Hindsight is 2020, after all

When we look back on 2020, what will we remember?

Will it be the heavy feelings? 
Worry. Isolation. Grief.

Or the small blessings?
Extra cuddle time. Homemade meals. Rest.

Will it be the negative comments?
Nastiness. Judgement. Trolls.

Or the kindness shared by others?
Surprise deliveries. Lovely words. Gratitude.

What will we remember, when we look back on 2020?

I hope it's the time I spent baking with my kids.
The movie nights and snacks, both outdoor and in.
The extra donations made to charities we love.
The lunch breaks chatting with my husband.

2020 was hard. So entirely exhausting.
Who would have ever dreamed of this?
Certainly not I.

Perhaps we'll uncover the lessons, when we look back.
Hindsight is 2020, after all. 

Certainly we'll remember the waves. 
The constant state of flux.
Standing on unstable ground.

But I'm not sure, what we'll remember. Only time will tell.

I notice I feel stronger, when I am less busy.
Maybe I'll remember this when my calendar is full, later next year.

I've come to appreciate the sound of silence, for no other reason than it's peaceful.
Maybe I'll remember this when my house is alive with guests again, someday.

I've found joy in having no-where to go.
Maybe I'll remember this and prioritize 'space' more often.

I can promise I'll remember the love I shared with my children and husband in 2020.
The deep conversations, and the silly ones.
The tears and the hugs.
The frustration and fear.
And the simple joy of spending time observing their own unique gifts.

Here we are, day 365 of 2020 and just hours from a new year. And while I know that midnight will not end a global pandemic, I believe we can make the choice to enter 2021 with positive, peaceful thoughts and our eyes set on the ultimate prize... a return to hugs, celebrations with the people we love and appreciation for all we learned during this very incredible year.

From my heart to all of yours; may 2021 bring you good health, a deeper awareness of self and a greater desire to do all things with love in mind.

xo

Surrender

Surrender.
Don't hold it all so tightly.

Surrender.
Let your emotions ebb and flow like gentle undulations above your heart centre.

Surrender.
Breathe in and out, noticing the rise and fall.

Surrender.
Hold yourself in stillness and notice the space.

Surrender.
Listen to the moments unfolding all around you.

Surrender.
Be at peace. 

Nothing to do.
Nowhere to go.
Just simply, be.

Surrender.

Advocating is life on a treadmill

Tonight I feel heavy.
My head is throbbing.
Neck tight.
Eyes burning.
Exhausted.

Some days it takes all of me, to advocate.
To protect my son.
Educate others.
Keep him safe.

Some days it's exhausting.

I wonder what it's like for other families.
Not to worry or analyze.
Do they even notice this blessing?
They don't bat an eye.
I feel jealous.

Right now, it's a struggle.
It's damn hard.
It zaps my energy in minutes.
Leaves me hanging like a damp blanket on a clothesline.

Advocating is life on a treadmill.
Sometimes fast and sometimes slow.
It feels like I am going nowhere.
But I can't stop.

This little person depends on me.
His literal life depends on my resolve.
My purposeful actions.
My coaxing and educating.
My choice of words. 

Prove me wrong.

I can't stop.
Won't stop.

I support the hard things;
His daily grind to survive.
I am the body guard;
His personal safety vest.
I aim to make it bearable;
For him to live with fear.

My job is to rest,
But not quit.
Crack,
But not shatter.
Bend,
But not break.
Cry,
But not drown.

Tonight I'll silently tantrum.
Then rest.

Because I've learned that the key to advocating is rising,
over and over and over again.

With hope in my heart, 
a smile on my face, 
and the invisible shield of hugs that protect him when we are apart.

Life is a series of energetic give and take

I spent a little time talking to my son about energy today. It's something I never learned about until I was in my late 20s, but it's a very mindful concept that helps me decide where to spend my time, when I have the choice to do so.

If you've ever read The Celestine Prophecy, the author refers to the concept as 'energy takers' and 'energy givers'. It's the idea that everything surrounding us has energy attached to it, as do we. And every interact point will leave us feeling some degree more or less energetic, as a result.

