All that I learned in 2021, I take with me into tomorrow

In 2021, I learned that...

People we love can be on opposite sides of the fence, and all we can do is pray for their safety.

My friends are braver and more badass than they realize they are. And they inspire me daily.

Letting intuition inform choices can result in an abundance of sweetness and joy. 

When I stop feeling angry and sit with it, I'm mostly afraid things will never go back to before.

But I really don't want before.

I've learned too much to pretend I liked then, better.

 

I also learned that…

Some people love you so much they check in. And others don't. And you can't take that personally.

Sometimes change is a permanent state. And I have to embrace this reality.

Home is where my heart is. And changing the world starts with loving my kids through every bad mood, hard day and long week.

I prefer to be around people who think less from their ego, and more often from a place of collective well-being and humanity.

Listening means not always having a response right away. And that sitting and holding space is an act of great love.

Considering others' perspectives means that even if you don't agree, you seek to understand.

And this is harder than being right.

Finally, I learned that…

Lived experience informs risk tolerance during a pandemic.

And I don’t need to apologize for that.

I’m allowed to have personal boundaries, and people pleasing interferes with them.

If you find a job you love, not even a pandemic will stop you from enjoying going to work.

My husband is my rock, gives the best hugs and can find a joke suitable for even the worst days.

Dropping secret gifts on people's porches is pretty fun, and sponsoring a family at Christmas can light up the hearts of children who sometimes forget how lucky they are.

 

And that next year won't be 2020, too.

It will be 2022.

With fresh new eyes, enhanced gratitude and the promise that even the most menacing of storms passes, eventually.

Right now, I have more than enough to find joy.

That much like my very smart and special neighbour recently said, when aboard the boat during a storm, all one can do is hold the steering wheel and marvel at God's creation.

Happy New Year, lovelies.
xoxo
P

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

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.

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

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

They need so much less than we think

Tonight we had an extra long dinner as a family.
It wasn't a fancy meal, or a well-planned all-natural organic creation.

It was just food, on plates.
Knapins and water cups.

Some ketchup for good measure.

But tonight our meal lasted for what felt like forever, because we sat down and planned our bucket list for the rest of this year, using a simple prompt sheet I had printed four months earlier (with good intentions).

It took us until today, but we did it.
And it was worth every minute of conversation.

We laughed as we brainstormed.
Teased each other.
Cracked jokes.

We opened our minds and hearts to new possibilities.
Shared with each other the things we'd love to see and do.

It filled my soul.

Three hours later all I keep thinking about is this:

We trade time for money,
spend it on piles of accumulation and call it wealth.

We work so damn hard,
exchange it for so little quality family time and call it a life.

We dedicate ourselves to higher education,
then fail to revel in the words of a four year old because we are rushing and distracted.

Our kids need us now.
Today.

They need our presence.
Not presents.
They need to sit around a table of people who love them.

They need to SEE US.
Be with us.
Be held by us.

No amount of wealth, no advanced education, not even a burgeoning career can provide for our children what they need right now, as little humans.

They need us.

Their mamas.
Their daddies.
Their aunties and uncles and grandparents and special relatives.

They need time.
A relaxed, positive space to speak openly and honestly about their hopes and dreams.

They need love.
Unwaivering, always-present words which clearly articulate the depth of our affection for them.

They need peace.
Space in their hearts and minds which is uncluttered by accumulation, overscheduling and unrealistic lifestyles driven by must-have brands and toys.

They need so much less then we think they do.

Less.
Is.
More.

Tonight, over an extra long family
 dinner, I was reminded of this.

Don't believe me?

Give your kids more time, more cuddles and more opportunities to speak freely.
You'll see what I see, I promise.

Soul on Fire

Dear Soul on Fire,

I see you.
I noticed the way you radiated heat, today.
Burnt soul, scorched heart.

Your soul is angry and hot, afraid to consider this new life.
You cannot change it. Push on it. Ignore it.

Though you cannot look at me, I know you are hurting.
Your soul is crushed by the newness of your situation.
Despite your best efforts to avoid it, you landed right there.
Deep inside your soul.

Hot.
And angry.

I know that you feel lost.
Alone.
Wondering what the world thinks now.

I know that you didn't want it to be this way.
That you never imagined it could happen to you.
Or your greatest loves.
But here you are.

I see you.

I notice your hesitation to speak freely, for fear of sounding weak.
I know you are exhausted and entangled.
It's not supposed to be this hard.

All.
The.
Time.

But you are not alone.
I see you.

And suffering is part of our shared humanity.

