To say that 2025 has been a bit rough would be an understatement. The amount of emotional upheaval, unprecedented events, and just general shit is unreal. Every where we look is pain, cruelty, and greed. With many choosing to ostrich, sticking their heads in the sand to avoid looking at it too closely.
I have been resistant to trying any kind of mood or mental health medication for a really long time. I have tried several times, not once, not twice, but three times to get diagnosed with a neurodivergent status, either ADHD or autism or something because I never seemed to quite fit in this world. Never has anything come to fruition, whether it’s from years of masking or something else.
I am and have always been inherently sensitive. I can remember being in grade one and seeing Jane Goodall at the Jubilee auditorium, speaking about her time with the chimpanzees,; her experience, the poaching, the deforestation and the horrors that were happening at the time. I was crying, wailing, maybe even hysterical (as a 6 year old would be) and I remember this woman asking my mom if she could just shut me up; I turned to the lady and seethed – what is wrong with you, why aren’t you crying too?
I strongly believe that there are things in life that are unfair, like cancer or natural disasters but it’s our job to make things that should be fair, fair. (A future topic to dive into)
I feel deeply and that’s OK, my fear and hesitation to starting any kind of medication was because I think of my caring deeply, as a positive. Recently while walking with a good friend, I was reminded that one might even say it’s my superpower. It’s what helps me make genuine connections and what likely fuels my ‘high functioning anxiety’.
Why is it OK for people to say that I’m too much, that I care too much or I should stop thinking of others but I would never be able to say you’re not enough. Why is one considered rude and the other is fine. We live in a world where the reality is that far too often people would rather get away with doing as little as possible, while getting out as much as they can from a situation or another person; that’s not me.
My fear of starting any kind of medication was that I would lose a part of myself that I really love. I love that I care so much, and that I can feel all the feels, as inconvenient as it can be. Much to the chagrin of my mom, I have said that if there was more people like me in the world, we would be better off and I feel like that’s true.
I believe that if everyone allowed themselves to be uncomfortable, to feel their feelings, to hold the feelings of others and to try and have compassion in difficult times, we would all benefit. It would be much harder to look the other way when we see injustice. The attitude of, violence is just the way it is, would no longer be accepted. The moving through pain to get on the other side with a deeper understanding of how to fix these large scale systemic issues would be possible. The long and short of it is it takes strength to feel.
I am not naive or self deluded enough to think that I have all or even any of the answers, but what I do know is when I’ve embraced discomfort I’ve gained resilience and clarity. I was worried I would lose that with medication, that I would be numb.
So often when we talk about needing medication, it’s to fix a deficit one might have. As noted, I don’t see my caring as a lacking, but in March when I had a exceptionally tough day at work; I basically spent the entire day in intermittent tears and I woke up the next day feeling the same, I knew something needed to give. I scheduled an appointment for a week later with my GP to talk about options.
My doctor knows my reluctance to use medicine of any sort; I’m a get lots of sleep, drink litres of orange juice when you’re sick kind of girl. So when I brought up that I thought I needed something for anxiety, he asked if there was anything in my life I could change first.
Could I quit my job? Could I get more help around the house? Could my kids be in less programs?
The answer was no, I’ve spent the last 6 years focused on learning and excelling in a new industry. We don’t have the extra income to pay for consistent help. I value my kids extra curricular activities and truth be told still habour some resentment around my own early specialization. So no, not a lot could change and I just needed to stop crying all the time.
The additional piece is the world – I value being informed and do not want to put blinders on to the world around me. The genocide in Gaza, the terror experienced by Jews around the world, school shootings, the removal of DE&I, the over turning of Roe vs Wade, and people recording/sharing executions online, these will not change easily or soon. Not to mention those in my home province wanting to separate from Canada, believing in lies that privatization makes things better but somehow not more expensive. These are all out of my control – my influence is limited, but my caring is not, so something needed to give.
My GP spent some time going over options, from fast acting, short term to longer, build up in your system more regular. Some that also were considered or combined with an anti depressant, which I didn’t think I needed because I’m not one to feel sad without reason. I mean who wouldn’t be sad looking at where we are at. What I am or was is overwhelmed.
I couldn’t get past the constant thoughts of why we are where we are; why was I willing to beat my head on a wall for people who could give two shits about anyone outside their ‘inner circle’; how people don’t see that systems are broken for most and good for few. Overwhelmed at the hypocrisy in the world. I watched a video recently with Simon Sinek talk about how everyone thinks of themselves as the good guy, even the villains. People don’t inherently want to be bad, it’s their values and unquestionable belief in them that has them seeing themselves as good. This is something I know but at times find hard to believe when actions are so opposite words, hence the overwhelm (you can see my overthinking here).
My mind is still going but what’s left is a feeling that I can handle it better.
You know when you see someone public speaking and their whole neck, face and arms start going red because of nerves…even if you couldn’t see it on me, that’s how I felt a lot of the time. When I make even a small mistake, miss an email, have a typo, or any performance review – I feel the heat creep on my skin, I’d start sweating, the reaction is visceral. What my anti-anxiety meds have given me is the ability to stay laser focused in those moments.
Do I still get a pit in my stomach? Sure. But I also have the ability to think more clearly and articulate my thoughts without having my emotions come through as much. I can react to an issue immediately, and not just after the fact, to myself, when I’ve had time to think everything through.
I was worried when in the first couple of weeks I felt like I couldn’t cry. That just wouldn’t do; as long as I have lived crying has been cathartic. But after my body grew accustomed to the meds, took about a month, I found myself left with all the feels, clarity and tears at just the right moments (either overjoyed or sad).
I still don’t see anxiety as a deficit or something needed to be fixed because it’s not a lacking but an extra. Going on medication has felt like wearing glasses at night because of my astigmatism – it just clears up the glare.
Medication is not the right fit for everyone and might not be the right fit for you but one thing I have learned is that it doesn’t take anything away if you don’t let it. It has been a gift.
All of this to say, if you’ve ever considered medication, I would advocate engaging a professional. Talk to a counsellor or psychologist, learn about yourself, what you might want to lose or gain and about the medicinal/lifestyle options to help. The goal shouldn’t be to numb yourself but to discover what works for you to feel your feels and put goodness into action.
Because if we all our feels – the world could be better for it, I know mine is.
Let me know your thoughts or share your own journey below.
I’ve had 3, so one might say I’m well versed in the lived experience.
I foolishly believed that 10 yrs between my last one and most recent one, with advocacy on Social Media for infant/pregnancy loss or just the hope that we grow as humans – my experience would be better.
It was not.
The thing about women is, we generally just still aren’t valued. There is so much talk and advocacy around abortions (the ‘Heartbeat’ law) but very little done yet for the woman.
My first miscarriage happened at about 8 weeks. We found out at the dating ultrasound that there was no electronic activity or ‘heartbeat’. We were told to go home until I started bleeding which happened about a week later. I spent over 10 hours in emergency only to be sent home to wait. Two days later on Oscar night, I ended up in the hospital.
My second miscarriage was between my oldest two kids, I skipped the dating ultrasound because it caused too much stress. During the 12 week scan, there was a heartbeat but something looked off so I needed to come back in a couple weeks. Anxious and alone in the room with the tech who went silent, I started crying when she excused herself to get the doctor, who upon arrival into the room, seeing me in tears said ‘I think you can guess what I’m going to say’ like WTF?
This last miscarriage I spotted a couple times the week before some heavier bleeding 🩸, having had two previous miscarriages I knew this wasn’t good. I called our provincial health line which advised I should go in to Urgent Care or the Hospital within 4 hours. Knowing that I’d likely sit for hours before receiving any care, I decided to wait overnight in hopes of being as in and out as possible. I have a negative blood type so for any miscarriages, births or potential mix of fluids from baby and my blood – I need something called Rhogam to not develop antibodies. Generally family doctors don’t carry this as it’s so specific.