There are some people, places and things which GIVE me energy. For me, the feeling of receiving energy makes me feel rejuvenated, joyful, grateful, loved, energetic, pumped up or bursting at the seams after spending time in this way. I think of how my parents and my best friend leave me feeling better, more full and capable, after spending time with them. Meditation, snuggling on the couch with my family, walking my dog, feeling the sunshine on my face, date night, spending time near water, in nature and at our family cottage all provide energy to fuel me.

On the other hand, some people, places and things TAKE energy from me. For me, the feeling of having energy taken from me feels exhausting, weakening, tiring; like my mood is lowered and my brain and/or body have been depleted in some way. Things like taking my kids to medical appointments, managing conflict, spending time with inauthentic people or those who lack integrity and explaining myself to someone who isn't listening, suck the energy right out of my body.

Now here's the tricky part; we don't always get to choose the people, places or things we interact with. We cannot always avoid hard things, difficult people and draining environments. I would argue that perhaps these are put in our path to help us notice the difference between the ones that give energy, and the ones that take it away from us.

Also, important relationships in our lives will be a MIX of giving energy and receiving it, depending on circumstance, trial and other hardships. I would argue that we are designed for this purpose entirely, as in loving others we must give of ourselves. We can give and take quite remarkably, and we do so all the time without even noticing.

The amazing thing I've realized about energy is that sometimes we CAN MAKE A CHOICE. We can choose how much time we spend with energy takers; the people, things and situations that drain us. We can begin to notice how our bodies and minds actually feel, while interacting, then use our observations to inform future choices.

Let me give you an example.

Today, my son came upstairs twice and asked for hugs. He said he felt tired and I observed him to be sullen and sluggish. I noticed but didn't say anything to him. This afternoon we took a short drive and he had nothing to say on the way to our destination. He just sat in silence, and I controlled my many urges to make him speak. After reaching our destination, he interacted with a few people he hadn't seen in awhile, received some items and got back in the van. He was smiling ear to ear and chatted all the way home about what he received, how to use them and why they were awesome.

Huge shift in energy, right?

I would argue that whatever he was doing this morning likely zapped his energy. I would also argue that our drive and interaction left him bursting with new energy. It was awesome to observe and I shared it with him.

What he does from here is his choice. 

I encouraged him to notice the difference in how he felt this morning vs this afternoon, and spend the week noticing how he feels around certain people, doing certain activities and being in different places. I could hazard some guesses, but he's old enough to go inward, notice and observe, then be empowered to do more of what strengthens his energy. I also suggested he consider sharing his energy more often when he has lots to give, as life is a series of energetic give and take.

So this week, challenge yourself to notice how you feel. Maybe keep a journal, digital notepad or debrief once a day with someone you love.

Notice the people who ignite you with joy, as well as the ones who do not. Notice the way things you interact with - news, social media, art, music - add or retract from your day.

Then, whenever you can make a choice, seek out more of what keeps you energized,
and give energy to others whenever you feel strong enough to share.

xoxo

A reminder that you are worthy

Yesterday evening I had the pleasure of moderating a career education event where students had the opportunity to 'meet' and hear from professionals from across Canada. I was placed with two women who spoke about their incredibly unique and dare I say, badass, career journeys with the Canadian government. I loved learning about each of them, their similarities and differences, as well as how 'happy accidents' led them to very fulfilling careers. As a person who strongly believes in the connectedness of the universe, it was really incredible to be present for their stories.

At the end of the evening, we spoke rather candidly about working from home during the pandemic. One of the women, in her 30s without children, said she was really impressed by the way parents like myself and the other speaker have managed to find ways to adapt to working from home, particularly in the evenings when she knew kids were close by and needing attention. She asked how we stayed focused, and re-iterated that she really felt we should be commended for all we've done to persevere this year. 

I've been thinking about her comments all night.

Here I had spent the greater part of two hours admiring her amazing story of struggle, triumph and work 'in the shadows' as a badass security intelligence officer, yet she was genuinely congratulating us for the last 9 months of pandemic work-from-home life?

Wow.
I didn't feel worthy.

