His Heart, My Song

C.H.A.N.G.E.S.

2011-02-24T13:18:00.000-08:00

Hello to all my ever-so-faithful followers, friends and family. Thank you for being such an inspiration to me and for encouraging me to keep on writing, even when I have felt that I was reaching no one.

His Heart, My Song has been an awesome adventure, but my time on blogger has come to a close. Please visit my new site (link below) to keep up with the ebb and flow that recovery from an eating disorder brings.

Thanks for sticking with me!

christinachantal.com

R n' R

2011-02-21T21:14:00.000-08:00

Isn't it amazing how 2 days can seem like 10, and at the same time those exact 2 days can seem like a split second? That's what my weekend was all about. Moments that both lasted an eternity and ended in the blink of an eye all at once. I could cry thinking about it; about how nothing and everything happened that brought me back to this place of peace.

My dear friend (who you will remember from this post and who's blog you can check out here) and I decided weeks ago that enough was enough and a road trip/get-away/girls-only weekend was in order. How badly I needed such an escape was beyond me at the time, but I'm so glad there is someone out there who knows our every need before even we do.

A little glimpse of our weekend in pictures...

Best Western in Pioneer Square---highly recommend this hotel! Ocean view AND city 'scape.

We like being 5...

Brian MAY have some competition on his hands...

It wasn't her birthday. Haha.

Bye bye Ocean

YES I am wearing two pairs of glasses. I'm cool like that. Few can pull it off.

Only in America, folks. Only in America.

And so we arrive home. Slightly poorer, slightly unhealthier, but SO very relaxed, and so very ALIVE!

I don't need to get into the whole shpeel with you guys about the importance of 'me time', do I? You all surely know how imperative it is to our mental and emotional health as women-who-do-too-much to just hit the open road and say to hell with it all once in awhile? Just to drive the point home, though: DO IT. Drive away. Yes, your life is going to be waiting for you when you get back, but take a little breather. Pray for nice weather. Or don't. Stay locked in your hotel room. We did that, too.

Strangely, one of the best parts about this weekend was being with someone I don't feel the need to be polite to. Does that make sense or just sound harsh? I guess what I mean is that this girl and I can seriously just let it all hang out when we're around each other. There is no faking it, no false front. And sometimes it is REALLY nice to just be not-polite. I was trying to pay for something yesterday, and without even thinking about it I demanded that she give me a dollar.Demanded. And without even blinking she did. So great to have friends like that, isn't it?

Plan something. I dare you. And then go. Even when, like me, you have bills to pay and homework that is due mere days after you get home. Go because it will be worth it, even if and when things go wrong like flat tires or empty gas tanks. It will be okay because it always is, and things are so much funnier when you are stuck on the side of the road with a good friend who will laugh with you. And when you get back make sure you tell me all about it, okay? Or better yet, take me with you!

To Everything, Turn, Turn, Turn

2011-02-10T15:06:00.000-08:00

It's a little bit early to be writing this, as I was thinking I would wait till maybe March or April. But what the hay?

After I wrote the S.A.D. post, I got some amazing feedback from you guys out there. Some of you can relate all too well to what I'm going through which is comforting, but also too bad. I'm sorry so many of you are sad right now. But the general theme in regards to the feedback I received was that there is HOPE! Spring, though far away as it may seem, is actually right around the corner. Last night Brian and I took a nice, long, brisk walk for the first time in 2011, and I was actually peeling back layers instead of shivering my butt off. And today I left my coat in the car when I went to get groceries. It's a miracle, people!

I don't read my bible enough, even nearly enough, but my favourite part is the when it talks about seasons changing. Even you non-bible reading people out there will be familiar with what I am talking about, because in 1959 The Byrds came out with a super catchy song that is entirely based on the book of Ecclesiastes. You can check it out here if you want.

My favourite part?

A time to build up, a time to break down

A time to dance, a time to mourn

A time to cast away stones

A time to gather stones together

Things at work are going really well at the moment, and without using any words I think the girls and I are realizing that we go through seasons as a team, too. Things aren't the same 2 months in a row, and that's okay. My chin is up, my game is on. We're in the home stretch now; less than 5 months to go. These kids are going to learn their ABC's and 123's whether they like it or not! ; )

My family is experiencing a changing of seasons, as well. At some point or another each of my family members has had their turn to overcome obstacles, and now it's my brother's turn to shine. Yesterday, February 9th, he celebrated his 1 year of sobriety anniversary and we are very proud of him. Here is to many, many more seasons of strength and success for him!

And I, personally, am overcoming a particular obstacle as well. For the first time in a long time I feel totally free to care for myself without the fear of obsession or addiction. In January, I started meeting with a personal trainer at my gym in preparation of the Vancouver Sun Run which I will take part in come April, and she has been such a blessing. For many years I have been running and enjoying it very much, but having something to work towards is a reward in itself. It's my season to shift my paradigms and addictive tendencies.

And another change that is coming with the new season has to do with this blog...it's not going anywhere, but I have had bigger dreams for it recently, and soon it may shift from a blog to a webpage. I don't know when or how at the moment, but those answers are coming soon and I am excited and inspired. Stay tuned, friends.

