Unpack the bag

I had a really interesting conversation with a friend today.

We were discussing how she and I have both suffered trauma, around fertility and motherhood. We have both endured deep heartache, but for different reasons. Our journeys have taken us along different paths, but we quickly found commonality in the weight of it all.

Trauma
Grief
Loss
Heartache.

They are pretty darn heavy.
Like a tote bag strapped awkwardly over our shoulder.
Hanging there, obvious and heavy.
Awkward.
Uncomfortable.

We both agreed that at one time, that bag of heartache ruled us.
We were defined by it.
Owned by the emotional baggage.

We chose to wear it.
Every.
Single.
Day.

We struggled unsuccessfully to adjust it.
We couldn't manage life with or find the energy to carry around that damn bag all the time.

It was exhausting.
We were owned by our heartache.
Our sorrow ran the day.
The past was in charge of our every moment.

Thankfully, somewhere along the way, we realized the bag had to be put down.

Opened up.
Unpacked.
Put away.

We realized that we couldn't go on forever.
Managing that bag full of hurt.
Pain and grief.
Lost hopes.
Shattered dreams.

THANK GOD we realized it needed to put it down.

Wrapped in courage, we unpacked the bag.
Scary as it was, as hard as it was.
As long as it took.

And in that bag we found memories worthy of shelf space.
Released the heavy feelings out the window.
Found tiny pieces of silver that made us smile.

And we agreed to never wear that bag again.
Because it did not serve us any longer.

We were not defined by that traumatic time.
That loss nor diagnosis.

We realized that living in the past, hurt us in the present.

Unpacking that heavy bag did not lessen the experience or dishonour the life we were grieving, but rather released us from it's weight on our shoulders and heart.

We became free to live again.
Soar again.
Feel lightness again.

We made space.
Took up distance.

-------------------

Most of us endure really difficult experiences.
Incomprehensible pain.
Immeasurable grief.

As much as we want to stop, control or remove it from our lives, it's just not possible.

At some point we have to notice the weight.
Make the conscious decision that it is too heavy.
And breathe in the courage to overcome that which is ruling our life.

So please, only carry your bag for a while.
Don't let your every today be weighted by the past.

Please, get help.
Let others assist as you carry that bag.
Take breaks now and again, and let that heartache sit in idle timeout, beside your feet.

When you are ready, unpack the bag.
Find homes for the memories.
Enjoy life once again, holding those little pieces of silver as a reminder of your strength and love.

xoxo

Father Fear

Lately I've noticed fear hanging around.

Sometimes it's dark and heavy.
Other times it's quietly casting shadows.

But it's there.
Fear.

It's an interesting emotion. One I didn't always view as such.
Sometimes it looked like anxiety. Or anger. Or sadness.
Deep down, though, at the root of all those other emotions was simply fear.

Father Fear as I like to call it.
The one that has existed forever.
The one I rarely question.
It's so deeply rooted in my life experiences it becomes truth.

I am honestly scared to walk alone, day or night.
I am afraid that any depressed person I know will consider suicide.
I hear the word cancer and I cannot breathe.

Fear.
Big Father Fear.
Paralyzing, heart pounding, dream squashing fear.

Why do I let it win?
Why don't I question it?
Since when does fear trump passion? faith? love?

Truth is, I don't have the answer.
But I know this:

Fear + Courage = Progress

Just last week, for the first time ever, Brooklyn met a big, ongoing medical fear, and showed great courage. She breathed, remained calm and believed she could. And she did.

Major progress.

Five years ago, scared out of my mind, I left my full time job to spend more time with my children.  I found courage to let go of assumptions and ideals and the opinions of others. Thanks to a courageous heart, I have spent the last five years amassing time and memories with my children, without a single regret.

This is massive personal progress on my path to a life well-lived.

So now, it's time.
To have courage, once again.
All of us.
To really live our lives.
Love our here and now.

Engage our passion.
Make our perfect moment.
Manage without the money. time. guarantee.
Embrace the nonlinear path.

Find our courage.
Breathe.
Stay calm.
Have faith.
And love.

