New Year, New Focus

As always, January is a time of new goals, resolutions and mantras.

I love the way a new year freshens my thoughts, pauses for my reflection and excites my heart with potential. It's something I truly look forward to every year.

This year is no exception.

Life has provided me many opportunities to grow, struggles to learn from and trauma to test me. Yet I am still motoring along. Some days on cruise, others smashing around in the potholes and the odd day with a flat tire on the side of the road.

But I am still motoring.
And I love the feeling of moving ahead.

This year, I'm focusing my energy on a few areas.

First, I'm letting go of expectations. Mostly of others, I've realized that much of my suffering in 2018 (ruminating thoughts, anxiety, feeling left out, worrying about how others will react) came from my deep-seeded beliefs about how people should act, or react to certain situations.

In 2019, I've decided that every time I feel disappointed in someone or in a situation, I am going to ask myself where I've placed expectations on others. I will notice them, be curious about why I've quietly expected certain things, then let them go. I hope this will free up my brain to relax more and be present in the moment.

Secondly, I am determined to be more assertive, with loving kindness always at the heart of my words. I am not a fan of conflict, in fact I usually clam up and become passive aggressive, or avoid avoid avoid whatever is making my uncomfortable. I love to write and reflect on paper, but immediately addressing issues with my voice is very hard for me to do.

In 2019, I am determined to speak up more often. When I feel something is unjust, wrongly operating or simply unbalanced, I will notice the feeling of my heart racing and my jaw clenching. I will find a way to address the situation with a tone of love and respect, using kind words to elicit authentic conversation. I want to be braver in the face of conflict.

Lastly, I am going to say no to things that drain my energy and spirit. This is a super hard one for me, as I am very much a people pleaser. I hate to admit this, but I spend HOURS, at times, considering what others want from me and trying to live up to their expectations. I have frequently said yes to things in the past which I knew would absolutely ruin my energy, drain my spirit and require me a week's worth of time to recover from, just to make others happy.

In 2019, I am going to boldly, and with love, pull back from those things which make drain me. I'd like more energy in my life, more self-fuel for writing, reading and exploring my passions. I'm scared to be selfish but also excited to say that this year I want to put myself first more often and consider what I need to fill my spiritual and energy buckets.

So in 2019, my anchor words are

expectations
assertive
energy

And my anchor quote is

'let go and love more'

These are my post-it notes, my bookmarks for every day of this wonderful, glorious year ahead. It is my hope that as a result of this work, I will grow into a better mom, wife, friend and human <3

#selfreflection #selflove #letgo #love #behumble #bekind

Kindness in the Chaos

I am three weeks into my new position, and as expected, we are hitting some bumps in the road. The timing of this transition couldn’t be worse, as we are knee deep in summer sports and out of the house pretty much every night of the week.

The kids are super tired.
My brain is on overload.
Jay and I have had very little quality time together.

Change, as always, takes time.

I am still firm in my belief that this is the right time.
Right position.
Right reason.

As I keep swimming, head just above water, something heart warming happened this week.

I ran to the local drug store for a few items, my boys in tow. At the checkout, Nolan asked for a pack of gum (he has always been an opportunist). I wanted to resist, but such a simple request was really no reason to do so. The gum landed in my pile and as the last item was scanned, he asked for a second pack.

‘For Brooklyn’, he said earnestly. 

And so I bought two overpriced packs of gum, and we went home to pack up and leave for another baseball game. Later than night, I found this on the window sill of Brooklyn’s room:

It made me smile.

The crazy melted off my face.

We are a family of note leavers.
Sign makers.
Love sharers.

And here, despite the chaos, was a little piece of sibling love.

My heart sang.

Life is so good, if we just stop and see it.

The next morning I left for a full day of baseball fun in the sun with Nolan. Brooklyn, Ethan and Jay stayed home. As a very close family, we truly dislike being in two places, as logical and wise as we know these decisions are for our sanity and wellness.