Thanks for having my back. Thanks for being brave and sticking your neck out and offering such kind words (and such attentive ears) even when it's scary to be honest. We're totally gonna rock out the rest of this winter and party when the birds start singing once again.

Smile even when you don't feel like it, guys. It helps.

S.A.D.

2011-02-07T18:41:00.000-08:00

I really, really wasn't planning on writing about this. Honestly. I have been putting it off and putting it off, but since I am an ambassador for honesty around these parts, I will suck it up and get this out there.

Seasonal Affective Disorder.

Is it just me?

Seasonal Affective Disorder: also known as the Winter Blues, is a mood disorder in which people who have normal mental health throughout most of the year experience depressive symptoms in the winter (or less frequently in the summer, spring or autumn).

Some of you will remember the big decision I had to make last year regarding my half-dose of Welbutrin, a mild anti-depressant. If not, you can read about it here and here. It wasn't an easy choice to make. I stayed on it until October and then stopped. I will tell you the truth: one day my prescription ran out and I was too lazy to refill it. Worst. Excuse. Ever.

If you read those past entries, you will notice that I was struggling a lot with the weather. I waited a loooooong time to go on the AD's, but I probably should have done it sooner. Now I am confused again. Going off them cold-turkey had to have been a horrible idea as well. Sigh...will I ever get my act together?

Bottom line? Taking them is back on the table. Again. Geez.

I talked it out with Brian and he, of course, is playing for Team Healthy Christina; Whatever it takes. Bless his heart.

I guess the point of this post was to be honest about things, and also to get some feedback from you. Once again I am feeling alone, but that is quite possibly because no one wants to admit they are sad right now. But I am doing it: I admit that I am sad. I want sun. I want warmth. And it's only...February.

Hope you all like the new template. The snowy trees just had to go. They were bringin' me down.

Enjoy this week, friends.

The Net (stolen from Kelle Hampton)

2011-01-28T12:25:00.000-08:00

Hello friends,

I have missed you. I have missed typing until the words stopped flowing. I have missed the passion behind my posts. I have missed feeling connected to a world bigger than I realize. I have missed writing.

It's been a quiet month on the blog-front, I realize, and I can't exactly say why. It's like my mind and heart just aren't connecting. I have thought of tons of superficial topics I could write about, but why bother, really. I don't want to waste your time or mine.

You'll see in the right hand margin of this page a list of other blogs I follow. Most of them don't get updated very often, but there is one in particular that does by a lady named Kelle (who I have mentioned before) who absolutely GETS it. She says the things I wish I could say. She feels the things I wish I could feel. She is good at life.

Her last post was called The Net. Click on it if you want a good read. I don't want to bust into a cheesy she's-my-inspiration speech, but I will say that she helped me a great deal to get through some hard things this week.

It was one of those weeks, and you know what I mean.

I was sitting on the fence when I decided to write this post about how much information to disclose here. I wanted to pour out my heart and soul, but I also knew that could hurt a lot of people. So instead I emailed MY net. The few people who I feel I am the most connected with. And I feel a lot better. Especially because the ones who wrote back gave me some fantastic advice and poured out their love.

I've been thinking about needs lately and how they are (or are not) being met. And I decided that it's okay to let people know what my needs are. I've been afraid to do that in the past; afraid to face rejection, afraid to be vulnerable. But I gave it a shot. I emailed The Net, I asked them to catch me. I asked them for love. I told Brian I needed him to do something extra special to reach out to me. And you know what? It worked. I worry a bit that I forced them into loving me, but I'm trying to grasp that I didn't. They loved on me because they saw my little hand reaching out for help and because they are so wonderful they are holding on tight. When I got home from class last night there was a rose on my bed from Brian. It is so beautiful, and so symbolic of his respect for me. There were emails from friends, too. Emails that gave me enough strength to face today.

You might be confused about all this. You might be wondering what possibly could have happened that would make me fall apart. There are a few things, and I like to call one of them the "D Word". D is for Dad. Enough said? Private email me for more details if you feel so inclined. This is one topic I'm gonna keep out of a public forum for the time being. For a bit of background information, though, click here.

Otherwise I am trying to be strong. Trying to love others. Trying to keep my chin up.

And the song that I haven't been able to get out of my head? If you have a few minutes and you are a sensitive soul like me, give it a listen. Let it soak into you. Receive it.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CVeB7ACVgO0&feature=player_detailpage#t=0s

Let your little light shine friends.

Let your Net catch you when you're falling. Because we all do.

~C

The Box

2011-01-01T23:20:00.000-08:00

Happy 1-1-11 Day everyone!

This is the first time I am writing a post that is currently title-less. I mean, by the time YOU read it, it will have a title, but at the moment, I've got nothin'. Because I am just not sure what I want to say.

There is an awful lot on my heart right now and I am having one of those the-world-is-on-my-shoulders kinda days. I wish I could say I rang in the New Year with a joyful heart, but that's not entirely true. And that's not to say that I didn't have a great time with Brian and Hannah and Jackson, but underneath the smile my heart is heavy.