The truth is, compliments make me uncomfortable. My dear, wonderful husband of 14 years still makes me squirm when he tells me I am beautiful. My kids declare me 'the best mom in the world' and I immediately start into... well not really, because...

I struggle to feel worthy.

Then I remembered something I read, by one of my favourite writers:

Maybe you needed this reminder, too? We've got to keep showing up, vulnerable and brave, and keep remembering that we are absolutely worthy.

Accept that compliment. 

Appreciate that gift shared in words.

We are all worthy.

Every. single. day.

Reflecting on nine months of a global pandemic

We are now ending our ninth month of pandemic life.
It's wild, right?
I marvel at how different the world continues to be.

My experience has been full of questioning, wondering, worrying, ruminating and even falling apart a few times here and there, as the weight of this experience has changed so much of our family life.

Nine months working from home, without the collaboration and friendship of my co-workers.
Nine months of holding back hugs, kisses and other acts of authentic love from my heart.
Nine months without hosting a single party, get together or birthday celebration.
Nine months since I had the people I love, in my home.
Nine months of reminding my kids to wash their hands a million times a day.

It's been a long nine months.

Lately I've been struck by the different perspectives, lived experiences and concerns of the people I care about. Some have said they don't feel uprooted by the pandemic, others mildly inconvenienced and more still a great majority are feeling burnt out, depressed, anxious and overwhelmed.

I think it's safe to say this pandemic has pushed many of us to unhealthy emotional states, like it or not. I know I have leaned deeply into my self-care practice, and there are still some days where I feel like I cannot keep it together for a moment longer.

This has been so friggin' hard.
So hard.

Waves wash over me.
Days of exhaustion.
Crazy dreams.
Mannequin-like moments,
Unable to move.
Frozen.

Parenting during a pandemic, in my experience, means questioning even the small every day things I was used to taking for granted like...

Kids playing basketball together.
Driving friends around in my van.
Online chats and gaming.
How many school sweaters to buy.

At times paralyzing, this pandemic has proven once again that life can change in a heartbeat, and we have no control over it's timing.

But then this happened...

This afternoon, as I sat with Brookie preparing a surprise for some friends, I stopped dead in my tracks when I read a simple message from a neighbourhood friend:

"I just had Nolan come in. He's a lovely boy. You should be super proud of him."

I'm teary again, as I type this.

You see, today I let him hang out with a small group of boys from his school. They rode bikes, played basketball and stopped at a local corner store for a treat. They had the good fortune of just being kids, aside from my requests to sanitize and be safe. They had a relatively normal afternoon.

My awkward, sweet 12 year old pre-teen bought a treat and paid for it himself.
He did good. Really good.

Today, despite a pandemic, my friend took a moment to share positive words with me. She had no idea I was agonizing over his safety, or worrying he would be disrespectful in public or gluttonous in his purchase. Today she thought of me, and took a few moments to reach out.

Today she lifted my weary soul.

And this, this is the way forward during this difficult, sometimes divisive time. 

We must reach out.
Be proactive.
Thoughtful.
Check in.
Share a positive note,
Warm reflection,
Quick love story.

We need to lift up every single person we love.
Find and support the weary hearts.
Prioritize love.
BE LOVE.

Because the pandemic isn't over and the world keeps turning, the bills keep coming, the kids keep growing up and we continue to live our lives, for the most part.

So DO LOVE, this week. 
Reach beyond your own challenging life to envelop a weary heart in loving kindness.

xoxo

Maybe we won't go back

I've been reflecting lately, on this crazy year we are having. 2020 will most certainly never be forgotten, for a million different reasons. At times I've fought with it, hated it, cried about it and many times I have gone to bed thinking there was no way I could make it through another day. 

But then I thought, perhaps this is what we are supposed to learn. 

That grey is a medium place. 

It's not good, but it's not necessarily bad. 

It's non-striving. 

It's being. 

It's stepping outside of the stories we create in our own monkey minds. 

During this time of awakening, perhaps we are being called to listen. 

Actively listen to our bodies, our partners, our neighbours and children. 

Perhaps this time can teach us to find gratitude in each moment as it unfolds. 

Maybe we won't go back. 

Maybe experiencing non-striving is the gift, here. 