So knowing it would be a long wait, I went to the recommended urgent care for opening to try and be as in/out, low maintenance as possible. The doctor required a urine test, which at 8 weeks and 3 hours/5 pees after waking up my urine was super diluted. He then said I would need a blood test to re-confirm my negative blood, fyi your blood type doesn’t change, before giving me my Rhogam shot. After drawing blood, took a couple hours after starting, I was moved to a hallway to wait, I waited a total of 5 hours after before needing to leave to pick up kids. I asked 3 times for updates, the nurses said they were still waiting, again shouldn’t have been needed because my blood type is in the AHS system.
One change in our province is blood testing has gone to a private provider – the doctor said the typing expired after 6 months which was either a lie or true and allows for private care to get more business. Blood type does not change.
Later in the day I saw that my bloodwork results were loaded just after 11:00am – I did not leave til almost 3:00pm.
I called my GP in a panic and thankfully with an OB/GYN clinic in the unit below them, was able to go in for a Rhogam shot the next day.
Additionally, I was told to look at the HCG levels which should have been low if miscarried. The urgent care doctor was flippant, for lack of a better word, and was confident it would be below 25.
It was not.
My blood was still reading at the expected level for the gestation period. My doctor provided a requisition for more bloodwork and an ultrasound should the levels still not dip.
I had previously needed an emergency D&C with my other miscarriages, so my stress level was impossibly high. For those that don’t know, when miscarrying you are given the direction to go home and pass the tissue, only to go to the emergency room if you bleed through a pad in 20 min or less. So not until you are basically at risk of bleeding out.
So I go home, cramping and waiting to get more bloodwork to hope that maybe it’s cleared. I didn’t feel like I bled enough but maybe I missed something. I did have quite a few large clots.
My pelvic area was beyond tender, it hurt to sit for weeks. Sharp stabbing pains and a dull ache the whole time.
Three days after Urgent Care and 2 after the Rhogam, I figured I had waited long enough to redo the bloodwork. So I scheduled a last minute early morning appointment on the Saturday and spent the rest of the day refreshing my Health portal for the results.
They came in around 5:00pm – still no drop.
Could it be an ectopic pregnancy? Could it be a Molar pregnancy? All I knew is that it meant I needed to call on Monday to try and get in for an ultrasound.
I called as soon as the booking opened and thankfully caught an emergency appointment that morning. These ultrasounds need a full bladder before emptying for an internal ultrasound- keep in mind the general pain in the area already. The scan was done quickly, the tech confirmed they didn’t see any residual tissue in my uterus (phew, no Molar) but couldn’t confirm about my fallopian tubes. A few hours later the report came back but with a note it couldn’t clear the potential of an ectopic pregnancy.
This meant another doctor’s appointment, thankfully could be done over the phone to request another bloodwork requisition to check HCG.
We are now at a week post my urgent care visit. I still have to work, complete the volunteering, get my kids to all their programs and host a birthday party.
I had some Mama friends I was comfortable sharing with, and some relief with hugs but I just couldn’t ask for help – they were all so busy themselves. I didn’t feel deserving of help because I failed, it was no big deal from the treatment of the medical professionals. Why would I bother my friends?
It took over 2 weeks for my blood to drop in HCG – two weeks of immense stress and anxiety waiting for the extreme bleeding to start, for the potential loss of my fallopian tubes and for the pain to end.
This doesn’t even factor in the grief over the potential baby that was wanted, the fetus that was hoped to grow. I was carrying as a surrogate for friends so there was an added feeling of failure. My body which had given me 3 healthy children, failed them.
I had been open and honest about how I had two previous miscarriages but it doesn’t feel like that matters when there is a loss. I didn’t feel deserving to grieve a baby that wasn’t to be mine.
Pregnancy loss or more so the process of what happens after loss is not laid out enough. I have seen lots of sympathetic posts or ones that bring awareness to that it happens but doesn’t get in the weeds.
It’s important to talk about all the details, traumatic, gruesome, bloody details so others can imagine what it might be like. So they can be moved to action to jump in with help or push for change in the care. Or to just not feel alone in the awfulness.
A friend that’s an emergency room nurse and I were talking – she recognized that she didn’t really appreciate what it’s like on the expecting/hopeful parent until some of her closer friends had gone through. Medically it’s not a baby when it’s at a certain stage, it’s a fetus so unlike a stillbirth or child it’s not the same. Fetuses that miscarry were mostly likely unviable, they would not be healthy births. This is true, but it doesn’t mean women don’t deserve proper care when experiencing one.
A miscarriage comes with the feeling of hope lost, the loss of potential, of failure, Of guilt, of what now, of what if it’s always like this, what did I do to cause this?
I had to remind myself of a quote brought to me after my Dad passed and it was ‘Grief is just love with no place to go’. This hits home with miscarriages because it’s all the love you want to give that’s all of sudden trapped, with little knowing why.
It’s been awhile since I’ve written anything, but I needed this outlet to release this. To vent about the care received and the loss.
If I can say one more thing – if you know someone that has shared with you they are experiencing a pregnancy loss, offer specific help. It’s hard to ask and impossible to know what you need but receding love always helps with healing.
Maybe it’s bring a meal or sending an Uber eats card, maybe it’s flowers, or coffee or baking. Maybe it’s hugs, or giving rides to kids (offering not asking), or just saying I love you and you are good.
Even if they don’t take it – being given love is always what’s needed.
I was meant to sit down and write out my topics for each week over my break but that didn’t happen so when I woke up this morning I just let the first thing that pop into my head be the topic for this post and that is Time. Reader beware this is going to be a two parter possibly more as Time is a big topic but for today I want to focus on Quality vs. Quantity.
My time is something I value greatly, it is what I believe to be my greatest asset. Reality is that all our time in finite. My partner and I were discussing why I work out and try to eat healthy, not do drugs, limit alcohol, etc, etc. if not to extend my life i.e. live longer. I responded that my goal is not to live longer, I operate that we truly have no control over when we are going to die, there are enough instances where tragedy, unfair deaths exist that I can’t function in any other way but I take care of myself because with the time I do have alive, I want to feel and be good.
So time is finite and because of that, it is precious.
I clearly could go down a rabbit hole but won’t in order to stay focused on the reason why time popped into my head and is that yesterday I got to spend the day with all my kids, unencumbered.
I’m separated from the father of my oldest two children and our custody arrangement is that the kids are with me Monday-Friday and with their dad Friday-Monday. Most people when they hear the split say something to the effect of ‘He doesn’t have any weekends off?’ and I can’t help but get my hackles up because to me, the weekends are the prime time with kids. It’s the time you get to watch Saturday morning cartoons, have brunch or visit the zoo; it’s the chill time, and that’s what I got yesterday.
My ex is teacher so it’s report card time, and in spirit of putting the kids first, when he is busy writing comments I get to have my oldest two kids on the weekend.
It’s easy to see the split and think that I get more time with my kids however when you look at the schedules on the days they are with me, they spend more actual time at school or in programs than with me. Our daily schedule generally looks like a 7:30am wake up (at that point I’ve usually been up for a couple hours either getting an hour of work in and/or a workout), breakfast, bags packed and bus to school. After school we often (3-4 days/week) have one, sometimes two programs for each kids – this means some nights we aren’t home til close to 7pm at which point it’s dinner, some hope of homework and bed (ideally 8pm). One the one program free day the kids are off the bus around 4:20pm, so still not a huge amount of time.
There is very little ‘down’ time throughout our days and overall our weeks. This to means we are high in Quantity of days, but low in Quality of our time together.
What is Quality time? To me it’s the kind of time where you get to know someone better, where there is space to allow the kids to just show themselves and to see me without the stress of schedules.
My parents were divorced as well and in thinking back to why I was able to have a strong relationship with my father, I think it’s because we always got to spend easy, unencumbered time. We would do dinner and a show almost every weekend, usually a matinee followed by the meal which gave an opportunity to just talk to each other, sometimes about the movie but often just about the week. The lack of stress or rush to another activity meant we could relax and just enjoy the time, hence quality.
The concept of Quality over Quantity for time can extend past just personal relationships to work as well, there has been a ton of memes recently around how good work and efficiency is often ‘rewarded’ i.e. punished with more work.