Do you ever feel incomplete? Like part of you is missing? Or like you're somehow not in sync with the people around you and the person you think you should be? That's how I feel. I've been so emotional and the sane side of me is yelling in my ear that I am being ridiculous and need to snap out of it, and the other part of me is finding ways to justify my tears.

I feel like my heart is broken in two pieces, and half of it is here on my sleeve for the world to see, complete with all the tears and honesty and impulse, and the other half is sheltered away inside of me where no one can touch it. That half, the sheltered one, it needs to be nourished right now. It needs to be protected and loved and lured out of its death grip. It needs to learn to trust. It needs time.

This day last year was also a very hard time for this girl. I remember specifically crying equally hard tears, taking equally shaky breaths, having to be equally brave to get through it. Only this year the reasons are so different. As I was unpacking my Christmas decorations this season I found a silver ball that I had decorated with fabric paint at Winter Camp last year. And it says "This too shall pass, '09". I know it sounds depressing, and I suppose that's where I was at. I was struggling and sad in my singleness, feeling terribly lonely and isolated. I spent New Years Eve that year with two of the dearest friends I could ever ask for, and yet when it was all over I went to my home, sat on my couch, and cried the most bitter tears I can remember crying in my entire life. I wept. I bawled. I mourned. I really, really cried. Then I got up, went to my room and started gathering up every last item that I was holding onto for my future: baby clothes, wedding magazine clippings, index cards with ideas and plans on them, letters I had written to that elusive man...I even got a blank CD and burned off every song I wanted played at my wedding, then promptly deleted them off iTunes. I was on a rampage trying to stuff everything I had ever hoped for into a box, which still to this day stays sitting untouched on a shelf in my closet. I also wrote a letter that day, the content unknown as I was obviously in quite a state. I'm trying as we speak to decide whether or not to read that today, this first day of yet another New Year. Perhaps I will.

Last year I had a very hard time grasping the concept of hope. My counsellor would get very frustrated with me from time to time because for me, the line between hope and expectation is very, very blurry. In my mind they are the same thing, which is so not true. I was always expecting all this good to come to me, when in reality the best I could do was hope for it to come. So that was what I set out to do in 2010. To re-learn how to hope. How to have faith. And low-and-behold, as soon as I gave those dreams of mine to God (respectively in a box on my shelf), and as soon as I chose to take up hope and faith rather than expectation, good things came to me. Very, very good things. One in the form of a man who has blessed my socks off. Who is better than I could have ever imagined or asked for (pardon the cliche).

So this year I face a very different challenge, and I can tell you right now that the challenge is going to be trust. You will have to hold me accountable, as I know this will be hard. Brian and I have been together for 6 months now, and though we have been through many ups and downs already, I know there are many more yet to come. And we're getting to that point now where trust is an issue. I need to learn the meaning of it; need to feel myself submit to it, to embrace it, to be okay with it. It's scary, but it's so necessary. Otherwise we're going to keep going in circles: me needing tons of reassurance that I am loved and cherished, and when those things aren't said or shown, feeling rejected and sad. I don't like it, and I want things to get better. I want to trust that I am loved, regardless of feeling. I want to know it. I want to trust it.

I sat down here tonight to say a warm and heart-felt Happy New Year to you, but instead ended up pouring my heart out. It's feeling bruised and a bit sore, but so much better having let out some steam. Thanks for being my sounding board, and I truly do wish you and yours all the best this next year. Play hard. Dream big. Do things that scare you.

Love like never before.

Food for Thought

2010-12-29T16:17:00.000-08:00

So this is Christmas...

Or rather, the awkward week after when no one knows whether or not to keep up the tree and when is the right time to throw away the left-overs.

It was an amazing, amazing Christmas, one that will not be easily forgotten. The boy and I were able to spend a lot of quality time with each other and with our families. Mine was very generous in "letting me" spend Christmas day dinner with Brian's family, and I must say, if I couldn't be in my own home on that blessed day there was no where else I would rather be.

This time last year I got together with a friend that I hadn't seen in a long, long time, one who I spent a ton of time with in my pre-bulimia days. She was my eating-buddy. We rarely got together unless it was to hit up Boston Pizza or Dairy Queen. I knew she would never judge me for getting refills, as I never judged her, but underneath that non-judgemental-facade I knew that the truth was we were bad for each other. Very bad. When I saw her last year, having come through many years of bulimia and then recovering, it was like stepping back in time. We met at my work, and immediately ordered pizza and went to Save-On for snacks. All the healthy lessons I had learned slipped my mind and I was easily dragged back to a place I ran long and hard from. That day was hard for me, but it wasn't a total loss. Because saying no wasn't as hard as I thought it would be. I ate the pizza and snacks but I was able to stop. And that was a breath of fresh air. I will probably see her again, but I'm not worried.

The reason I told you that is because I know over-eating is something most of us deal with this time of year.

On command I can hear my Gramma's gentle voice with that German accent of hers in my ear...

Eat, eat, eat.

Bless her heart. I know she means well and it delights her to no end to see her children nourished, but eating isn't always the right answer.