The only way to beat Father Fear, is to embrace him.

What's the worst case scenario?

I was at a meditation class last month where we talked about fear.

Discussed the way fear can rule our life.

Create unhealthy habits.

Build anxiety.

Fear is one of those feelings that doesn't go away.

It lingers.

Wakes you up at night.

Follows you around all day

The voice of fear is loud.

It bullies you with its scary messages.

Often difficult to manage, fear has the ability to control us.

Our thoughts.
Our health.

Our body.

I have learned this year to notice when fear is present.

My body tenses up. Becomes achy.

My mind races.

I struggle to relax.

For my kids, fear presents itself with a strong need for extra hugs.

Cuddles at bedtime.

Tearful outbursts.

A question was posed, at meditation that night.

What's the worst case scenario?

If I dug to the greatest depth of the trance of fear, what is the worst possible outcome?

Truth is, I cried when I was honest with myself.

Brooklyn's death is my worst fear.

Seeing cancer take her from me is my greatest fear.
Every. single. day.

But wait.

The interesting thing about this exercise is that since I was honest with myself, I have felt less weighted in this fear. The truth helped me realize how much this fear was ruling my every thought and movement throughout the day.

I am now trying to meet this fear with love and courage.

Faith in God.

Radical acceptance.

It's damn hard.
But it's possible.

So, next time you feel fearful, ask yourself:

What is the worst case scenario?
Dig deep, keep asking 'so what' until you really get to the root cause.

You might be surprised how much relief you find in exploring the answer.

Haircuts and healing

Today I crossed something off my bucket list which I never, ever thought would be so personal.

Today I cut my hair off.

Two, 12-inch pony tails.
Two, 9-inch pony tails.

All four ponies will be delivered later this week to Wigs for Kids, an organization that provides free wigs for kiddos with cancer and other life-threatening illnesses.

It was always my intent to grow and donate my hair someday, it was a bucket list 'must do' before I die. When I left my full-time career and 'gave up' highlighting my hair I knew I was one step closer.
Last summer, when Brooklyn decided to donate her hair, I made a promise to grow mine and donate it as soon as I could. Frustrated with the length, but determined, I continued to grow it. After all, a friend battling breast cancer had no hair... why should I complain?

Less than 6-months later, Brooklyn was diagnosed with cancer.

My hair, growing for an unnamed, blank faced child was suddenly replaced with the vivid image of my own daughter.

What if she needed my hair? What if I needed to shave my hair in solidarity with my daughter?

Early in her diagnosis, when doctors believed she required chemotherapy, my hair suddenly became a way to 'help' her in some way. I held on to this perception for many months, even once doctors were firm that she did not require chemo.

I couldn't stand the thought of cutting it off.
I felt like it needed to be on my head.
Waiting for Brooklyn.
Just in case.

Even in July, when we celebrated with our family and friends, I secretly planned a surprise hair donation chop off and couldn't execute.

What if she needed my hair?

It has taken until now, today, to take this next step in my healing process.

On the drive to my girlfriend's salon, I whispered up to heaven, asking for a sign my family angel guides were with me. I was sick to my stomach... that ego voice in my head had been telling me for DAYS that if I cut my hair off, her cancer would return.

Today, in the company of a dear friend, I cried and laughed and cried again.
She took her time, kissed my head and reminded me that it was going to be ok.

Slowly, she cut the ponies, one by one.
I laid them in my lap, crying.

Crying in the moments following the big cut <3

That sign came, as clear as day, as my dear friend worked away on my new cut. Playing in the background of her home salon, these lyrics....

"Courage, my word
It didn't come, it doesn't matter
Courage, your word
It didn't come, it doesn't matter
Courage, my word
It didn't come, it doesn't matter
Courage, it couldn't come at a worse time."

(The Tragically Hip, Courage)

Tonight I will pray over this donation, and ask the Lord to bless this hair with strength and love for the child who will wear it next. I will also pray for her mother, whose heart is broken in a million pieces. I won't ever meet her, but I understand her more than she knows.

#TeamBrookie #WarriorPrincess