My experience would line up with the memes and disappointingly efficiency at work is not always appreciated. The work from home vs those insisting on back in the office is a prime example – there are some jobs and industries where WFH obviously doesn’t work. When the rest of the workforce has to be in, i.e. Service positions like retail, sport & fitness – it doesn’t work for management to be home. That being said lots of office environments have culture orbiting around the ‘Watercooler’ meaning that lots of ‘work’ time is spent talking with coworkers or visiting vs executing deliverables.
I worked somewhere once where a one of the top leadership members has a nickname of Do-Nothing-D. This was because the individual was great at filling their time with wandering around, ‘checking in’ but not actually following up on any tangible concerns which only leads to more work for all other teams members. They may have been putting in all their hours but only working for half, if that.
Value is often put more on the appearance of work or being around over the actual work itself, the Quantity of time over the Quality of how the time is spent.
I could go so much further but I can feel my brain having a hard time siloing the thoughts right now – the whole picture is huge and complicated because our personal values come in, and those vary based on each one of us.
I ended up taking a break from writing, normally I draft a whole piece, walk away, read again, edit, read, edit and possibly post – but today I started left and came back to finish, one second read, edit and post. I go to spend another day unencumbered with my littles, we went to the zoo, had brunch and then the Science Centre – it was great! I am full of gratitude and although tired from walking around, answering questions, setting limits, my cup is full from the how I spent my day. Hopefully this post isn’t lacking too much quality and just the seed of the thought of time, so much more to come.
I first started with the concept of focusing on 5 values for each year versus resolutions in 2021.
As the new year approached I notice the trend of moving away from resolutions and choosing one word to focus on for the year. One word doesn’t work for me because it’s too big, it’s too much of a focus on one thing or more so too easy to let the one thing slide when unsuccessful.
That being said whatever works for you, go for it. I advocate for values because centring your actions around values provides clarity and purpose. Clarity and purpose helps with contentedness, contentment with peace, and isn’t that what we are all searching for?
The Annual Values reset doesn’t necessarily focus on a top 10 or even top 20 values, more so reflecting on the previous year and what might have been missing or could benefit from digging deeper into. The other reflection is on possible pinch points for the upcoming year and which values might help ease them.
My 5 values of focus for 2023 are –
Generosity, Growth, Compassion, Joy and Consistency
How these show up may look different day by day or month by month. With identifying the values, taking the time daily or weekly to check in and see if I’m still aligning my actions and goals with them helps with forward vision.
The values might present individually or in tandem such as Generosity and Consistency. Having set up a monthly contribution to a couple charitable organizations locally and via payroll deductions (something my company offers) I know consistent help is provided. This is a very direct correlation which might not always exist.
Generosity may show up in many forms as well, not just financial. The idea of being generous with your time, your energy and your space can be equally or more important. I have felt like I was pulling from an empty bucket for a while and so not being a generous as I would like so remembering small moments or actively finding opportunities to be is the goal.
Growth was important because the past year was huge in growth for me and I felt tired before my Holiday. I needed a break and thought maybe I’ll just take it easy for a while, it could be so good to just rest. The thing is I know I feel best when I’m continually learning and growing so my vision with this is to finish at least one course related to work and try something new. Very general and open enough for flexibility (options).
Compassion is something I try hard to apply everyday; I know there are areas where I am better at this than others. I can get frustrated with privilege and those I describe as Ostriches, people who would rather stick their head in the sand than hash it out.
I am hoping having this as a goal will continue to let me have an open mind in every interaction and if not (because I’m human and all) when I do lead with judgement instead, when doing my reflection periods (day/week) I can sprinkle in more compassion.
Joy, it may seem like a funny one but my partner suggested happiness and I said you can’t have that because it’s not tangible. Joy, joy can be tangible in moments, in memories and sometimes even in things.
So for Joy, my goal is to capture those moments as often as possible, to revel in them, slow down and savour them.
Last is Consistency- this was the last one I thought of but it fits perfectly because consistency is what will tie them all together for the year.
Consistency in my workouts (I’m currently on a 79 day streak with PILATES and movement), consistency on my rest taking, consistency on reading for pleasure, on marking those moments of Joy, and consistency in reflection.
I have spent the last decade since having my daughter feeling all over the place. I’ve worked at over 10 different employers, never one at a time and always while taking courses. I’ve spent a decade being all over the place. I’m sure there is a post in here but the point is that this year I finally feel like I can settle in a bit. I love my job, my kids are older and all in school, I’m coming out of the postpartum/post divorce fog/sadness and Consistency I’m hoping will only help in creating peace.
My last piece to Consistency, it’s a big one, is to show up here more. I’m off work for the next week, my hope is to outline 12-24 topics. Writing 1-2 per month with a corresponding podcast episode.
I started Inventing Resilience from a need to have an outlet and to fill my creative cup. Now I just need to ensure I spend the time often and consistently to always be filling the bucket.
If you’ve made it this far, thank you for reading and please share your values of focus for the upcoming year – or your word or resolutions.
I completed my 12th National Lifeguard Recertification today…
The funny thing is that the same nerves in 1999 (my first NLS) or 14 when doing my original Bronze Cross were still there today.
Even with being a Trainer, there is still the recognition that I might mess up or even fail but…
Swimming is a sport and skill that has taught me not just the necessity of water safety but the persistence of trying again, of continually learning and being open to growth is the most important thing.
@lifesavingsocietyabnwt is an amazing organization that works to train all individuals in Water Safety, Swimming, Aquatic sport and Leadership training. Their vision is of a Canada free from drowning and water related injury.
I can’t say enough about the joy being a Lifeguard, Swim Instructor and Leadership trainer has brought to my life. About the skills that are transferable to every industry.
Check out @lifesavingsocietyabnwt for information on upcoming courses or send me a DM and I am happy to answer any questions you might have about where to start. It’s never too late to learn to swim.
Exploring what it feels like to not fit in and be a Triangle in a world that feels full of Circles and Squares. Older post revisited with some new thoughts and examples. Scattered as always.
Trigger Warning: This post is the story of my own experience with abortion, the trauma, feelings and pro-choice stance. If you are unable to continue to read please stop, take a time, come back if possible or reach out. Be respectful in feedback and comments, abuse will not be tolerated.
I have tried writing this post several times in the last three years. I have started it many times, in many different ways, coming from many angles. I have stopped in tears each time, giving up, not being ready to share. I’m still not 100% ready to share or for the judgement but I believe it’s important to share our experiences, to share our stories so others can relate, understand or feel less alone.
I actually started this specific post the day that Texas came out with it’s new abortion restrictions and the U.S. Supreme decision not to strike it down. I wasn’t sure I could write it but then while driving to pick up my two oldest from school I saw a large truck with purposely graphic image pull up next to me at a light. I started writing when I got home and have come back to it several times in the last few weeks determined to finish this time, albeit a few weeks late but on the heels of the Woman’s March on Reproductive rights.
I can seem like an open book; I will talk about pretty much anything, at length and the more in depth the better. I try to have no secrets, although still some things are left hidden. Secrets are often rooted in shame.
The shame of having an abortion comes from the shame of unwanted pregnancy, the shame of having sex, the shame lack of control. I have cried so many tears trying to release this shame.
I do not regret my abortion.
The reality is that if I had made a different decision I would never have met my first husband. I would have been 8 or 9 months pregnant instead. If I hadn’t met him, I wouldn’t have my two oldest children whom are amazing humans.
I do not regret keeping my second unplanned pregnancy.
I have been pregnant twice unintended, once at 23 where I chose to have an abortion and once at 33 where I knew I had to try and make it work.
My hope is in sharing my story one can learn that choice is important. That this issue is not a simple matter of right and wrong. That pro-choice is not pro-abortion. Pro-choice is understanding that privilege and circumstance affect the quality of life and the variety of options. Different times in my life afforded me more and less privilege. Pro-choice is understanding that every woman and girl has the right to make the best decision for them, and that their lives, wants and needs matter.