On the last day of Preschool this year, I hit a wall. And thank GOD my good friend was working with me that day because I needed her. For an entire week little kids were coming to us with boxes of chocolate and homemade cookies and cupcakes and candy and birthday cake and Rice Krispy squares, and gingerbread men. I had a very hard time. As you all know, my job can often be under-challenging so I am bored a lot. And bored people eat. So I ate. More than I needed to. On that last day I knew I had to reach out for some help, so I went to the window in the kitchen that divides our rooms and I told my friend that I wanted to throw up. This is and was a big deal. I hadn't had serious thoughts about this for a long, long time. She was pretty amazing. Without blinking an eye for a second she told me that it wouldn't be worth it; wouldn't be worth it to flush away (no pun intended) all the hard work I had put into my recovery only to start from the beginning again. Then she said she understood how I felt because sometimes she has those thoughts too. Then we packed up every last treat I had been given and went straight to the staff lounge to drop them off. Those treats are now someone else's problem and apparently made quite a few people's day. It felt way better than throwing up. I felt so responsible and so strong in that moment.

Life has been a little hard these days in the way of routines for me. In the fall I house/pet-sat for 2 different sets of friends for a combined 2 months and I haven't really gotten back in the groove since then, especially with the chaos of Christmas. It's been hard, and I have noticed that my eating habits are taking the brunt of it. I'm not very motivated to buy groceries these days because I have dinner with Brian a lot (he's an amazing cook) and haven't felt much like eating breakfast. So I need to get back on that.

I'm happy that my friend from work taught me to give things away. Not everyone deals with the negative consequences (mainly emotional) that come from eating too many sweets, and it's nice to share with my coworkers who do such a great job at what they do. I am going to make a habit of that from now on.

I hope you have had a wonderful Christmas this year. I know I have.

~C~

Grown-Ups

2010-12-21T21:48:00.000-08:00

I'm not sure when.

I'm not sure how.

But...

I think I have become a grown up.

The thought came to me on Sunday night as I attended a Christmas party with some dear friends. There was laughter. There was a good ol' bottle of Baileys. There was music playing in the background. And there were children running around. Children that belonged to people the same age as me. And it was then that I realized I no longer belong at the Kids Table. I belong at the Boring Grown-Up Table. Only I am delighted to discover that it isn't at all boring!

I remember being 3 or 4 and looking at people taller and waaaay older then me and feeling like they didn't know how to have fun at all. I felt lucky to be the one to get away with sitting on people's laps and getting spoiled and breaking ornaments and spilling eggnog and running wild on a sugar high. Now I feel lucky to be the one sitting beside someone so very amazing, sipping my eggnog (and never spilling it...haha). I feel lucky to have friends who are intelligent and fun and funny and caring. I feel fortunate to have little ones around to call me Auntie and sit on my lap as I quietly sneak them bits of cookie when their parents aren't looking.

I. LOVE. The. Grown-up. Table.

I am seeing this revelation in my relationship, too. How easy it is to be childish and foolish when someone upsets you, yes? But the boy and I have learned to have grown-up conversations without being childish. And it's so, so lovely.

Christmas isn't the same as it used to be, that's for sure. But I have learned this season that it is so much more. I see it through the eyes of my young, impressionable students and Brian's amazing nieces and nephew, and it's so magical. I have also seen it through the eyes of a grown-up, now, too. And it's a different kind of magic, but so very enjoyable nevertheless.

How are you enjoying your last few days until Christmas 2010?

~C~

Ten Thousand Thank Yous

2010-12-07T17:02:00.000-08:00

I need to say thank you ten thousand times, because that's how many times you guys visited His Heart, My Song. Ten Thousand times in less than a year.

Thank YOU

Yes, you.

And you and you and you and you and you and you and you....

That's a lot of times for this blog to get clicked on, and that's a lot of thank yous. You have to know I am so, so grateful for the massive support, outreach and empathy you have all shown. It's been amazing.

Oprah Winfrey considers herself a teacher. For almost her whole life she has sat in front of millions of viewers and shared her opinions and views and insights. And she for sure has had some amazing things to say. When I first started this blog I saw myself a little bit in the same light. I thought I was gonna sit here and share my opinions and views and insights where bulimia is concerned.

But something very different happened.

I quickly discovered that I am not, in fact, the teacher at all here. I am most definitely the student. While I may have facilitated or opened doors to the world of speaking out about eating disorders, there is an inconceivable amount of information that I have gained rather than shared, thanks to you guys.

Shortly after I started writing His Heart, My Song, I disabled the option for people to leave comments. I'm still kind of on the fence about that choice, actually. I will tell you the truth: In the beginning of this writing adventure of mine, I found that I would pour my heart out, hit 'publish', and wait for comments to appear. A lot of the time they did, and they were so appreciated. But when they didn't I saw it as rejection and it wasn't healthy. Feedback wasn't really the aim for me, and I didn't want to fall into a trap of expecting it or relying on it to fuel my writing. The problem now is that there are several 'followers' out there who are not my facebook friends, and in the event that they want to be in touch or maybe even reach out for help with a similar struggle, they have no way of doing that. But in any case, the emails that I receive following really honest posts are so encouraging, and you have indeed taught me more than I expected to learn through your writing as well. Yet another thank you.

