it from her was the permission I needed at the time. Rather than questioning what I think I should believe, I choose to believe what serves me best. And since I have taken this attitude, I have found a greater sense of belonging. I see where I fit in the universe and I have found trust in it's process. I see reasons for the things that happen in life, especially the challenging ones. I have found others who understand this perception and support me in it. But also a new independence in this trust, as there is support simply in the faith that things are working out just the way they are supposed to (whether I like it or not). Through this faith I have found acceptance. As hard as it is to let go of my sister in body, the belief that her spirit remains present, and that losing her has lead me on a path to a greater sense of belonging, brings some peace into this rocky journey life has laid out for me.

And perhaps, it is no coincidence after all, that the last conversation I had with Niki on the phone was around my spirituality. Perhaps, just maybe, a seed was being planted...

Navigating the Cycle

Today the heaviness is setting in. It's a familiar state, a familiar cycle. Through my attentiveness to my moods and health in the last year or so I am recognizing the patterns that reoccur within myself and my relationship with the world outside of me, to a point of predicting what comes next. 

When I am up I feel I have so much more to offer, and the ambitions kick in. I have expressive energy to spread to those around me, smiles, confidence, compassion. Euphoria waves through me randomly, sometimes untriggered and I decide to relish in it. After all if I have to deal with the ultimate lows, why not embellish the highs. It's a bit unfamiliar and uncertain and sometimes I will battle an anxiety that accompanies this feeling as it feels somewhat out of control. I am suspicious of it and cautiously hang onto it, trying not to take it for granted in fear that it may be stripped from my hands if I get too arrogant. The longer it stays the more comfortable with it I become and even briefly consider that I am 'better,' I am winning this battle with depression. I consider maybe the energy I have put into bettering myself is paying off and my life will get easier from here. Ideas freely flow in, I try to take advantage of this creative surge. Lists of all the things I would like to accomplish form in my head, new items building upon the previously unfinished list.

But before I have the opportunity to put a dent in that list, it begins to slip away. The slide down typically starts sporadically, with no apparent trigger, and it isn't until I notice the familiar signs that I am spiralling down that I realize it. Overwhelmed, I grasp desperately to the ambitions I had dreamt up, yet my motivation waivers. My head spins. I become irritable with myself for not being able to keep up with my previous self. An inner battle begins between perfectionism and compassion. At first I am unwilling. When you have lived the last while in a state where you are filled with purpose, productivity, and even an unstoppable confidence at times, accepting this change in ability is a reluctant surrender. You don't want to become someone who needs to function on a level so far beneath your potential. 

The self criticism sets in next. Irritability with the self and others. Sense of failure, fraud, deceit. Feeling foolish for believing the high was a measure of success, more than just a symptom of my biochemical makeup. 

Along the way a sense of sadness fogs over, and colours around me dull. My life has not changed since yesterday, I cannot find an obvious reason for this sadness, but it blankets me anyway. Anxiety accompanies. My lens shifts to any problems I may be experiencing at this time in my life. Regardless of how trivial, it zooms in so that the problem is all that fills the frame. Sometimes jumping from one to another to another. Insecurity about myself as a mom. Conflict with a friend. Imperfections in my art. Doubts about my offerings to the world. Inability to function like the regular people. Stories start to build up and manifest to support all the negative aspects of my life. I lose sight of any successes, struggle to embody the gratitude I wore so well yesterday, and lose hope for myself. 

It takes about 3 days to fall from my high cloud to the swamp. This is where the work begins. The normal and high states have become the easy part of life. When I am happy, things come naturally. Although I do believe this is when much of the work I've done shows up, it comes easy and therefor can be difficult to feel responsible for it. But when I am down, and know I am down, the hard work is in preventing from sinking, wading patiently and working my way out. In keeping sight of the little hope, gratitude and compassion that exists, while dismissing power of the lurking stories, fears and lies, I keep my head above water and persist. This is what takes the most effort and when I can turn a difficult morning into an 'good' afternoon, where I didn't lose my cool on anyone, accomplished something around the house and spent some time on self-care to alleviate some of the anxiety or sadness, that is successful for me. It doesn't show up the same as on my really good days. With much deliberation I must celebrate - regardless of how I think the rest of the world functions - the changes that have occurred, which are indicative of the work I've been doing over the last few years. 