When I was 23 I was working two jobs and in university. I was living in a house owned by the son of a coworker with two other girls. Rent was cheap, my roommates were nice and the location was awesome. I met the man that got me pregnant at work. I was working at a recently opened furniture store at a large mall, he came in to look at dining tables for his family home. I remember I had to crawl under the table to read the label and get the right sku, as all the tables kinda blended together a bit.
When looking up the table and the availability, he made the comment – ‘Looks like you have great tits to go with that ass.’ I didn’t know what to say. I mentioned it to my manager who laughed it off and said I should feel flattered, so I did; I put my value in my body. He came back to get the table and I honestly don’t know how I saw him again but I did.
He was separated, or so I thought, he had two young kids around 2 and 5. He was successful at work (that much I could look up) and lived in a great neighbourhood (meaning nice house/high income). We would go out decently often, I met a couple of his friends, only ever one at a time and male but that didn’t send any red flags at the time. A few months in he had to take ‘a trip’, is was to rehab for cocaine, I was floored. I was always very clear in my distaste for drugs. I was open with my family’s struggle with alcohol abuse and how much hurt it caused.
He didn’t respect my boundaries but I was so desperate to feel wanted, to be loved, that I allowed my boundaries to be crossed. I feel shame in that desperation, the need to feel wanted.
He called me from rehab, it is almost surreal to think about now, it feels so ridiculous since working on my self esteem. I had pledged I wouldn’t speak with him again, when one afternoon about 6 months afters his trip I was walking along a busy retail street in my city (17th Ave) and he drove by. He parked and chased me down; I caved agreeing to see him again.
I think back at it and can see it was my lack of self worth that led me to allow this person that was so ready to lie, to hide truths, to use me for their own comfort into my life. I was taking precautions, I was on birth control, I was being responsible, ‘safe’; I don’t remember when I figured out I was late. I do remember sitting waiting in Starbucks, waiting to tell him, half hoping he would say it would be ok.
I grew up knowing I was pro-choice, but not pro-abortion. Read that again – pro-choice does not mean pro-abortion. I say it multiple times, it means that there are circumstances where it might be the best choice. It means providing grace and understanding that there are more factors at play.
When I was twenty I knew a girl that had given up a child for adoption already, and was considering her third abortion. I remember the judgement, the superiority I felt, that I would never be in that situation. I couldn’t imagine carrying a child to term and giving it up, for me, it would be too much of a loss. I couldn’t imagine having more than one unexpected pregnancy, that was my privilege at the time. My birth control had worked, condoms had worked.
I believe part of our judgement of others comes from two places, one, our desire to be better than, and two, our desire for clear expectations, clear rules and guidelines.
The first comes from our societal structure, the way we teach ourselves, our children that being better than another is a good thing. That our value, instead of being something innate in ourselves, is based on how we relate to those around us, in hindsight that’s an empty belief. Comparison is the their of joy, as the saying goes, and to that effect, pushing others down to lift yourself up is false greatness. We (as in the global We) need to adopt the belief that You matter because You do, I matter because I do.
The second comes from an inner need for calm and control. When you know what’s expected, you know how to achieve. It’s a black and white view, it’s simple, it can feel like it’s within control. Judgement coming to those that lack that control.
I saw him walk into Starbucks, and I got that pit in my stomach. Part of me wanted him to say that he wanted me to have the baby. That he would help me financially, so I could finish school. I even ran the idea of him not necessarily being a part of the baby’s life but just help me survive so I wouldn’t have to make the choice. He didn’t, he was very clear that there was only one option.
He had a wife and kids already.
I called the clinic in town that I knew performed the procedure (meaning abortion, even the need to call it a procedure is indicative of the shame). I called and although I was really early in gestation (around the 5 week mark), I wouldn’t be able to be seen until a physical procedure could be done. Meaning I couldn’t do a medicinal abortion; I couldn’t take a pill and induce it at home. I would need to go into the clinic and have a full d&c. I can’t tell you at how many weeks I would have been, I blocked it out. I knew a friend that had one and asked if they could drive me. I wasn’t able to tell anyone else, no one, the shame.
I had to wait about six weeks to get in, again I have mentally blocked out the exact length of time. There is a buzzer to get in and the administration staff are behind glass with a lock door into the waiting room. The first meeting is with a social worker that goes through every option again (they go over on the phone when booking), they provide some resources, outline the procedure and the recovery.
I remember this part because I had booked a solo trip to Mexico for three weeks after so I could cry, read, sleep and try to mentally recover. It was here where I learned I wouldn’t be able to swim, my favourite solace wouldn’t be available to me. I would need at least 6 weeks for my cervix to heal before going into a pool. I was a lifeguard and swim instructor for one of my jobs – I wasn’t going to be able to teach.
I wouldn’t be able to swim when in Mexico, to wash my sorrows away. I love to swim when I’m stressed or sad, it is my favourite, because when you cry while swimming, you get the physical and emotional release but no one is the wiser because red eyes in pools are an acceptable thing.
The next room they brought me into was for an ultrasound. They needed to ensure there is a heartbeat because if not, I could just pass the fetus in a ‘spontaneous abortion’ or better known as a miscarriage. You are required to listen to the heartbeat.
I remember climbing on the bed for the procedure, and them saying you aren’t meant to be 100% knocked out but what I remember most is lying back and tears rolling down the side of my eyes before passing out. The next thing I remember is my friend picking me up and going home; Just numb. I texted him to let him know it was done. He came over, I snuggled into him, all I wanted was comfort and all he thought about was sex.
I was not ok.
I remember as a teenager marveling at the idea of conception. The real magic of it, that the egg and a sperm meet – cells grow and there is a human. That this human could be part you and part the person you love most in the world is pure magic. That is the ideal.
I remember saying to a friend a couple months after that I wasn’t sure I should have kids anymore. I had wanted kids my whole life, my friend knew this and said I ‘had to have kids, I was destined to the next Noam Chomsky or David Suzuki. My child will change the world’. This is still my favourite compliment I have ever received.
I met my first husband in what would have been the month I was due. I probably would have never told him about my abortion but the guy decided to try and find me at work. He lived close to the Rec Centre I worked at, apparently he had been looking for me for a while. He approached me when I was walking off deck, he had found Jesus, he was back with his wife, he thanked me. This man still felt entitled to me, to my time, my care; he had no concept or care of the trauma that was caused.
I had a full breakdown, I sobbed, I had to have a shower to calm down and that night, I told my then boyfriend (would be first husband) about the abortion I had the year before
I felt shame, I felt grief, and I cried myself to sleep.
One thing you will notice is that I don’t refer to the pregnancy as a fetus or cluster of cells. The reason being is that when you want there to be a heartbeat, a baby, it doesn’t feel like it’s just cells. Having an abortion or having to make this choice is traumatic. I believe part of needing to think of it as a cluster of cells or fetus is a coping mechanism, one used to detach from the sorrow.
My first husband and I were married two years after meeting. He started his Bachelor of Education the year we got married. We had decided to stay in our home city because I had two good jobs and could support us through his school.
It was a few months after our wedding, around Christmas, that we discovered I was pregnant. It felt almost like a honeymoon baby, if we had been able to take a honeymoon. I hadn’t been paying attention to my period so we would need a dating ultrasound. I remember lying on the table excited to hear the heartbeat this time.
There was nothing. The technician said it was possible that it was too early in the pregnancy, maybe I had just found out too early, there was definitely a baby there though. We would come back in 3 weeks for the 1st trimester screen and we would see more then.
It was a couple weeks later when I woke up in the morning to spotting. I went to the walk in clinic where they informed me I would need to go to the ER. I was a Supervisor at the Rec centre now and most of my staff were away on a ski trip that weekend, something that was planned for a long time and I was meant to cover.
It was the Friday morning, I spent the better part of 8 hours in the ER without being seen. I had to call my boss and let them know where I was, could she try and find coverage that night for me. I had an internal ultrasound, it requires a rod to be inserted to get a better picture vs a typical abdominal version. It was confirmed there was no heartbeat, I had a ‘spontaneous abortion’, a miscarriage. I was sent home to pass the tissue. I had to call in, grateful for those already working agreeing to stay late and cover, I then worked the Saturday night and Sunday morning.