So, stay tuned. The well is not dry. The pen hasn't run out of ink...or in any case, my keyboard hasn't broken! Stories have yet to be told.

Can you believe there are only 23374 minutes left until Christmas? Soak it up, friends. Be joyful. Have so much fun.

And thank you, once again.

~C~

http://emailsanta.com/clock.asp

Reconciliation

2010-12-06T09:11:00.000-08:00

Thursday felt a bit like Christmas day. I felt like I was given a huge gift. A priceless gift. A long-awaited gift.

It was a day of reconciliation.

In 2002 I met a girl at summer camp who was to become one of my best friends---the type of friend who will stay with you in your heart for the rest of your life...whether you are speaking to each other or not. For 4 years we built up a beautiful friendship and learned to lean on each other through thick and thin. We saw each other through hooks ups and breaks up, adventures and trials, good times and bad.

Throughout those years I was changing a lot, as most people do as they try to gracefully leave their teen years behind and become a 20-something with character and poise. Let me tell you, for me that wasn't a graceful time at all. I struggled a lot, developed bulimia, tried hard to define myself by how many friends I had; by how many people "needed me". I guess what ended up happening was that this dear friend of mine felt pushed away and less important or less wanted after awhile. That's really a huge shame because it wasn't the truth at all. At that point in my life I wasn't even aware that I had a problem. I had never owned up to my bulimia, hadn't reached out for help at that point, so I was really messed up.

In 2006 we had a fight. A big, big falling out. I will spare you personal details as I don't want to cross any confidentiality lines here, but misconceptions and miscommunications were flying in each and every direction and it wasn't pretty. There were insurmountable tears on both our accounts and I didn't ever forget that day, because I thought it was the last day I would ever see my best friend this side of heaven.

Years and years passed. Weddings were held, babies were born, life-changing events occurred in both our lives. I never forgot my friend. Her picture was on my fridge all this time. There was a piece of me missing, cheesy as that might sound. I missed her.

A few weeks ago everything changed, and although this doesn't happen often, we reconnected literally overnight. I didn't know what to make of it, but I was really excited and hopeful. Words were exchanged, apologies made, regrets expressed, love reaffirmed.

I saw her on Thursday. In so many ways she is the exact same friend I met almost 9 years ago. 9 years hasn't robbed us of our humour, of our kindred spirits, of our matching personalities. Sure, we may be dealing with a few more wrinkles, a few more years under our belts, some experiences we didn't share and can never get back, but what we have now is a second chance. And I'm not letting her go again because I know that life without her is no life at all.

The most unusual thing happened later that night. I got home late from Brian's birthday dinner, hopped on facebook to check my messages, and another old estranged friend of mine from that same summer of 2002 came online. On a less intense scale, a similar falling out occurred between us and we, too, lost many years of each others friendship. But low and behold, the very same night, we were able to reconcile as well.

It felt like my birthday, only this wasn't a gift that can break or be returned or traded in. It's way better than that. It's friendship. It's sisterhood. It's amazing.

Oh, and the icing on the cake? My best girl is moving back. Life just keeps getting better and better.

Merry early Christmas!!

~C~

Make a Wish!

2010-11-30T22:17:00.000-08:00

It wasn't her birthday today, or Christmas or Easter or anything like that. But it was a special day. Because she got to create a new friend.

We took her to the store where new friends are made and her eyes began to twinkle. This kind man with a jolly tummy and a look of joy about him handed her a little fabric heart and told her to make a wish. She looked perplexed at first, as if this over-sized child was kookoo. But she took a leap of faith anyways. Her tiny fingers curled slowly into a tight fist, her eyes with their ability to stare into one's soul shut tight and she brought her tiny hand to her own heart.

And the little girl made a wish.

No one will ever know exactly what she wished for. But she wished long. And she wished hard. And it didn't take a scientist to see that today the wish she wished for was wished with all her heart.

Without being taught or trained or told, she has faith. Faith. Simple and pure and beautiful faith. In a silly little fabric heart that came out of a pile of a million other silly little fabric hearts, having no significance what-so-ever to the adults standing around watching this little girl make her precious wish.

Remember how I said I missed being little? This is why, my friends. I forget what it's like to just believe in something that easily. These days it's hard for me to have faith in love, in goodness, in even Christmas, all of which are pretty universal truths. But to have faith in a wish made on a heart at the store is amazing. She is amazing.

She taught me a lot today. My eyes were filling with tears. I felt silly and awkward and overly-emotional, but I also felt warm.

I can't go back to being 3. I can't erase the things that have happened to me in my life which have tainted me, desensitized me, scared me, taunted me, changed me. But I can focus a little more heartily on those things which have shaped me into who I am today, the biggest of which being love and faith.

Love.

And faith.

Like a child.

~C~

Buttons

2010-11-29T12:39:00.000-08:00

Hey guys,

I feel small.

I feel unable to help. Unable to reach out.

But I can. And so can you.