For I am suffering too.
And I, too, am scared to speak.
But even in the silence, I think of you. Pray for you. Hope for you.
I see you.

We cannot change this journey, but know with brave hearts, it can be endured.
We cannot become so self-consumed that we land in the very situation we fought so hard to solve.
We cannot quit.
We cannot stop trying.

The fire within creates conditions for our own greatness.
New life. Soul's growth.

The fire within begs us to rise.
To stand tall, hearts fully engulfed and exposed for all to see.

Our souls were made for this.
We will endure.
Together.
<3

The teachings of my soul

Last week I got lost in the busyness of life.

(If I'm being honest, I've been lost most of the summer)

Many of my worst habits... to do lists, late night notes to myself, an overly full calendar.... have come back in full force as I attempt to control my world.

But back to last week.

Last week was a particularly crazy week, one where I literally spent hours preparing for a weekend event that I look forward to every year. I was making phone calls and sending texts, I was confirming rules and considering all angles to ensure the best possible chance for success. 

Hours.

I'm not even kidding.

Then, the weekend arrives. I was overpacked, my brain was still swimming with all the busy of the week but my heart was happy as I was about to spend my weekend with some of my favourite people.

Then, get this.

Despite my organization, time spent and energy expelled all week, it blew up in my face.

Literally, another human being blew up in my face.

Crap.

Really?

If you know me personally, you know how much I hate conflict.

It makes my skin crawl. 

Call me an idealist, but I like to think that words are powerful enough to deflate most conflicts, and that if we take time to check our perspectives we can almost always see another side of the story.

But this weekend, despite my very best efforts to promote smooth sailing, I hit a massive wave.

I can't even tell you how much it hurt my heart. 

Hurt.

My.

Heart.

But it happened, and I left feeling unheard, disrespected and totally overwhelmed.

In fact I spent most of my day feeling sick to my stomach.

And it didn't matter how much I prepared, because it didn't help me.

Huh.

Sometimes life just throws us a curveball. 

Acts in a way which is contrary to every plan, scenario and best practice.

Sometimes we just aren't prepared.

Sometimes no one listens.

Sometimes no one wants to listen.

Sometimes we just can't win.

Sometimes words aren't enough.

And so despite living with an awareness of self, despite my every effort to be kind, speak calmly under distress and build mutual respect, sometimes life just doesn't work that way.

All I can do now, is listen to the teachings of my soul.

It continues to say, love, even when others don't love you.

Breathe deeply and speak calmly when you want to explode.

Love friends like family, because they really are the family you choose.

Fail and keep failing, but never ever stop living with optimism.

Thank those who support you, but appreciate those who do not, for they help you grow.

Remember that faith can heal a hurting heart.

And hugs really do make a tough day better.

And finally, never, ever let another person's opinion of you, become you. 

I am not what you think.

I am what I know, deep inside.

Chin up, heart open and soul bared.

Always.

Courtesy Buddha Doodles

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.

Let me explain....

Next week I go 'back to work' as I've been saying to my kids.

This statement is false. I've been working as a freelancer and adjunct professor for five years since my last full time job. And work, oh man have I ever worked. I went back to work a week after an emergency c-section, newborn in one hand and two needy siblings in the background begging for playmates, food and attention. I worked away more weeknights than when I was in university. I lost most Sunday-fundays to a desk in the corner, one floor from my kids and hubby's laughter.

The last five years were the hardest of my life.

Every hour that I worked,
Every moment of my professional life,
Chosen to avoid interference with my priority.

Motherhood.

For the last five years,
My every thought.
Every choice,
Every priority,
Was my children.

That's a little crazy to 'say' out loud.

I never imagined feeling so passionately about being a mom.
I didn't know children would take over my heart and soul and mind.
I had no idea my whole world would change the moment I became a mother.
That my family would supersede my career.
That I'd be willing to work less, and spend more time, with tiny humans.

Yet here we are.
And the last five years are coming to a close.

Like the end of a maternity leave, where mom talks about 'going back to work', I find myself having similar discussions with my kids about how life is about to change.

I will not pick them up from school at the end of the day.
I will not go on every class trip.
I will not be home with them, this summer.
This is the hard part.
I adore these pieces of my life.

But wait.
Let me explain....

In all honesty, I have come to notice, in the last year, that my children and I have developed some borderline unhealthy co-dependencies.

They cry when I leave for meditation, stating they miss me too much when I am gone.
They need me to 'help them' with small tasks, simply because they want me to be in the same room.
They nnnneeeeeeeedddddd me, all-the-time.