It was Sunday evening while watching the Oscars that I started to bleed, I bled through a pad in 12 minutes. I called HealthLink, they confirmed that I needed to go to the ER. We went back to the Rockyview where I was seen much quicker this time. I was hooked up to IVs and told they would need to do an emergency D&C. I remember having to call my boss at my second job while up on a gurney to explain I wasn’t going to make it to my morning shift.
Why do I keep bringing up work? I think it’s because the memories are so vivid and because it makes me feels like it proves I’m a responsible person. There is a misconception that only irresponsible people get pregnant by accident.
I remember thinking that this was my fault that I had brought the miscarriage on because I had made my choice earlier. That I was never going to have the magic of my own child with someone I loved.
My husband and I waited awhile before trying again. We did get pregnant in 2012 and welcomed my daughter in December that year. She is amazing, a true spitfire – even as a baby and toddler the girl knew what she needed and wasn’t afraid to demand it. She is exhausting and wonderful.
My biggest fear about having a daughter was that I wouldn’t be able to relate to her, that I would damage or hurt her the same way I feel my mother has hurt me. I describe my mother as a wonderful person to everyone but me. She didn’t have a great example of a healthy maternal support system and it passed down to me. I was and am terrified to do the same to my own daughter. So I have never told my mother about my abortion because I know the reaction would be judgement with no compassion. She has told me I was lucky that anyone would love me. She would tell me as a pre-teen that I would be an alcoholic and have an abortion. If I did tell her it would be confirming all her most negative beliefs in me; And she is my ‘stable’ parent.
I had another miscarriage between my first and second earth side children; it is amazing how cold some people can be. Aoife was just over 1 at the time when I went for my 1st trimester scan and there was a heartbeat, it was weak, and I was recommended to have another ultrasound within a couple of weeks. I was clearly nervous given what I had been through before. The silence of the Technician led me to tears before the doctor came in.
He said, and I kid you not, ‘Well I guess you know what I’m going to say.’ I wanted to scream ‘No mother f*er, I didn’t know, I was hoping against hope but thanks for making it seem like no big deal’.
I went to my GP for a referral to the early loss clinic, as with my previous miscarriage I required the emergency D&C, they confirmed they could send the request. After not hearing for three days I called and someone had forgotten to send the referral. Again I blamed my self, the shame.
I will not go into the loss of miscarriage in this post as it is a topic all in of itself, but know that it is heartbreaking. My trauma was exacerbated by my choice and the guilt around it.
My husband had seen the pain the experience caused and offered to get a vasectomy because I always said I wouldn’t be able to go through another miscarriage again. He wanted another child, a sibling for our daughter and I said I would be ok to try one more time.
We had our second child in March 2015, about 6 months after the due date of my second miscarriage. Two kids is hard, Life is hard and it took a toll on our marriage. I would say we drifted apart the whole first year of our son’s life. I was a mess of postpartum, the lack of sleep, discontent with my potential or lack there of professional life, just everything. We decided to split in May 2016.
I met my current partner while working and married, nothing untoward but we started off as friendly conversation. We had our first date the week my husband and I decided we would need to separate.
A lot of my self worth used to come from physical relationships. I lost my virginity at sixteen to a friend, someone I knew from swimming and went to high school with. I wanted to always like the first person I had sex with, that was important to me. He, as I imagine most teen boys, was always stoked to have sex. I remember describing his as a kid in a candy store when I took my top off.
Because this was the first time I felt valued, so much of my self worth ended up being tied up in physical relationships with others. So even with the timing so close to the dissolution of my marriage, I felt like I needed sex to feel value again, self worth again (again a whole other post is in this). Marriage doesn’t just end, it’s a slow burn – often starting with the lack of physical intimacy, combined with poor communication and stress.
My partner and I had to have dates late at night because it was the only time that worked. We would meet after work as I needed to be home for my kids during the day. We would meet between 9 and 11, when I was finished work and I would leave around three in morning to go home.
I remember going out for some drinks with a girlfriend the first Thursday in July (so about 6 weeks later), Stampede’s sneak a peek. I remember stopping myself after one because I just felt off. I waited a few days because I wasn’t yet late, but on the following Tuesday morning I took a pregnancy test and confirmed what I had already thought.
I was co-teaching a course at the time, I had called the clinic at lunch to see what appointments/options looked like. I cried a lot, I remember the class was heading to the pool and I sat in the classroom crying, when I came on deck my co-teacher asked if I was ok and jokingly said ‘Are you pregnant?’. At this point almost no-one knew I was even separated.
By the end of the day I knew I didn’t want to have another abortion. I asked my partner to meet that night, resolved in my decision. If my husband (ex-husband) asked me to have an abortion I would, to preserve that relationship, for my kids, but not for this new person. He was clear, he enjoyed my company but it was too soon and we barely knew each other. This time I knew I had the resources, although it would be extremely hard, could drain all my savings, and I would still have shame of the unplanned pregnancy – it would be possible to keep the baby. I was clear he wouldn’t need to have anything to do with it. I needed him to decide by the three month mark.
In all honestly a large part of me didn’t believe the baby would make it past the three months mark or to birth. I always thought a large part of why I miscarried was stress, and what could be more stressful than going through a divorce with two young children, not having a permanent income and additional family stress I had at the time.
My ex-husband was nothing short of amazing. It was the hardest conversation I have ever had. I never wanted to hurt him, I loved him, love him deeply. The shame of getting pregnant. The shame of lack of control. The shame of needing sex.
When I first started telling people that I was pregnant I was pretty far along, partly because I didn’t believe the baby would make it and partly because I wasn’t ready for the judgement. I was proven this was the right decision, as when I told a long time girlfriend that I was pregnant and the first thing out of her mouth was ‘Don’t you know there is such a thing a birth control?’. This hurt deeply because of course I knew, things out of our control happen.
The thing about both choices is if I had made the opposite choice in either case I would still be shamed. If I had chosen to keep the baby at 23, I would have been a gold digger and a home wrecker. My feelings and situation wouldn’t have been considered. The fact that he was so bold to tell me he had found God, to feel entitled to my care for him, even in the face of complete lack of care for me shows that.
The second time when I did keep the baby, had I not, it would have been the shame and pain associated with an abortion, already covered. The thing is I was still judged and shamed.
My sister just recently admitted to me that my mom asked her not to tell her side of the family that I was even getting divorced, I can only imagine the panic when she found out I was pregnant.
I had one coach tell me that I better not have gotten pregnant to ‘Trap’ my partner, as if it wasn’t at all possible that I was the one that would be or feel trapped. I pulled myself together, gathered enough courage to decide to leave a relationship I had intended on being in for the rest of my life. Knowing there would be no possibility of reconciling, little lone space for myself to grow or heal. I have also been told consistently that I am so lucky that he stuck around, that he ‘took on’ my other children, as if we ourselves have no value or worth, we add nothing to his life.
I only remember one friend asking me if I was ok.
I love my youngest, Cael, so much and my family would not be the same without him but I would be lying if I said the last five years have been easy. There are days in all honesty that I’m lucky to have survived.
The reality is that we humans, like to judge. We like to point fingers, lay blame and feel superior but we aren’t always to open to pro-active solutions.
I will say it again that Pro-choice is not Pro-abortion.
Why this distinction is important is because their are those that have no real choice. If you say you are Pro-life but don’t believe in Universal Healthcare, a robust education system including sex education, post secondary education and a national childcare program, than you are not Pro-life. If you don’t believe in Black Lives Matter, Indigenous Lives Matter, or that LBGTQIA+ Lives Matter than you are not Pro-Life.
If you don’t believe Gun control, Vaccines, Masks but do believe in the Death penalty. You are not Pro-life.
You are Pro-control. You are Pro-hierarchy, Pro feeling superior, not Pro-life.