All of us had a great day, but we missed each other like crazy.

When I stepped in the door last night, this was on the kitchen table.

  

Oh my heart.

Despite the migranes.

Arguments.

Exhaustion.

Overly busy week.

Here was this little piece of love and kindness.
A small exchange of big feelings.
A reminder that the little things, always matter.

Especially in the chaos.

Isaak Family Christmas Card

Photography courtesy (Nanna) Heather Isaak Photography

Christmas is a few short days away.

The gifts are wrapped.
Dinner plans have been made.
Our dogs are clean and pretty.

This Christmas feels different for our family.

We've spent less money.
Worried infrequently about organizing every moment.

For the first time ever, our family has chosen the 'four gift' rule:

1. Something I want.
2. Something I need.
3. Something to wear.
4. Something to read.

Four gifts per child, plus a visit from Santa, who has always generously filled our stockings and left one toy per child under our tree.

This Christmas feels calmer.
Less cluttered.

The kids have delighted in the glow of the lights.
The pending family gatherings.
Advent candles.
Christmas movies.
Our kindness countdown.
Silly versions of classic Christmas songs.

This year I've stopped - really stopped - to watch my children play with the nativity scene in our living room. My eyes delighted in the joy of their recounting of the Christmas story, and I laughed hard and loud when I realized Ethan has been referring to Baby Jesus as 'Baby Jeez'.

We are blessed.

This Christmas, in lieu of the Christmas cards my hands never wrote, my note to you is this....

Find peace in a hot cup of coffee.
Feel the warmth of a family member's hand in yours.
Laugh so hard your belly hurts.

Look for silver linings in times of grief.
Breathe deeply in times of anxiety. 
Melt away the sadness with festive food and drink.

Be grateful for a warm bed.
Look with fresh eyes at the snow outside your window.
Hold your furbabies close and thank them for being steadfast companions.

Put
your
phone
down.

Be present.
Relish, deeply, in the charms of the holiday season.

Let's really live, this Christmas. 
Look with wonder upon the things which we too often take for granted.

Let's really love, this Christmas.
Take it upon ourselves to boldly declare our adoration to our most cherished loved ones.

Let's really appreciate, this Christmas.
Because we never really know when life's tide will turn and leave us far from shore.

Be
Peaceful.
Loving.
Joyful.
Gracious.
Kind.

And know that you are loved, beyond measure.

Merry Christmas
xoxo

It's never really over

The thing about trauma is that it's never really over, per se.

Thoughts.
Feelings.
Painful memories.

They linger.
They take up space in our busy brains.
They can easily take over one's ability to feel happy, whole and in control.

The last couple of days I've been marvelling at how all roads in our family life led to the last 6 weeks. Gave us a 'tool kit' so to speak, for dealing with our family trauma.

I spent the last year engaging in meditation and mindfulness practices, resulting in the ability to see light during the darkest of our last six weeks. Friends, both old and new, who allowed me to entrench myself in their personal and family cancer experiences the last number of years, took it upon themselves to prop me up every single day of this journey. The practical way Jay and I rebooted our finances last fall, so that me being without work right now is a setback, not a sinking ship. The family yoga classes that Brooklyn and I started prior to her diagnosis  attuned her to the power of her breath, and taught her a simple song that calmed her worst fears and silenced her tears during our 15 odd days of inpatient treatments.

All of these roads have led to today, and just weeks after I posted about my self-declared 2016 Year of Celebration, we found ourselves stuttering and gasping for breath, trying to verbalize the sentence, 'Brooklyn has cancer' to our closest relatives. I will never forget making those phone calls, in the third floor hallway of McMaster Children's Hospital, a pile of mush on the floor. Trying, so so hard, to breathe.

I could be angry.
After all, it feels entirely unfair that a five year old should fight cancer.

I could be depressed.
It was painful to see my daughter, my own flesh and blood, in intense pain.

I could feel anxious.
After all, there are more results pending, and there will be follow up tests for many, many more years.