I don't mean to preach or solicit or use this blog to induce guilt or sadness, but this is a great cause and if you feel led to help, it will make a big difference.

Happy 27th day until Christmas friends!

http://liferearranged.com/2010/11/make-christmas-count-for-cliff/

http://reecesrainbow.org/

~C~

Fall On Your Knees

2010-11-22T12:16:00.001-08:00

This year I am in a Christmas production. I can't remember what it's called and have no clue what it is about. I'm in the choir so we are all focused on working on the songs and haven't interacted yet with the actors. I'll keep you posted. ; )

One of the songs we are working on is called "Christmas Makes Me Cry". I don't actually like it very much but I sure can relate to it. Every year the tears start to creep up on me earlier and earlier, and this year in particular they have already started to flow. I'm now entering a semi-permanent emotional state which will likely last into early January. It's hard to say why I cry a lot at Christmas, but I don't seem to be the only one. Lots of girls that I know struggle to hold in the tears. Tears of joy and maybe even tears of sadness.

For me, I think each year a little part of me grieves my childhood Christmases. I miss so badly the overwhelming anticipation; the advent calendars and the exciting visits to Santa and the hot chocolate and the homemade gifts for mommy and daddy. I miss not being able to sleep a wink on Christmas Eve because I couldn't WAIT for Christmas morning. I miss the thought and time and effort that went into making Christmas magical and unforgettable and so, so special.

I miss being little.

Now I find myself grasping desperately to hope. I want so badly for Christmas to be magical despite my age and the fact that I don't have children to create something special for. But I long for it. And I want Christmas to not be about the cost; how possibly to afford nice things for my loved ones. I don't like thinking of memories of long winter vacations from school to play with new toys and get together with the neighbourhood gang for tobogganing and snow ball fights. Now that I'm older Christmas means working my butt off to pay for it all.

Wow, it sure sounds like I'm doing a lot of complaining, and I'm sorry. I don't mean to gripe...it's just hard to grow up, isn't it?

But I suppose now that I am actually processing all this, it's true that I am sad about growing up and that's probably part of why I cry.

On the other hand, a lot of my tears are purely tears of joy. I LOVE seeing the joy on people's faces and in their hearts at Christmas. It's fantastic. I love working with little ones this time of year. They just exude joy and it helps me remember what it was like when I was 4. Their giggles and excitement and acceptance of wonderful things fills me up. I love thinking of ways to bless people, love shopping for the perfect gifts. I love seeing people reconcile their differences with others in the spirit of Christmas. I love going to church and feeling so close to God and Jesus and those around me. I love singing Christmas carols at the top of my lungs and dancing like a crazy person to Boney M's "Mary's Boy Child".

I did a lot of crying this weekend. Those tears just snuck up on me and I felt my eyes welling up at some pretty random moments. I have made a decision to not stop them from flowing this year. Sometimes we cry because we are healing and we are not even aware of what we are healing from. It's actually a really beautiful thing. And sometimes we cry because we are just so blessed and so happy that our feelings come out in liquid form because it has to come out somehow.

I am so thankful, my friends, to have someone so very special to spend Christmas with this year. You can't imagine how much it means to me to be creating memories with him. To not be alone.

Christmas 2008 I was in South Africa, far from this -13 degree weather, far from my family and far from all things comfortable and familiar to me. That was a hard Christmas in a lot of ways, but in so many others it was the best Christmas of my life. I remember being in my living room looking out the window at the bright sun, seeing my little Charlie Brown Christmas tree glowing in my peripheral vision. I was listening to O Holy Night (Josh Groban's version, naturally), and before I knew it, I was down on my knees bawling like a baby. I was stripped of everything that I knew and wanted and for the first time in my life I had to just sit at the feet of Jesus and rest there, with no distractions, no agenda, no choice, really. I have never felt so whole in my life.

O Holy Night! The stars are brightly shining,

It is the night of the dear Saviour's birth.

Long lay the world in sin and error pining.

Till He appeared and the Spirit felt its worth.

A thrill of hope the weary world rejoices,

For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn.

Fall on your knees!

Oh, hear the angel voices!

O night divine, the night when Christ was born;

O night, O Holy Night , O night divine! O night, O Holy Night ,

O night divine!

Truly He taught us to love one another,

His law is love and His gospel is peace.

Chains he shall break, for the slave is our brother.

And in his name all oppression shall cease.

Sweet hymns of joy in grateful chorus raise we,

With all our hearts we praise His holy name.

Christ is the Lord! Then ever, ever praise we,

His power and glory ever more proclaim!

That's all for now. I know it isn't even December; that most people don't bother with Christmas at such an early time. But I would really like to stretch the joy of the season out a little bit longer. Because it only comes once a year and because it doesn't hurt anybody. Because it makes me happy.

Happy almost Holidays, my friends.

~C~

Planes, Trains and Automobiles

2010-11-09T18:07:00.000-08:00

So, this is what happens when you ask your boyfriend, for lack of motivation to blog, what your next post should be about. He tells you without skipping a beat that it should be about planes, trains and automobiles.

Okaaaaayyy...