When I say no real choice, I mean the reality of having a child and all the costs that come with it. The cost of childcare, diapers, food, possibly needing a new home, possibly needing a vehicle or having to stop schooling. The cost of being tied to someone you didn’t necessarily expect or that is healthy for you. The cost on your mental health on top of all of the above. If these realities mean little to you then you are fortunate to hold privilege that others do not.
We must acknowledge that Quality of life matters; Access to resources matters.
Another reality is that social programs are needed to support individuals that have abortions. Understanding the how and why unplanned pregnancies happen, the mental health support needed to recover and prevent more, and the how individuals can be supported to successfully raise their children. These programs cost money, money that would require funding from taxes to support all people. Programs through churches or organizations come with ties and are again more about control than support.
This is a complex issue with so many factors and it is overwhelming.
I do not believe abortion should be used as a form of birth control, it causes pain and trauma. I do believe the only way to prevent multiple unplanned pregnancies is through education of both girls and boys/women and men. To improve access to birth control and the changing of the mindset that the girl/woman is the only party responsible for pregnancy.
We need to shift so many things to create a world where girls and women are safe, where we aren’t told their bodies are where their value lies. Where if someone does get pregnant they will have unconditional support.
I hope that my daughter or sons never have to experience an unwanted pregnancy; the stress, the uncertainty and the pain. I hope my daughter never needs to make a Choice. I hope my children only choose sexual partners with which they are comfortable raising a child with. I hope that their self worth is not tied to their physical being. That if they ever do experience an unplanned pregnancy that they understand Choice is important.
That if they choose to see their pregnancy through or support their partner with their child that I will continue to love them and their child unconditionally. I will support them in any way that I can, whether financially, with childcare or emotionally.
That if they choose to abort I will continue to love them unconditionally and support their healing in any way possible.
I do not regret my abortion, I would not have survived being tied to a person that only used me for their gain, a narcissist, an addict, for the rest of my life; I would not have survived the judgement from my own family; my life matters because it does. I would not have met my husband and more importantly I would not have Aoife or Bowie, and to follow the line further I would not have Cael.
This post could be a whole book on all the factors to consider, the reasons why anything but Choice is hypocrisy but for now, know that Choice matters and Choice is a necessity.
My hope in sharing my story, as small and limited as it is, it might give perspective, to change the narrative, to open minds. My hope is to help others feel comfortable sharing their own story, to support loved ones and to view abortions and reproductive rights as the full complex issue that it is.
I had a really difficult conversation this past week, one that had incredible timing because it was the day before the bodies of 215 Indigenous children were found in a mass grave under a Residential School near Kamloops, British Columbia.
I was speaking with a group of people of mixed generations from Baby Boomers to Gen X to myself, the cusp of X and Millennial. It started with an article that had been read by one person discussing how colonialism wasn’t bad to near the end having someone defending Residential schools.
I left the conversation, for lack of a better word, crushed, because these are people I believe to be caring, intelligent, compassionate and generous. To hear the lack of understanding and unwillingness to acknowledge the damage created by the Residential school system was shocking, and had me in tears.
I acknowledged my own lack of knowledge and empathy to the Indigenous while growing up in our country. I believed all the lies I was told, these lies included:
Indigenous can easily go to post secondary school, they will even have it paid for
Indigenous choose not to help themselves
The reserves are terrible places by choice
Indigenous abuse gas, drugs, alcohol, they are ungrateful
We live in a Mosaic of a Country, unlike the United States where you must assimilate
The last point is one that makes me so angry, because I was indoctrinated in that sneaky way, a way that didn’t open up for critical thinking, it didn’t acknowledge our treatment of the Indigenous, First Nations, Metis and Inuit people. Ya, ya, we are a mosaic, as long as your piece is white, aligns with our views, speaks a language of commerce and believes in profit over people.
The stated purpose of Residential schools was to ‘kill the Indian in the child’ – the goal was Cultural Genocide. This was done by forcibly taking children from their homes and placing them in the schools where they could have no influence of their own culture. The schools did not allow students to speak their native language, to acknowledge their heritage or practice their culture. Making students wear uniforms and cut their hair, they dehumanized them.
They ensured compliance by mental, physical and emotional abuse. It has always been known that children left and did not make it home, however this week’s discovery solidifies this truth and shows the complete lack of respect for these children.
Picture having your child forcibly taken from your home, under the guise that this will be good for them only to never have them come back.
I vividly remember when I first learned about these schools, it was not more than a decade ago. I was walking with a friend that was studying Social Work and they described the 60’s scoop. I was aghast, so much so I remember saying ‘That can’t be possible, that can’t be right, our Government wouldn’t do that. No one would let someone take their child away from them like that’. So I went home and I searched the Truth and Reconciliation Commission. I went down the rabbit hole that is understanding the atrocities that happened. For reference I would have been 13 the year that the last Residential school closed in 1996, there are people in my generation that attended these schools.
It is not enough to just read what happened, you must read it with the goal to understand our Indigenous, First Nations, Metis and Inuit people. To understand and imagine the trauma, the response, and resulting intergenerational trauma. You must read it and think how you would feel act/react if put in a similar situation. How would your children?
I feel if I had been placed in a Residential school, I would not have faired well. Being a child that spoke their mind constantly, one that never bowed to authority just because, a child that questioned everything – I would likely have endured many abuses and possibly death before submission.
Children as young as 4 years old were placed in these schools. I know Aoife would be similar to me with the hardships and Bowie would not mentally survive the abuse. His tender heart and desire to be loved would see his spirit crushed. Cael, I think would survive his time, but would hold deep resentment and suffer PTSD.
So now when I think of my interactions, or my past judgements of Indigenous, First Nations, Metis and Inuit people – I work hard to recognize my prejudice.
I remember working a position at a hotel where from time to time I had to ask individuals to leave. I remember an Indigenous women, mid-forties, possible intoxicated (this was my assumption at the time), was being rowdy and I had been asked to step in and ask her to leave the premises. I approached with the same level of respect as every guest, I explained the cost to stay, asked if she could afford that, at which point she declined and I walked her out. I think back and I remember her being near tears, she knew I assumed she was drunk. She tried explaining her life, and I tried but I don’t think I really listened. I remember feeling good that she was peaceful, and I think felt heard. In replaying the situation in my head, I wish I had asked more questions, listened more and said I am sorry.
Did I send her or her family to a Residential school? No. Is there benefit to understanding another’s struggle? Yes. Is there good to be done in showing another person love and compassion? Yes. Is it necessary to acknowledge our prejudices? Yes. Is it our Responsibility to acknowledge just how bad and unjust we have been to the Indigenous, First Nations, Meties and Inuit people? Yes.
If we can not acknowledge the truth, the facts, we can not take accountability, and we will not do better or grow; We will be destined to continue the systemic issues and failures.
I tell my children all the time that if they are not willing to be accountable for their mistakes or hurtful behaviour than they are bound to repeat them.
We have done an excellent job as non-Indigenous, First Nations, Metis and Inuit people of ignoring our past. Of covering up, glossing over or minimizing the impact of the actions of our ancestors; It is not serving us.
I more often than not have experienced the push back of, ‘Well I haven’t had it easy either’. How does that line of thinking serve anyone? If you experienced pain, why would you want or be ok with someone else experiencing it? What part of you needs that?
An example was having an accent as a child and being teased. For one this is no where near comparable to having your hair forcibly cut, not being allowed to speak your language, being physically abused for having an accent or different language, those are on a very different level than being teased.
It needs to be said that if you are making comparisons of your life in hopes of justifying or making the abuse and systemic racism ok, take a step back and really understand what happened, as well your own privilege and perspective. These bodies that have been found are proof of what has always been known and not wanting to be believed.
I for one, never want someone to suffer as I have or at all. I know I am an imperfect parent, I yell more than I want, I have slammed some doors, but I am trying to be a better parent than my parents. I don’t want my children to feel of me, how I feel of my parents, I want them to always feel safe. The same is said at work, why would I want someone to suffer sexism, ageism, or unfair treatment that I have? I want everyone to feel respected and be treated fairly.