And truthfully, I need them too.
I feel lost when they are not around.
I love to be free of parenting duties, but spend all my time thinking about them when I'm not with them.

Kind of crazy, right?

We are super attached.
SUPER ATTACHED.
And now it's time for us to find some space.

Space for my children.
To explore their own abilities.
To gain new skills.
To mature and grow and learn, without me... sometimes...

Space for me.
To focus more time on my career.
On my health.
On my healing.

I do not anticipate it being easy.
But I know we are rooted in strong values.
Unconditional love.
Mutual respect.
Faith.
And family, always, at the heart of our being.

On Sunday we went and had some family photos taken. On the drive home my oldest asked if he could have copies of the mommy-kids and daddy-kids photos. When asked why, he expressed that he would like to display them in his room because they were special to him. His sister and little brother swiftly echoed his thought with a 'me, too' and in that moment I smiled knowing that everything was going to be just fine, with this little family of mine <3

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.

Performance indicators of a life well-lived

Today marks exactly five years since I announced I was leaving an awesome full time job to become a freelance work-at-home mom. It was a very scary decision, but it felt innately comfortable.

Five years and a lifetime ago.

What astounds me about the last five years is that I do not have a single regret.

I do not regret putting my career on the back burner.
I do not regret the late, late work nights.

Not the burn out.
Not the exhaustion.
Not even the lack of 'me time'.

Don't get me wrong, the last five years have been incredibly difficult.
Painful at times, both physically and emotionally.

But my performance indicators were simple.
My decision to leave my career was based on the desire for simple things.

Balance in our home.
Time with our children.
A deeper family love.

I say 'our' in each of those first two statements because this wasn't a decision I made alone. I made it with my greatest cheerleader and best friend in life and parenting. We made this decision together.

To have less vacations.
But more time.

To buy less stuff.
But share more meaningful moments.

The performance indicators of my freelance business were not what a student reads in business texts.

I did not intend to build a large clientele.
I had no desire to work entrepreneurial hours to grow financially.

I chose balance.
I worked some, but less than full time.
I said no to projects, if they threatened my ability to be a mom.
I turned down dozens, dare I say hundreds of networking opportunities.

All to be with my family. At home. Together.
And I regret none of it.

So while a textbook may say that, by growth standards, I have failed, I am proud to have succeeded in business the last five years based on the deeply personal and engaging relationships I have with all three of my children as well as the equally strong and loving relationship I have with my husband.

Life is not always about income.
A position title on a business card.
Professional growth.

For some of us, at one time or for a long time, the performance indicators of a life well-lived are simply based on love, family and balance.

This race called life

Sometimes it takes a whole year to realize how far you've come.

The last twelve months began like a sprint, then politely dropped into a cross country race.

Slow and unwavering.

Eyes on the path.

Steady pace.

Able to speak, yet completely out of breath.

Capable of continuation, however yearning to quit.

Heart pumping, chest thumping.

I don't know alot about running, but I gather there are three ways to get through a race.

The first is to isolate.

Run alone.

Listen only to the voices in your head.

Ego, its name.

Risking its accuracy and truth.

Forever being your own cheerleader.

The second is to compare.

The runner ahead is faster than me, so obviously better than I am.

The runner behind me can't keep up, they must be in really awful shape.

I am doing better than some, worse than others.

Rank-ordering pain and therefore outcomes.

The third is to belong.

I am a runner in this race called life.

So too, are these companions on the journey.

We are all struggling for breath.

We have our great races, and our really difficult ones.

But we all suffer and celebrate, together.

Sometimes we choose to isolate. Exhaustion and depression are often the result.

Sometimes we choose to compare. Fear and anxiety are often the result.

But when we choose to belong, we hit the sweet spot.

Whether it is my daughter's cancer.

Your husband's unusual illness.

Her mother's death.

His traumatic childhood.

If we belong, we are strong.

Our hearts fill with love and we say,

Me too.

I understand.
Your pain is my pain.

And the divine presence above us shines light on our souls and says, thank you.

This was your lesson to learn.

<3 <3 <3 

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

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

The unwanted guest

What a July it's been, for our family.

Brooklyn's latest test results came in a little over a week ago. Her MRI was NED (no evidence of disease) and while her urine markers were up, the oncologist assured us it's nothing at all to worry about as random urine samples for absolutely anyone can change from day to day.

The spot on her liver has not changed in any way, therefore the doctors will continue to monitor it with ultrasounds every three months after her MRI scan and bloodwork.

She has officially moved to the 'aftercare' clinic in 3F at McMaster.
The secretary congratulated us when she handed back our appointment card.