This might be a post chalk-full of BS, but hopefully it will at least be entertaining. Everyone likes a good read when they get to their jobs and need a good excuse to put off actual work, right?

I have a few thoughts.

First of all, travelling via air is an addiction of mine. I crave it. I wait for it. It excites me and it thrills me. It means adventure. And I LOVE adventure. Last time I was on a plane was in April when Hannah, Jackson and I went to Cali to hang with Mickey and experience an earthquake. It might sound like April wasn't very long ago, but for me it is. Spoiled I may be, but I used to fly all the time; like, at least 3 times a year. So this feels like a drought. Anyways, I have never understood why people are afraid to fly, but I feel for them. My advice to you is: do it. Fly away. Take off your shoes and march proudly through that security frame thingy. Arrive far too early for your flight and sit in impatient anticipation as you wait for your flight (don't forget to drink over-priced lattes). Walk the tarmac with your heart pounding and your arms aching, wishing you had packed your carry-on lighter, even though you HAD to have everything in it, especially your 6 pound discman (remember those?), and all your CD's AND a pillow. Bon voyage!

Trains: Y'all know my Gramma and I are tight, yes? Well, we are even closer because of a trip we took in 2006. She took me back to our homeland: Deutschland. Beautiful Germany. We went for several weeks and it was a like a step back in time. I saw the place she was born. Where she bravely kissed my Oma and Opa goodbye when she was taken to safety while they served in World War II. Where she kicked it in the school yard with her homies. Her favourite restaurant. You get the picture. The truth is, I don't think I fully appreciated it at the time, and I maybe never will. But I can appreciate that it was an amazing trip and I love her all the more for sharing her life with me and allowing me to see into her past. One of the greatest thrills about those months spent in Deutschland were the hours upon hours we spent riding in trains. Trains to the North Country. Trains to shopping districts. Trains to Lindau, and even trains into Austria and Switzerland. And thanks to my trusty 6 pound Discman and endless CD collection, I built a nice little soundtrack to go along with the beauty that was whizzing past me all too fast.

Your name rings on the plains...like a not so distant train.

And love, and history are near the flowers that you make.

The flowers that you make...

Because I'll never hold a picture of the horizon in my view.

Because I'll never rip the night in two it makes me wonder

Who am I? Who am I? Who am I and great are you...

My little kiddies ask every once in awhile for a special song to end our day together. It's called The Goodbye Train. Let me tell you, I did not appreciate the Goodbye Train that escorted me to Frankfurt for my flight home all those years ago.

And as for those automobiles that lovely Brian requested in typical difficult-male-fashion, I have two thoughts:

One: Who here gets annoyed by slow drivers? A show of hands isn't necessary. It's a rhetorical question and obvious that we all do. I was thinking about this the other day and couldn't help but notice that it is mostly the elderly that are usually the perpetrators of this daily annoyance. And then I couldn't help thinking: do they do it just to piss off other drivers? Um, perhaps, come to think of it. But actually, don't you think there might be a better reason? I'm going to take a stab at it...maybe, just maybe, they have seen far too many sad things in their lives. For every sad car accident we in our 20's have witnessed or driven past, how many dozens more have they seen? They received their licenses before the 'L', before the 'N', hell, maybe even before seat belts! Is it possible that some of these Oma's and Opa's in their Chrysler Dynasties have themselves lain in hospital beds after crashing 20 or 30 years ago? They probably have grandkids they would like to see walk down the aisle one day, or great grandchildren they would love to hold in their arms. So maybe, just maybe, those are the things running through their cute little heads when they pause a second longer than 'necessary' at the 4 way stop. They are trying to avoid danger, while I think sometimes we are nearly even looking for it. So next time I see one of those Veteran licence plates that I swear BC issued only so we could see a clear line between generations of drivers, I am going to hang back and try to not give them a heart attack.

And my second thought, going along with drivers that piss others off, is this: My friend in my sociology class had her mother come in to do a presentation a few weeks ago on Corrections in Canada. We learned a lot about the judicial system, how it works for and against us, and what a 'typical' day looks like for convicted criminals. Fascinating. Really, really fascinating. She talked to us about how Average Joe becomes Convicted Joe. And a lot of Average Joes live in prison because of road rage. We've all seen it, felt it, maybe even acted on it, right? My friends mom made a really good point. She said that we have 2 choices to think about when someone on the road upsets us. We can take the whole "me and my car are the centre of the universe" approach, sure. You know, where when someone on the highway cuts you off and you feel personally attacked by him or her; like they definitely for sure woke up that morning and planned their entire day around getting on the highway at that exact moment and cutting you off. Victory. I don't really think so. But it's a good way to get all fired up, hey? My friends mom also planted another thought in our heads...she told us to consider that other driver. Not that it's easy when you've just been cut off. She said to think about what kind of day they are having. Maybe they just got fired. Maybe they are rushing to get their kids from school. Maybe they have a sick friend in the hospital that they are trying to say goodbye to in time. We don't know, do we? But once we let go of the "they're out to get us" idea, we can kind of actually let it go and move on. And maybe not become wards of Corrections Canada. Sound like plan?