The more I am able to understand my cycles, triggers and indicators, the more I am able to accept my whole self. In accepting my emotional cycles as part of my chemical makeup, I am able to let go of the responsibility of needing to control it, and move to a mindset of managing it. Changing my level of functioning, much like you would if you developed a flu. When it is mental, for some reason convincing yourself to take it easy is much more difficult (although I have never been great at slowing down even when I was hit with a physical illness). But I have lived through enough of these cycles to know what happens when I don't pay attention to what's happening within me so I start to give myself the necessary compassion to prevent the spiral downward. I am learning that these lows are much shorter lived and more bearable when I modify my expectations of myself and what I am able to accomplish in this state. With this compassion I am able to keep my stress at a manageable level so that I can be who I need to be for the people in my life that need me most - namely my husband and children.

Stress levels play a major role in how these cycles go. The more I'm dealing with in my life, the more extreme these cycles become. It has recently become very apparent to me that I need to manage the stress in my life within my control in order to appropriately manage that that is inevitable. Removing myself from situations or commitments that are potentially triggering. Maintaining good physical health through exercise, nutrition, sleep. Taking time to slow down and be present. Asking for what I need and practicing self care when I need it most, but also regularly as a preventative measure. Prioritizing my health when I hit survival mode, so that I can get back to a state where I can offer more to others. When I do these things I am at both my best best and best worse. 

The more I understand my triggers, indicators and what keeps me down the more sense of control I have in my life, which brings a new hope to my well-being. I have spent the last three and a half years in a transition of unbecoming and becoming, breaking and healing. Finally, it feels that, somewhat for the first time, I have reached a place I have been trying to get. I realize there is so much more work to do, and I have come to understand that this journey has no finish line, but there is a certainty in my current understanding of myself that I have only just recently achieved that gives me a new sense of acceptance for my journey. One that confirms the path, which I have doubted so harshly so often, has been the right one for me. Another may have taken a different, less difficult route to get to this checkpoint, but this is the way I needed to go to get here. A greater confidence in my ability to know what's right for me and to continue following the lead of my intuition. A greater acceptance of myself, my challenges, my strengths and all that is in-between. The fact that I am able to withhold this vantage, this acceptance, even as I navigate downward into a depressive cycle is perhaps the greatest indicator how far I have come. 

The Messenger

Summer, 2018. Taking respite in the hammock of our campsite, I had asked for some time alone as I was struggling immensely to keep from spiralling into a somewhat familiar state of depression. At the time my most important friendship was on the line. I couldn't stop thinking about it and the ambiguity of the unresolved was flooding my mind with anxious thoughts. I was doing my best to escape into a good read, but struggled to stay focused on the words before me. After taking in the tranquility of my surroundings I was greeted by a large raven. It seemed to have much to say. It settled on a branch high above me and cawed repetitively, loudly, as if trying to get my attention. There was no ignoring it, and I got a strong feeling it was speaking to me. I held very still as it flew to another tree near by, then another, as if making sure to be noticed. I felt vulnerable as the only one in its presence and slightly threatened by its perserverence. I didn't dare interrupt its offering so I remained quiet and small in my hammock, pretending to read my book. Although a bit nervous, I couldn't help but feel this raven was talking to me, sensing something curiously significant about this encounter. What struck me was the conviction of the raven's calls. Eventually, the raven flew away, leaving me alone again with my book and my thoughts. I felt an energetic impact through this exchange but couldn't articulate its significance. I told my family about this unique experience with nature when they returned.

Only months later, when I picked up a book on spirit-animals and read what Raven symbolizes, had I realized the link between that encounter and what I had been experiencing at the time.