Finding joy in simply being. 

Remembering what it's like to not have plans, throw big parties or take marathon shopping trips. 

Maybe we won't go back. 

Perhaps this is the new normal. 

Less scheduled driving, more time to explore our own minds and beliefs. 

More time to look inward and support others in a new consciousness. 

Maybe we won't go back. 

Maybe this time is teaching us that our before was truly unsustainable. 

It was too fast, too wasteful, too superficial. 

Too far from mother earth and the beautiful gift of simply being. 

Maybe we won't go back. 

Perhaps the grey is teaching us to trust Him more. 

To pray on our struggles and consider this parable's lesson. 

Believe that God's plan is exactly ours, as well. 

In a world that was so egotistical, so full of wants confused as needs, perhaps we shouldn't go back.

Perhaps the little humans we are raising will be better for this time, better for the grey, better for being.

So, don't be so quick to want to go back.

Perhaps there's no such thing, and the only sure thing is the experience we are having right now. 

As we commit to being. 

Non-striving. 

Trusting.

Living.

 

To the ones who don't understand

I'm sorry.
I know I can be confusing.
I am confused, to some extent.

But my instinct is strong, right now.
Confused at times, but strong in my resolve.

I will do everything I can to protect my kids, while I have the choice to do so.

Have you ever wondered if your child might die?
Seriously, without an ounce of dramatic flair.
Have you ever really looked your child's mortality in the eyes?

Have you worried every single day, each time you prepared a meal, bought groceries or watched your child eat that today might be the day they stop breathing? That the food you lovingly bought and prepared for them might actually kill them?

I don't mean to sound crass or lean into stories of trauma and terror for attention.

All I mean to say is this:

I thought cancer might kill my daughter.

I live with daily chronic stress related to raising a child with anaphylaxis. I wash my hands more often than those most fearful of coronavirus because my actions directly impact whether my son survives, every single day.

I had no control over their diagnoses.
No choice to make.
All I could do is learn to live in the uncomfortable space and breathe through the dark moments.

Since the pandemic began, I've found the grey area exhausting to navigate.

What is safe to do?
- grey -
Who is safe to be around?
- grey -
What level of risk is comfortable?
- grey -
What happens when I change my mind?

It continues to bring me to tears.
It's hard and wild and unrelenting.

But inside this pandemic, I've found I have some choice.

I can choose to reduce my family's risk of becoming sick.
I can choose to make decisions about what feels safe.
I can choose to speak up when something doesn't feel right.

So, I might sound confusing to some.
Overreacting to others.
Difficult.

But the truth is, I am still healing.
Trauma is engrained in my bones.
Chronic stress in my blood.

And while I am not living in fear as a result of this pandemic,
(I trust in God and feel protected by my family of angels)
I am making the choice to take precautions for the health of my children.

And those precautions are subject to change.
In fact, they change pretty regularly.
Even when I don't want them to.

This pandemic is confusing, and new information means the grey area continues to be just that.
So. Damn. Grey.

But because I have considered more than once that my child could die... injected an epinephrine needle into my son's tiny leg... stood in a surgical waiting room wondering when the oncologist would provide an update on her prognosis... begged God to take it all away from them and give it to me...

I am always considering what choice is best to protect my children.

I know you don't understand.
But bear with me.
Be patient with my confusion.
Notice, but please do not judge.

Consider that you'll never fully understand how it effects my healing heart for me to have a choice to protect them, this time around.

The familiarity of a pandemic

It's been six weeks since our family moved towards what we now call, quarantine life.
A month and a half, already.
That amount was shocking for the kids.

No friends at school.
No coffee chats with the ladies at work.
No commute.

I've been trying all week to come up with the words to explain how we've adjusted as a family. This new life of ours is all at once very, very different.

But also,
familiar.

I know that probably sounds wild, but over the last six weeks I've noticed that many of the feelings other people have expressed during this global pandemic, have been lived in our home before now.

Frustration.
Difficulty with blurred lines between work and home.

