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. 

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