I could loathe God.
Many people do, following a trauma.

The thing is, I don't.
I have moments of anger, sadness and anxiety.

But I mostly feel gratitude.
Intense gratitude.

For the 'doers' who carried my family and I through this journey.
For my husband, whose love for our family carried us when I fell apart.
For my dearest, most incredible friends who lived inside my head throughout the last six weeks, offering daily support, checks ins and countless opportunities to say they loved me.
For my body, which carried my soul.

You see, we will all experience trauma at some point.

We will lose people we love.
Parents. Siblings. Babies. Neighbours.
Some of us will fight cancer, disease and mental illness.
Be unemployed, battle addiction and see our children struggle to succeed.

We will hurt, deep down in our souls.
We will feel like we cannot go on.
Like the world is better off without our pain.

But wait.
We can choose another path.

Gratitude is a conscious choice to look at every single interaction in our day as a gift, a silver lining through the thick grey clouds of trauma.

Let's be honest here, trauma brings out the best in the people we love. Coincidentally, trauma also showcases the tragic flaws in others, some of which I can personally say have been disappointing to witness.

But I can still choose gratitude.

I can choose to feel 'lucky' that Brooklyn's type and stage of cancer was the best possible outcome in the medical books. Even if being truly 'lucky' is having a child that never experiences cancer at all.

I can choose to be grateful that I am home with my children, snuggling and caring for them, despite the fact that this means my income is nil for the foreseeable future.

I can choose happiness.
Peace in my soul.
Love in my heart.
Faith in God.

A very wise friend said to me, once you battle cancer it's never really over, it just becomes the new normal. You live for today, and you make a choice not to worry about tomorrow.

And so it may never really be over, per se.
But I firmly believe the aftermath of trauma is manageable with a heart full of gratitude.

#TeamBrookie #WarriorPrincess

Warrior Princess

What does it mean, to be a Warrior Princess?

 A warrior is brave.

 

 

 

 

 A warrior has a strong heart and fighting spirit.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A warrior defeats pain and is left with bravery lines.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 A warrior believes she can do anything, even if it’s really hard.

 

 

---

 

 

A princess is beautiful, inside and out.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A princess cares about and loves others.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A princess knows a twirly dress makes everything all better.

 

 

 

 

 

 

A princess believes she can do anything, even if it's really hard.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
 
 
 

She is the perfect combination of warrior and princess.

And we are so proud of her.

 
 
 
 
#TeamBrookie #WarriorPrincess
 

Perspective

We've been home for 48 hours now.
Not quite back to 'normal', but definitely the closest we've been in five weeks.

Five weeks.
January 18th to February 18th.

That astonishes me.
Five weeks felt like five months.

Every single day the first thing I thought about was cancer when I woke.
Cancer when I closed my eyes at bedtime.

Dreams unlike any I'd ever experienced before now, dreams I pray I never experience again.

When my friends and family posted photos on social media of their fun events and happenings, I wanted to scream, "My daughter has cancer! How can you be so inconsiderate!"

When I checked out at the grocery store and the cashier asked me how I was, I wanted to spill my sadness all over the register, talk about my daughter's pending cancer tests and treatment.

Every moment, of every day.
My daughter has cancer.
It was written in my mind, on my heart and sat on my lips.

I knew I was struggling.
I knew no one else did anything wrong or spiteful or malicious.

But my heart was hurting so badly that everything I saw, read or experienced just hurt me more.
Bruised deeper.
I couldn't control my feelings, they raged beyond my heart.

Yet, I made it.
My boys made it.
Brooklyn my Warrior Princess made it.

And in the darkest moments, I gained perspective.

When my anger boiled over Brooklyn's incision infection, the  night nurse told me a story about a family admitted for nearly three months due to raging infection in their newborn.
Perspective.