For many who now find themselves working from home while supporting the distance learning of their children, many days are ending in tears, arguments and a sense of helplessness. I sit very comfortably in this feeling, however, because I freelanced for nearly five years. Never once during that time did I have boundaries between home and career, often working with a baby on my lap. It was some of the most exhausting work I ever experienced, and while it is truly difficult, I feel well-prepared this time around, for the most part.

Fear.
Intense, debilitating fear.

We know this beast well. We looked cancer in the eye and genuinely wondered if it would take our daughter. Fear of loss and sickness continues to rear it's ugly head when triggered, especially right now. We continue to look it in the eye at a distance, as we meet new childhood cancer families and stand behind, but always part, of their support network. This one requires the strongest mindfulness techniques to combat, from my experience.

Anxious, debilitating worry.
Never-ended rumination about what could happen.

This is our life with anaphylaxis. We legitimately worry about dairy attacking our son the way many describe their ongoing concerns about COVID-19. It's stop-you-in-your-tracks worry, but it's literally our life, every day. It's not going away. And just as the world hopes for a cure, we pray for new therapy to reduce the life-threatening nature of a simple allergen. From experience, anxious thought requires open, honest communication to lessen the rumination.

Isolation.
Being alone and feeling unconnected to others.

Ah, this feeling was also prominent during Brooklyn's cancer journey. Whether it was isolation in a hospital room, or in our home, we felt incredibly detached from our usual community. At some points we stopped reaching out to others because we were just trying to survive. My guess is that this is a very normal feeling when dealing with life-changing health events.

Who knew that five years of freelancing, a cancer journey and living with food allergy, along with a conscious choice to buy less 'stuff' and slow down our family lifestyle, could have prepared us for a pandemic.

But it has.

And I find myself oddly comforted by these familiar feelings. I lean into this crazy, wild time and find myself thinking,
if we survived all of that, we'll get through this too.
And I believe we will.
All of us.

But that doesn't mean it's been easy.

We endured two weeks of very scary germs, in the last six weeks.
Said goodbye to our sweet old dog, Moses.
I have had near daily dreams about scarcity, forgetting important items and not knowing what to do.
I cry, a lot. In fact, every one of us cries pretty regularly.

I MISS HUGGING THE PEOPLE I LOVE.
This one deserves capitals. It's not enough to see their lovely faces, I am a hugger and miss the transfer of love that comes when family and friends embrace for a moment or two, to say they care.

This is an exceptionally difficult time to be alive.
But if I am right, it's one we will look back on someday and feel really proud about.

We're learning a lot about ourselves.
Other people.
Bad habits.
Things we really didn't need.
How the earth can heal.

How will the world awaken from this pandemic?
What will people never go back to doing?
Will people see how much 'stuff' they never needed?
What family values will change as a result of this time?
Will the earth finally receive the respect it deserves?
Will healthcare heroes continue to feel the love through long-lasting changes in the availability of PPE to keep them safe?
Will frontline workers finally get the living wages they deserve?
Will the world idolize the wealthy few less, and the collective community more?

I am so curious.
And optimistic.

And I hope you are, too.
Hang in there. Ride the waves. Anchor in self-care.

We can do this.

- B R E A T H E -

It's been a week.
A wild ride, a wavy sea of change.
A never-ending tale of discomfort.

I've felt everything from gratitude, love and hope,
to anxiety, panic and fear.

We've never done this before.
Or have we?

Something I did not anticipate was how old trauma would surface.

Flashbacks to a hospital room I couldn't leave.
Feeling cagey.
Terrified.

Isolated to ourselves.
Trying to keep things 'normal.'
Exhausted.

Right now is also an old memory engrained in my soul.
My mind racing back and forth.
Then.
Now.
Us.

- B R E A T H E -

Ground into the earth.
Feel the roots of my spirit protecting me.

- B R E A T H E -

Love myself and my family.
Hug and touch and cuddle and hold.

- B R E A T H E -

Pray.
Meditate.
Journal.
Every day.

- B R E A T H E -

We can survive this.

When we live in the moment, we breathe

"Mommy! You keep asking me if I feel ok and you are scaring me!"
Cue the tears.

I didn't think much of my words. I didn't think I was panicked, in fact I was pretty sure he was having a slight skin reaction due to cross contamination of dairy.