"Raven symbolizes speaking up for yourself. When you encounter a raven it means there is a situation coming your way where you will need to voice your feelings instead of holding your tongue. Also healing oneself from within - reaching through the darkness to find and resolve your inner conflicts." - Llewellun's Little Book of Spirit Animals

Shortly after returning home my depression dipped to a desperate low. Through some introspection I had recognized, as I often do, I was neglecting my own needs out of the needs of another. I had been trying to respect my friend's space, making myself available to her but leaving the conflict unresolved until she was ready to confront the situation. However, ambiguity is one thing I really struggle with. When I don't have an answer I need I anxiously think up any possible conclusion and often feel these imagined scenarios as if they were really happening, over and over, especially those that confirm my insecurities.  It was driving me into a deeper hole of depression and anxiety. The uncertainty was creating a hopelessness and I needed some answers to stop from spiralling further down. At this point any communication with my friend was limited and impersonal. I wrote an email to her asking for just enough clarity to ease my needs. She replied and respectfully responded to my needs, giving me the answers I asked for. It was that simple. This opened up communication and triggered the healing of our friendship.

My conversation with the raven was timely. Although I didn't understand the reason for the raven's presence at the time, something within me knew the time to speak up and ask for what I needed. These two events could be simply considered as coincidence, and that's ok. But for me, connecting those dots gives me a sense of belonging in this world. Finding connection in the encounters with the world that surrounds us reinforces my growing understanding of spirituality and where I fit in to the great equation.

The universe works in mysterious ways. But the idea of a greater force beyond us as individuals creates a certain confidence in the uncertainty - the ambiguity - the very thing that has fuelled my dehabilitating anxiety over the last few years. Somehow having a sense that we are not in charge of controlling everything that goes on in our lives, and giving some of that accountabililty to the universal will, gives me a sense of liberation. I'm finding when I can embody the attitude that everything is going to be ok, I can live more fully without the restraints of anxiety in the uncertainty holding me back.

It is ok to not know the answers, especially if you consider something beyond yourself has your back. And it is ok to ask for the answers when you need them, whether it be from a friend, or the forces of a greater unknown.

Let's Talk 2019

I woke up today not really sure what my role in this year's #BellLetsTalk campaign would be. I was tired and uninspired, unmotivated. But mental health is a subject close to my heart and knew the day wouldn't end without some sort of action. So I've pulled up this piece that I wrote last summer, from the midst of a deep clinical depression. At the time it felt so raw that I shared it with only a few of my closest. I think even they were a bit shocked by what they read. But it was helpful to me to know I was being heard, better understood and supported. Although I still have hard days, I do feel I've since turned a new leaf (much gratitude to the support I've received) and today I've decided to share it with a greater circle.

This is an unfiltered account of the thoughts and feelings I experienced through the course of that day, including both the struggles and victories that come with the battle. For some of you, it will resonate and there may be parts of it that you know too well, for others it may be completely different than your experience with depression. For some it may open your eyes and heart a bit wider into a greater understanding of the experience of depression (or rather, one experience of depression). And for others it may be too honest to read the whole thing through. But it is my hope that by sharing this, my intention is not to shock or bring attention, but to contribute to a greater understanding of what it is like from the eye of depression. I encourage you to share this post with anyone whom you think it may benefit.

Thank you for listening. <3

Love, Jess


August 21, 2018

Mornings are the worst. I wake up feeling exhausted, achy, heavy. As soon as my thoughts kick in so does the sadness, like a weight pulling my insides toward the earth, slowing my step to a drag. I get up, move around, maybe if I do something I'll snap out of it, but find myself gravitating back to bed, or the couch, head in hands, eyes closed. This seems to be the most bearable position, a way to try to keep the overwhelm out. I'm constantly aware of my lingering obligations, the voices coming from the other room, and it is, at times, only the expectation of taking care of my children that keeps me from pulling the covers over my head for the rest of the day.

I think that I think like a normal person, but I know I do not feel like a normal person. But then I question whether my perspective on how I think is being fooled by the persuasion of the depression. My third self observes from a birds-eye-view as I move through the day, almost with a sense of pity for the sad story of the girl down on the ground. My thinking self knows well that the actions I take are not necessarily in my favour, but on these days the feeling self seems to have a greater hold on the mechanics of my body. Like a dancing rope, there is a constant tug-of-war between the logic and the emotion. I am blatantly aware that staying completely still will not lift me out from the trenches but in the moment, in dizziness of the movement, it feels all I can do to keep steady. I realize how foolish it is to mope and dwell and obsess over the pain I feel, but I do it anyway. It is all that I see, as if there is a lens placed in front of me that puts all the problems of my life into sharp focus, while blurring the good stuff - just enough for me to acknowledge it's existence, but not quite clearly enough for it to beckon me. Through this lens light and colours become dull and grey, time slows and merges within itself, everyday functioning feels heavy and difficult. My inner world becomes so cluttered and confused that on the outside I go numb, to ensure I don't attract anything more to overwhelm. 