The same principle applies here, why would we defend un-defendable actions with our own stories of trauma? Should we not listen, find common ground/empathy, look for solutions to try and lift others up.
It is important to know the story of Residential schools, as it is also important to know the stories of the Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women, the murder of Colten Boushie and the RCMP handling of the case, how many reserves are sill without clean water – these are all very real recent examples of our living prejudice.
Right now, my hope is that this discovery has opened some eyes and hearts. That everyone can have hard, truthful conversations about what has happened and is happening. That we can take ourselves, our own guilt out of it, in order to show compassion to the Indigenous, First Nations, Metis and Inuit community. The Community that deserves our ears, our hearts and our minds in order to heal.
Going back to explore a topic that I find super important Self Esteem vs. Sense of Self. Definitely gets a bit rambly, tries to tie some topics and will need to revisit to bring out the topic of more single actions and behaviours don’t define us but our that requires knowing ourselves. Hopefully this is a good start –
Exploring what it feels like to not fit in and be a Triangle in a world that feels full of Circles and Squares. Older post revisited with some new thoughts and examples. Scattered as always.
In terms of resilience I believe there is an important topic to explore, Self Esteem vs. Sense of Self. Recognizing the difference, and understanding how they play a role within our daily lives, relationships and ourselves may open up ways to Invent Resilience while also fostering it in others.
I would like to try to mark the difference between Self Esteem and Sense of Self. Self Esteem in my mind is the ability to have confidence in yourself, your abilities, and have a high expectation around what you deserve out of life. Self Esteem is linked to self worth. Sense of Self on the other hand is an awareness of who you are, your strengths, weaknesses, values and how you interact with the world around you. Because my mind works in point form, here is how I separate them:
Self Esteem –
the ability to have confidence in one self
high expectation of what you deserve, self worth
acknowledgement of your strengths, value of self
Self Respect
Sense of Self –
Recognize personal strengths
Recognize weaknesses and failures
Understanding personal values
Understanding and care of how we affect others and how others respond to us
It is necessary to acknowledge that it is possible to have any combination of Self Esteem and Sense of Self. It is natural as humans to assume that everyone is just like us, they think like us, feel like us, have confidence like us but you know what they say about assuming – it makes and ASS out of U and ME. Acknowledging that one’s Self Esteem and Sense of Self might be vastly different from our own gives us a step in building empathy, which in turn encourages us to be kind.
I myself have Low Self Esteem and a High Sense of Self. It is consistent that others’ perception of me is that I am ‘Self Assured’ or ‘Confident’, this is simply not the case. I do however have a strong Sense of Self, this is displayed in strong opinions, standing rigid with my values and acceptance of my weaknesses. I would break down my Sense of Self as follows –
Why am I sharing this? Well I mentioned one of the reasons I decided to start a blog was to vent a bit but also to provide context to my thought process. As mentioned I have a high Sense of Self but Low Self Esteem – what does this look like and how does that work if I can acknowledge my strengths. Well I have only just started to acknowledge my strengths and to focus how I spend my time and energy on those, this includes my job searches, parenting style and friendships (this is going to be a whole other topic).
Anywho, historically I have focused on my weaknesses and countered every strength with a weakness. So passionate becomes unwavering and argumentative, empathetic and caring is overly sensitive (caring too much), charismatic is loud and exhausting, etc. This affects my relationships and in turn my ability to have good self esteem, i.e. self worth. I am wired this way because someone I love and admire is wired this way, intelligently I understand that they are this way because how they were raised and so on.
Now I am going to diverge a bit and go a bit deeper into the why I am how I am. I want to do this so those that know me and read this can understand me a bit better and/or hopefully others can take my story and maybe apply it to those in their lives. Think of it this way, the saying goes no one really knows a relationship like those in it. Your relationship with yourself is the same; it can only truly be understood by you because you are the one living it. Sharing with others, being open and honest is the hopefully a way to allow others a way to care and understand (empathize).
My mother and I have a contentious relationship, there rarely, if ever goes a get together that doesn’t have some sort of a quarrel. My mother’s mother was one of the hardest women I have ever met, she picked favorites, was unfair, lacked empathy and kindness. One example of this would be my 7 or 8 year old self having an asthma attack (allergy induced) and my grandmother saying to me to just breathe. Not in a relaxed, calming, you’re going to be ‘OK’ tone, but in a you’re being a drama queen that needs to just stop tone. Knowing what she was like and acknowledging that helps me to understand my mom, and her capacity to be positive, to be fair, and pay compliments. She never got them from her mother, she was raised to believe she wasn’t as worthy as her brothers and not to go for everything she was capable of. Her own Self Esteem isn’t good and I’m not sure she has a strong Sense of Self either.
As a parent my mother was not 100% like her mom. She was more generous, she is caring and more forgiving however the negativity made it through. The only reason why I ever knew that my mom thought anything positive about me was that I found a list her therapist made her write when my parents got divorced. I could not tell you a time where I received a compliment from her or positive affirmation and if I could it wouldn’t be without an immediate negative to counter. It’s just how she is wired. This is important to know, my own nurture and experience has taught me to be suspicious of my strengths while always believing my faults and because of this I continue to struggle with self worth. When I fail at something or perceive failure I inherently go back to believing that I am worthless.
Interestingly I believe my strong Sense of Self was born because of my low Self Esteem, out of a kind of necessity. On the days where I feel worthless or that I am really struggling with what I am doing; I go back to ‘Who am I?’. I am able to invent the resilience to go forward by finding hope in my potential and my intentions.
Because even though others might think I am purposely rude by interrupting or that I don’t care about what they have to say. I know that I do care but have a hard time, a physical reaction, almost like nausea with impulse control especially when there is a topic I’m passionate about or want to discuss. The strong Sense of Self allows me to forgive myself for my weaknesses. It also gives me the ability to accept differences; to know that I am unique and not in the snowflake way but in the I am a culmination of the events lived, relationships experienced and nature of me; and so is everyone else. This is where kindness and empathy comes in.
I try my best to keep in mind that everyone else has their own Self Esteem and Sense of Self. That their experiences, relationships and nature, affects whether or not they have had to develop a Sense of Self or if they have Self Esteem. Maybe they are like me, acutely aware of faults and they need some kindness, some understanding maybe they have high Self Esteem but are lost when it comes to a Sense of Self; this also requires patience and kindness because they are genuinely unaware of their actions and their affect of others.
This was longer than anticipated, a bit scrambled and somehow I feel still not all the way out but for another day. I realize I haven’t looked as much at Self Esteem as I did Sense of Self but this is because I am still working on it. I hope the sharing (maybe overly so) was at least a bit helpful. I would encourage everyone to take some time, evaluate yourself and all those you are in contact (not just family and friends but co-workers, teachers, etc.). Go forward with an open heart and mind, aim to care to understand the individual, their Self and not just their actions.
I have included one link to an article I found super interesting in my rabbit hole of reading about Self-Concept (my terminology is Sense of Self). If you aren’t yet done with the topic.
After trying to spend last post defining the 3 values of Health, Beauty & Fitness, this time I want to see how they play into our every day lives and how we are conditioned to prioritize and confuse them.
Recently a news story came out where Khloe Kardashian felt the need to post a LIVE video and full post in order to show her body unfiltered, as earlier in the week an unauthorized, assuming less than flattering (as it can no longer been seen) photo was posted.
This display is an excellent example of how we as Society will claim we care about Health & Fitness more than Beauty however, we are conditioned to prioritize a Beauty standard above all else.
Khloe’s reaction and ensuing statement highlights the pressure that she feels to meet a standard. It is well documented the amount of plastic surgery her famous family has done. She expresses both the incredible pain and insecurity of being in both a famous family, and of being held to an impossible standard; yet also seems to end her post by saying that now it’s her choice to fit this mould. Equating a good filter or edit, to make up, nails done – she shows the desire, the need, to control the way the world sees her.