I was upset though.
My mind was racing... how the heck? Again? What am I doing wrong?

But I didn't suspect anaphylaxis. I wasn't pulling out the EpiPen.

My words scared him.
I scared my sweet little anaphylaxis warrior into a tummy ache.
(which of course worried me even more, as this can be another sign of an allergic reaction).

Sometimes, I forget to be in the moment. Be all in, right now.

This morning I was three stages ahead thinking - what did he touch? How am I failing him? I need to watch for worsening symptoms...

I was living in the future.

If I was living in the present moment, mindful and aware, I would have noticed that I was scaring him. That I asked too many times if he was ok. That he was becoming afraid. That he wasn't showing any signs of it getting worse.

This is the difference that mindfulness makes.

When we live in the past, our kids become weighed down by our own grief, trauma and depression.
When we live in the future, our kids feel our fear, anxious thoughts and trepidation.
Hard to admit, I know.

When we live in the moment, we breathe.

We notice the space between stimulus and reaction.
Formulate a response.
Breathe again.
Notice again.
Act calmly.

Mindfulness is a practice, one I take very seriously. But as you can tell, I am only a student. This practice is a way of life that is always teaching me to turn back to present moment awareness.

Simply noticing the now.

This morning I failed and felt horrible for upsetting my sweet boy.
He was totally, 100% fine.

But trust me, I'll dust myself off and keep trying.
Mindfulness just works like that.

xo

The waves are back

I am feeling really tired right now.
Deep down in my soul tired.
Hurts to sit, tired.
Depleted.

This exhaustion is not new to me.
I've lived with these waves a long while.
They are here, again.

It's written all over my face.
Engrained into my bones.
Weighted my spirit.
It's not going away.

It could be memories.
It might be winter's cold.
Maybe even the disease of busy.
Or perhaps a combination?

It doesn't matter why it's here.
I know what I have to do.

Breathe.
Find gratitude.
Love my people.
Accept help and hugs.
Repeat.

This is life, after all.
And sometimes we can only wait.
Let the tears fall as they may,
then keep floating along.

A little about love

I've been thinking about love, lately.
The way it holds my life together.

Love for my kids.
Husband.
Parents.
Family.
Friends.

Love is permission to fall apart.
And know someone is there to hold me.

Love allows me to finish short of my word.
And know all will be forgiven.

Love is being held in a space which says; nothing has to happen right now.
Nothing is perfect and that's ok.
It's ok.
I'm ok.

That's love.

Love is when my heart races with worry.
Love is nagging doubt that I've made the right decision.
Love is hope, when there's nothing else to hold on to.

Love is a state of being where there is warmth.
It's a safe place.
An honest one.

Love permits disagreement, but always with respect.
Love allows anger, but quickly finds forgiveness.
Love is exhausting, for all the right reasons.

I've found, as I've aged, that when I centre on love, I simply cannot go wrong.

Sometimes it's a longer journey.
Sometimes it hurts so much more.
But love, as my reason, my wrapping, my motivation, never leads to regret.

I've lost friends, on account of loving them so much my honest words hurt their feelings.
I've hurt my heart, following hope and forgiveness to a place where I was trampled on.
I've literally lost hours of my life worrying from a place of deep love for others.

But I can say for sure, it was my authentic self.
It was true, honest to goodness love that led my actions.

And so, I'll continue to show up.
Sometimes exhausted, battered and bruised.
Sometimes afraid of speaking the truth.

Because I know this for certain.
I am my most authentic self when my thoughts, words and actions come from my heart centre.
And I do not intend to change this instinct. Ever.

Know this about me;
If you choose to hold space for me, I will for you.
I'm probably already quietly praying for you.

If you need me, I will be there.
In times of great joy, my heart celebrates with you.
And in times of trouble, my heart aches, walking with you.
Even if you don't see me there.
I am.

Love, as I see it, is the single greatest, most honest way to honour the divinity that created me.

And this year, now this new decade, I will no longer feel shameful for sharing it with everyone, every cause, every thing out there in this great big hurting world that needs it.

Love.
Only love today.
Only love every day.
This is my pledge.

xo