I get obsessively caught up with the hard stuff. The things in my life that perhaps everyone deals with from time to time, and I zero in. These things circle in my head and morph in size with the attention I pay to them. They become stories, fabricating into worst-case scenarios. They poke at my emotions, it is as if a string connected to my tear ducts is being tugged at periodically, triggered by the slightest thought. I know these stories aren't necessarily true, but the potential of their likelihood is more convincing than fact. I know it doesn't help to obsess over the fabrications of my imagination but I do it anyway. As if something in me thrives on the pain it creates, crowing over its masterpiece. I have the tools to debunk these myths, but, in my worst, I choose instead to bow down to their power.

My witness self watches as my family picks up my broken pieces. They know better than to push when I'm down, it never ends well. Each one of them, even the littlest one, takes on their self-assigned role, they just want to give the me love they see I've lost, and they go gentle on me. Simultaneously, I am blanketed in both immense guilt and sincere gratitude, as this is not their weight to carry but they choose to hold it anyway. Shame washes over me for not being able to hold myself together and for surrendering my Mother ship duties. I feel as if it is something I am doing to myself, but I don't really know how to not do it. I feel as if the choices I make in my life are what keep me down and that I've spent so much time working to better myself, only to come back to same state I was on day one of this journey. Over the last 2 years my loved ones have made sacrifices in trust that I working toward a better healthier version of myself, yet here we are, sacrifices still being made, and I feel no better. With each episode my debt grows in size and with it so does the shame. I recognize the viciousness of this cycle, the shame feeds the depression and I spiral deeper. The deeper I go the harder it becomes to find the compassion that will pull me out. But still, it overtakes.

I consider reaching out to my friends. I want someone to feel sorry for me, but at the same time I don't want anyone to feel sorry me. My feeling self takes over the thought process. 'What good would it do anyway, to bring more people down into my despair? I don't want to be a hindrance to more people than I already am. I'm not even sure it would help, and if I don't receive what I'm looking for, I'll be disappointed.' My thinking self knows the brutality of this attitude. But at the fearful dominance of my feeling self I end up keeping mostly to myself. Or I wait until someone asks how I am doing. But then I don't really know what to say. I don't want to complain, nobody wants to hear me complain. I don't want to say I'm well, because it doesn't feel authentic, and frankly I am tired of faking it. Sometimes I just don't know how I am. The emotional and cognitive chaos that occurs in my head throughout the day is far too complex for a simple reply, and even if I tried I am not sure I could articulate it. I may respond with a simple 'I'm OK,' which is half truth. Sometimes. Secretly I hope that they pick up on the not OK half of the truth and start digging...the permission I need to open up. Somehow if it becomes their choice to want to know how I really am, the shame factor minimizes and I let them in. On the days that I oblige to that pull to reach out, it almost never fails. As long as I keep my expectations in check it almost always helps. But behind the taint of the lens the memory of this is blurred out along with the other good things.  

As I force myself through the motions of the day, if I occasionally let my thinking or doing self take action, the weight lifts a bit, sometimes almost completely. By late afternoon I feel like a somewhat normal functioning person again. I find my OK, and even the odd happy moment. The things I have to be grateful for come back into focus. At the days end I feel exhausted, but subtly accomplished for somehow picking myself up. I think, 'Maybe the hard part has passed and I'm finally moving forward. I'm still here, my children are healthy, happy and thriving. I feel much different than I did this morning...maybe there has been growth. Maybe tomorrow the weight will be lighter.' I am tired enough that I fall asleep easily, a good sign. 

I wake early, and in those first few moments of consciousness I lie very still, in a careful attempt not to wake the remnants of yesterday's depression.