When I wanted to scream on day seven, that we were still admitted, Brooklyn's surgeon shared that she had been walking the wards trying to find a room for a little wee boy who's surgery was about to be cancelled for the second time due to lack of beds.
Perspective.

When, on day ten, Jay and I sat in the play room watching Brooklyn.
When I wanted to get into the ring with all of the negative thoughts still lingering in my brain.
When I wanted to lose it on the doctors for suggesting we 'wait and see' one more day.
When I could feel the literal boiling of my blood.

A husband and wife team carried their daughter into the playroom.
Sick from treatment, without any hair, feeding tube in her little nose.
She could do nothing but sit.
Stare.

Opposite my daughter, moving about in the little play kitchen, attempting to bend over and find new plastic food to feed her baby doll.
So much perspective.

Now, we are home.

My body is no longer running on adrenaline.
It is intensely achy, throbbing at times and struggling to stay awake.
My brain is foggy.
My legs are weak.
My eyes hurt.

I quit my teaching term.
I pulled our wee man from day care.

Life, as I know it, is only a fraction of 'normal'.

But I managed. I breathed through it. My body held my spirit together.

For the first time in years, I am proud of my body.
My physical self carried my spiritual self in a way I didn't realize was possible.

Perspective.

Grow with us

I am still trying to come up with words, to express how I am feeling right now.

Angry.
Sad.
Broken.

A good start, yes, but the pain I feel is so much deeper than that. So much more raw. It's as if someone took my heart out of my body and still expects me to be 'myself' without it. My brain is foggy, my body aches and tears fall in streams from my face without a moment's notice.

I look at my little girl and wonder how this will change her.

Will she go into medicine someday, hoping to change the world?
Will she refuse to bare her midsection as a tween because she's ashamed of her scars?
Will she feel a strong dislike for doctors, the very people dedicated to making her well?

I look at my sons, and I can see how this has changed them.

Ethan screams when being left alone, begs for us to sleep with him, wakes 10+ times a night and says things like, "Mom be careful, Brookie is sick." Nolan is, once again, highly sensitive. He is crying more often, crawling into my lap at least once a day and looking at me with eyes that shout dissatisfaction and worry about the current state of our life.

And then I look at Jay and I.

It's awful.
We are shells.
Breathing, yes, but otherwise void of our usual zest for life.
We are pale, exhausted and hurting.
Laughter is infrequent. Silly jokes are missing.

Our love for each other remains unspoken.
We are partners in this journey.

When I am ok, he is not.
When I fall apart, he is strong.
Every ounce of our energy is being poured into our kids, leaving an empty bucket for each other. But that's ok, because we know we are in this together.

I came across a video today, and I feel like everyone needs to watch it.
It's time to stop the 'not doing' and get to doing.
Living.
Being.
Appreciating all that we have.
Losing the regrets.

The silver lining, in all of this, is becoming evident.

Hearing friends say, I've taken too much for granted.
Seeing neighbours spending quality time together as a family.
Feeling family members give so much of themselves, in the name of family.

It's incredible.

Too many of us worry incessantly about the next step in our careers at the expense of missed hockey games, first home runs and cups of coffee with dear friends. Too many of us have become overly concerned with the next big style trend, the brand of car in our driveway and the roots of our dyed hair.

But wait.
What if we looked again.

What if we let the silver lining shine a little brighter.

Notice the way a hug feels around our neck.
Take in the smell of our spouse when crawling into bed at night.
See the love our pets offer us without hesitation.

You see, as much as I cannot breathe right now, as much as my heart is broken into a million pieces, I know that there are lessons to be learned. I know that my life will be enriched by choosing mindfulness in my daily activities. In appreciating the kindness and love of others.

I want you to be part of the silver lining.
I never want you to go through this with your child.
But I want you to learn from us. 
Grow with us.
Find peace along side us.

I want to prove that all of this happened for a reason.
And I want to hear about what you've learned.

xo

#TeamBrookie #WarriorPrincess

Mom friends, unite

Mom friends, I need to talk to you.