This statement hurt my heart, it worries me that it is so hard to acknowledge that her mental health suffers due to the pressure to fit Beauty. Her need to control how people view her, to ‘Fit’ into her family. Khloe pushes products that add to your workout, like the recent ‘What Waist Official’ band, to intensify your workout. She has a size inclusive line but isn’t comfortable with unedited photos of herself on the internet. She is in what appears good physical shape, it is evident she works out hard, she has lots of privilege and access to the best of all things Health. I ask, what good is it if your Mental Health is suffering? Are you Healthy? Are you Fit? What does this standard of Beauty do to us?
I was speaking with someone about the pandemic, priorities and the idea about these posts. She is someone that I believe would hold all 3 in her top 10 values, and I told her so. She started to refute me, that only Health and Fitness were her passions, that Beauty had nothing to do with it. She pointed out how little make up she wears, as a sort of proof.
I had to tread lightly but I started by pointing out her love of music, of art and fashion, she warmed up a bit to the idea of beauty. I didn’t dare mention her breast implants, which she got because of a lifelong feeling of inadequacy around her small chested-ness. I did however ask about her eyelash extensions and fake nails, that she somehow maintained the entire lockdown period. I questioned the Why behind having them done, it was for Beauty, to be efficient in looking beautiful, but for looks none the less. She has been willing to skirt the Public Health orders, to maintain her appearance, and I think we can agree false lashes and nails are not for Health. She once told me her mother brought her up to believe her sister was the smart one and she was the pretty one, that, was where her value lies.
It is so easy for us to get lost in the blurred lines between Health, Beauty & Fitness.
I want to start with Plastic Surgery, Breast Implants as an example to start, please know this is with no judgement to those that have them – I completely understand the societal pressure to ‘Fit’ a certain look or shape. I myself, struggled with having my breasts reduced for fear that I might become disproportionate or that it might affect my appearance.
I have friends, that people, that I, would consider very Health and Fitness conscious; they eat whole foods, watch what they put in their bodies, move daily and they shop at speciality grocers for the best and freshest of produce/grains, food options, etc. These same individuals willingly put silicone sacs (which is extracted from silica, the stuff in those little packs that we are told to keep away from children and not eat), filled with gel or saline under their breast muscles for Beauty. I realize how harsh that sounds/came out, and my aim is not to be unkind but factual. There are several reports now coming out around Breast Implant illness, with the FDA and the American Society of Plastic Surgeons and the Aesthetic Surgery Education and Research Foundation developing and funding new research on BII. My desire is to highlight the dichotomy of the above.
We are taught from an early age that how we look adds value to who we are, and to place that value on to others as well.
I remember when my mom had her eyes cosmetically fixed, like an eye lift, not full face, I was so perturbed. I thought, if it had been a breast reduction, or tummy tuck I would understand but not the face. In reflecting for this post, I realized that it was probably because my whole life I have been told I look like my mother. I am taller and broader, but my face is that of her family – I think she looks more like her mom, and me like her dad, but I can definitely admit, there is a strong resemblance.
I remember when struggling with my looks in my youth, my teens and young adult life, I used to sit and stare at my face in the mirror and tell myself how at least I had a good face. I would always have thick thighs, and a loaf (vs rolls) around my stomach but my face, my face is good. So when my mother, decided her natural face was no longer good enough, it hurt me, probably not rationally so and definitely not consciously but it hurt, and I gave her a hard time, and now I think I’m realizing why.
The argument could be made that if having Plastic surgery makes you more confident and you feel better in your skin than it is good for your mental health. My question is why don’t you feel happy with the body that you are born into? What creates that feeling of needing to change/improve your natural appearance? To me the answer is Societal pressures, ones that are unreasonable and irrational.
When is it that we convince ourselves that we aren’t good enough?
I saw a post on @oilandgrain’s instagram stories that was by @nourish_by_kristina that resonates with me so much because it is so true.
It’s kinda funny that I feel I need to preface this next story, which I won’t do again, so please know that the stories or examples I bring up hold questioning and curiosity more than judgement.
So my example is of a situation where appearance, size, lifestyle isn’t always as it seems. When my daughter was about 16 months I went to Mexico with my dad and two friends. I was in the middle age wise of the group, but the only parent, and by looks it would be assumed that I was the most out of shape. Both friends are naturally slimmer than me, one was conscious with what they ate and the other not at all. One actually likes to still retell the story of one time me asking her if she worked out in secret, because her natural body looks as though she is very active, like about 6 days a week, and having travelled with her I know she is a not a restrictive eater, she eats enough but not healthy, she is genetically blessed. Anywho our resort was about a 20 min walk from it’s sister resort, and I would want to walk because it was easy enough to push the stroller vs loading it into the shuttle plus a little exercise was a bonus. I’ll never forget one night, both girls gave me a hard time about me not wanting to take the shuttle. Me, from an outsider views, the ‘out of shape’ mom was the fittest of the group.
Another example of looks being deceiving is runners in water. I have one friend whom is an incredible runner, and will always forever kick my butt in that arena. And really physiologically it makes sense to me, her thighs, are incredibly strong, but also are about 1/3 the size of my own. The sheer weight of my legs in comparison to hers, makes running harder for me (not to mention how much shorter mine are) – but get us in a pool and I’m winning!
My point being that every one of our bodies are made differently and each has powers within them.
Why is that we believe there is a standard? Why is it the standard is for women to be small and men to be big? That women must shrink and men dominate?
I have always marvelled at pregnancy… how or why was it that someone addicted to drugs and/or alcohol, someone over or underweight can carry a baby to term but a seemingly healthy woman, one that is ‘fit’, eats well, doesn’t smoke, can suffer several miscarriages? or have trouble conceiving in the first place.
It’s a really hard concept to wrap ones head around because it’s a crap shoot. And it is another example of how we confuse Fit and Healthy. It an example that begs us to have compassion for our fellow humans.
One of the conversations I have had a lot this last year was around why I like to stay fit and/or eat well, if not to live longer. The idea being, and this won’t be a popular opinion but that I am not doing it to extend my life. I have no misconceived notion that physical activity is going to guarantee me extra years on this earth; or that eating a salad vs having a blizzard is somehow going gain me an extra day. I don’t believe any of it makes a difference in the end, you maker comes when it is your time.
The reasons why I like to move often, daily if possible, at least 4 times a week with intention, is because it helps my day to day life. I mind what I eat, in a reasonable way now as I definitely recognize disordered eating in my past, because I like fibre and how it feels when I have a daily bowel movement. I drink a ton of water because when I don’t my skin feels dry and my eyes (after scratching my cornea twice) don’t hurt when I blink.
I don’t think these things protect me pandemics, or will save me from getting cancer. As I mentioned in my first post around these three values, my mother, who is very physically fit and healthy, has had cancer.
Yes, swimming as a kid and learning breath control makes it easier for me to come out of asthma attacks but my anaphylactic allergy to random pollens and chemicals is out of my control.
I guess what this whole post is trying to get at is that society, media, the patriarchy, other humans in general (those that need to feel superior) try to control things, things that really aren’t meant to be in our control. The irony to me is, most that believe they are against a controlled life are the ones most interested in controlling others or subjecting others to a standard that they believe.
And again what point does the need for control wear on our Mental Health? And if we don’t have our Mental Health – can we be Beautiful, Healthy or Fit?
I could go further into the confusion and standards how they affect race relations, marginalized communities, politics but those are topics deserving of their own posts. For now I’ll leave you here.
Next week we will work inward on how we hold privilege in the 3 values or face obstacles.
One of my goals this year, and specifically by May 1st was to create a Podcast, figure out the how to record, load, etc.
This is my first attempt – I wanted to do an Intro and revisit my post from the Fall when I first starting writing again, reaffirming the Values Mindset, hopefully giving a voice and some added feeling to the words.
You can listen on Spotify, if you could share and follow there as well that would be greatly appreciated.
Let me know your thoughts – I will aim to finish flushing out the last few posts on Health, Beauty and Fitness and then record. I appreciate any and all feedback. Much care – Meghan
Exploring what it feels like to not fit in and be a Triangle in a world that feels full of Circles and Squares. Older post revisited with some new thoughts and examples. Scattered as always.