This month we celebrated and thanked our friends and family with a big party at our place... food, cold drinks, ice cream, fun and lots of laughter. We cried a little, hugged a lot and ended the day feeling overwhelmed with gratitude for our village.

A front AND backyard full of our family and friends. We are so blessed.

Brooklyn is, by all definitions, back to normal.

She'll be participating in the Heater's Heroes event next month in Niagara Falls.
She's happily attending camp twice a week.
Swimming in the pool with her brothers.
Playing with friends.

She is a survivor.
She is a hero.
She is my daughter.

Despite all this goodness and normalcy, lingering doubt remains.
My mama brain never shuts off.

She expressed feeling very dizzy two days in a row this week and the roller coaster of worry began...

What if?
How could?
Why?

Let me tell you, the thing about cancer is that once it's arrived, you can never really pack it up and send it out the door. There will always be an unwanted guest in the heart of a parent whose child experiences cancer.

I pray for, and worry about my kiddos every. single. day.
But this unwanted guest called cancer, it has the strength to overwhelm gratitude.

#TeamBrookie #WarriorPrincess

To my husband on our anniversary

On June 24th Jay and I mark a very special milestone.
Ten years of marriage.

We don't remember our wedding song. (and we think this is funny)
I can't remember our first date. (movies? dinner?)
But we will never forget the day we sent our first fur baby over the rainbow bridge.

You love beer.
I love rum and coolers.
But we secretly prefer a cold fountain pop to just about anything alcoholic.

We've endured two apartments.
One mouse house.
One family mortgage.

Three dogs.
One fish.
Two induced labours.
One emergency c-section.

I've had three surgeries.
You've had one. And a pretty scary MRI I do recall.
Throw in a broken ankle for good measure.

We've struggled to connect.
Taken our anger out on each other.
Minced words over nonsense.

Sleepless nights.
Anxiety filled days.
Overwhelming weeks.

Yet here we are.

Strong.
Faithful.
Loving.
In love.

Our relationship is built on a foundation of mutual respect, deep love and genuine appreciation for our similarities but more importantly our differences. We couldn't care less about the jones' or any other societal pressure to be something we are not.

We are who we are.
And it feels so darn good.

We've learned that stuff - possessions and displays of income - mean very little to us. We took a giant financial leap backward just to prove this point. And we both still appreciate this decision, four years later.

We are raising our children to express love.
Help the helpless.
Trust in God.
Sing because it feels good.
Dance for every reason possible.
Cuddle.

We've admittedly allowed our relationship to take a backseat to the daily rituals of life with three kids. But we don't mind because we know we love one another. Our bond is quiet, yet the strongest piece of our family. We know it, and our kids find comfort in this.

Thank you for loving me, especially on days when I don't even love myself.
For picking me up off the floor on my worst days.
And celebrating the best ones.

For reminding me of our blessings.
And turning down the to-do list echoing in my head.
For making me laugh every. single. day.

Thank you for being an incredible father.
Husband.
Best Friend.
Soul Mate.

Thank you for ten years, Jay.
Love, pure love, our love, will always carry us <3

Here's to ten more.

First since

This weekend was a special one.

Brooklyn celebrated her 6th birthday.
She also participated in her third-ever dance recital, a tap number for Fascination Dance Studio.

This birthday was her first since being diagnosed with cancer.
This recital was her first since being hospitalized.

First since.

The thing about cancer is that once someone you know is diagnosed, mortality bullies ego.

I thought about the death of my daughter from cancer.
I considered that it was possible to lose her, after more than five years on this earth.

Children die of cancer.
Despite medicine, surgery and prayer.
Daughters and sons die.
Brothers and sisters leave their siblings.

Brooklyn's outcome is far and away a small minority of cases. Last I spoke with Brooklyn's oncologist I was told that most children Brookie's age land on the opposite end of the spectrum, with widely spread and stubborn tumours requiring intense therapy.

But that didn't happen to Brooklyn.
She is NED.
No evidence of disease.

She is gorgeously recovered, and as a family we find ourselves marvelling at the first since situations.

This weekend we shed more tears of joy, felt more pride and healed more than we ever imagined. Jay shared with Brooklyn that he shed those tears today, while watching her dance her final tap performance to Bippity Boppity Boo, a fitting tribute to the princess who lived by 'have courage and be kind.'

Brooklyn responded to her Daddy's story by reminding him that the last time he shed those tears was when she was discharged from the hospital, post-surgery.

Tears of joy, another first since we feel so blessed to experience.

#TeamBrooklyn #WarriorPrincess