Thank you for being honest.

For posting photos of your worst parenting moments.
For crying out for help when you couldn't stand one more minute with your kids.
For laughing hysterically at my mishaps, and letting me do the same at yours.

Thank you for reserving judgement.

When I admit I've just pulled into the McDonalds drive thru with tears in my eyes.
When I couldn't go out for drinks because I didn't have $10 in my wallet to spend.
When I wore the same faded pair of yoga pants for the third day in a row.

Thank you for listening.

About my larger-than-life worries regarding fevers, ear infections and immunizations.
About my feelings of failure, disappointment and utter dismay at being a mom.
About the moments that made me cry deep, dark tears from my soul.

Thank you for being my cheerleader.

For sending virtual hugs that reassured me I was worth it.
For the messages of love when I was sick, run down and crawling out of bed.
For the acts of kindness that filled my heart with gratitude and love for our friendship.

The truth is, we're all in this together.
And its the hardest thing we've ever done.

We need each other more than ever.
And we need to stop comparing ourselves to each other.

The choices you make, may not work for me.
Your beliefs will not match all of mine.
How I choose to parent may not be comfortable for you.

And that's ok.

Let's make the conscious decision to support each other with love, kindness and genuine appreciation for our individual journeys. Can you imagine the example we can set for our children?

Mom friends, unite.

A lesson in kindness

This December, our family tried something new.

We designed, then followed an Acts of Kindness calendar from December 1st to 24th, acting out one simple thing daily that was kind, caring and thoughtful. The acts were not centered around social justice issues, but chosen to reflect opportunities for our young children to easily make their friends, family and neighbours happier in the month of December.

While we couldn't include everyone in our Acts of Kindness, we did our best to include as many people as we could. Some days were easier to complete than others and some days required all children to participate while on other days only one child had something to check off their list. Buying snacks at school for a friend, delivering artwork to a neighbour and donating food to the school food drive were examples of their daily tasks.

The calendar was hung on our fridge, to remind us of our daily tasks
 

It was my hope that my oldest children - Nolan (7) and Brooklyn (5) would find inspiration in the sensation of making others happy. My youngest, Ethan (2), was along really just along for the ride, but surprised me in his ability to take part and enjoy this new daily ritual.

I thought it would be fun to ask the kids a few questions, to see what they learned. Here are their answers, verbatim:

Question One: Why did we complete Acts of Kindness in December?
N - I don't know.
B - Cause that was a countdown to Christmas.

Question Two: What was your favourite Act of Kindness we completed? Why?
N - Telling jokes to Nana and Nanna. Why? I don't know.
B - Um, giving the movie to Kyleigh because that was a random act of kindness.

Question Three: How did you feel when completing an Act of Kindness?
N - Good.
B - Happy.

Question Four: Can you come up with one new Act of Kindness for next year?
N - We have to do it again next year? Isn't one year enough?
B - Make someone's bed.

Question Five: What did you learn about our family?
N - No, same as always.
B - That we have to work together.

Funny how you can raise your kids the same way, but they grow into entirely different human beings :) The truth is Nolan struggled through most of the tasks. He acted as if it was an inconvenience at times, which admittedly hurt my heart now and again. To his defence, though, Nolan is an incredibly private boy who never wishes to be in the spotlight. Asking him to 'perform' tasks did give him some anxiety, depending on how public it was.

Brooklyn, on the other hand, loved every moment of it. She couldn't wait to hear about our task each day, and was always asking ahead a few days to prepare herself for what was to come. She smiled when talking about it, loved to share stories about the outcomes each day and often found additional ways to 'help others' and 'show kindness'.

It was a fun way to focus on family and giving in December. It was also a waaaay better tool for counting down to Christmas than any overpriced advent calendar on the market. I highly recommend families try it next December and consider taking a 'theme' appropriate and relevant to your family.

Perhaps the results will be mixed, but the experience of working together as a family is entirely worth the effort <3.