So, now that I have talked endlessly about Planes, Train and Automobiles (are you happy, Brian? You've managed to inspire a semi-substantial post!), I will leave you to your day. And without further adieu...

Well the Goodbye Train is coming, bye to you! (and so on and so forth---I don't need to bore you).

~C~

AA

2010-10-25T16:32:00.000-07:00

I'd be surprised (and would stand corrected) if there was a family who didn't have a member or relative struggling with alcoholism. It's something so universal, so tangible, so real. There are families who are torn apart by it, and there are families who rally around one another and get through it. Mine is a little bit of both. I think I've mentioned to you before that my family as a unit struggles with addiction. All kinds of addiction. And I am no exception. Bulimia is just as serious as being a drug addict, as being an alcoholic or a shopaholic or a Starbucks addict or someone who struggles with gambling. It's just a part of life. We are all broken in some way.

Last year as I approached my breaking point that same friend who coached me through the super hard beginnings of recovery took me to an AA meeting. Alcoholics Anonymous. I thought it was a ridiculous idea. "I am not an alcoholic", I thought to myself. I didn't think I would have anything to gain, anything to learn, anything to contribute. But I was so wrong.

The meeting I attended was held inside a little old church that smelled like...um, a little old church. We sat at a table. Said a prayer type thingy that I mouthed the words to and pretended to know because I was embarrassed and kind of felt left out that I didn't know it. I was uncomfortable and nervous and vowed that I would keep my mouth shut. I can't tell you what we discussed that August afternoon but I can share with you what I learned.

Like I said, at first I didn't know why I was there. My friend told me we were going (and that I didn't have a lot of choice in the matter) because she wanted me to know that everyone struggles, that a lot of people are addicted to things and that a lot of people have family members who are alcoholics. Fair enough. So when I got there I thought I was gonna kick up my feet and take a backseat and get to listen to everyone else's problems.

That's not what happened.

Within minutes of starting my heart started pounding, like when you're in class and you know the answer to the question your teacher is asking and you really don't want to be the one to stick your neck out and answer but you know you'll probably have to. That's how I felt. Some people were crying. Some were fanning themselves with brochures. Everyone was vulnerable. Everyone. Before I knew it I was out on a limb. I was talking. I was talking fast and there was a lump in my throat and I didn't know where my words were taking me or why. All I knew was that I was in a safe place. So I opened up.

And I learned in my time there at AA that I was an addict. I was recovering from bulimia, yes, but there was a deeper addiction that I never saw before. It was the addiction to being needed.

Heather Nova has a song called London Rain that strikes a chord with me whenever I hear it. The second verse starts out by saying this:

When somebody knows you well,

Well there's no comfort like that.

And when somebody needs you,

Well there's no drug like that.

I learned at that AA meeting in August of 2009 that Heather Nova was really onto something there. Being needed is my drug.

Does that even make sense to you?

I realized it a few times over this last year as I put myself aside and started making crazy plans with people because they needed someone to help them pick out a dress or study for an exam or stay up with their newborn for night feedings or babysit for the weekend so they could go on holidays and so on and so forth. And don't get me wrong here. Being a good friend and helping out is a beautiful thing. But I realized after having this epiphany at AA that I was not really doing it to be just plain old nice. I was doing it because I want people to like me, to need me, to depend on me. Is that because I am a girl or is it something I was born with or is it something I learned? I have no idea. But I DO know that I have a tendency to spread myself too thin. Then I start to resent being needed so I shut down. Then people find other ways to get help and I feel rejected and sad. What a pickle...

I'm trying to nip this one in the bud and build a fence around it because I don't want this pattern to be a part of my relationship with Brian. I have seen a few times now how it could be a real problem and it's not pretty. I am learning to trust him and I am learning to be okay with time spent apart, that it doesn't mean he doesn't want me or need me. Whew...that was hard for me to say. It's a tough one.

As always, the learning curve continues and this girl is trying hard to go with the flow.

So while I may not be an alcoholic, I can appreciate a good struggle and I think recovery is one of the most beautiful things about this world and about God. There is so much hope for all of us to be whole and to be functional and to be real and to be broken all at the same time. We're all in this together.

Sometimes when I am wandering the aisles of Michaels or Walmart looking for a crafty little project to work on, I come across a cross-stitch pattern with a prayer. I never gave it much thought. To my surprise, when the AA meeting came to a close that August afternoon everyone held hands and as a group they prayed,

"God grant us the serenity to accept the things we cannot change,

courage to change the things we can,

and wisdom to know the difference."

Well, this seems to be a good time to say a collective "Amen", which means, "So be it".

Amen?

~C~

To learn more about Alcoholics Anonymous click here.

When You Believe

2010-10-18T13:26:00.000-07:00

I went on my very first date when I was about 12 years old. My "boyfriend" of approximately 6 hours took me to see the Prince of Egypt at the local theatre in White Rock where we grew up. I don't remember too much about the date except that we had to cross the street after the movie to Tim Hortons where we would get picked up by his dad, and I was wondering the whole time if he would hold my hand or not. For the record, he didn't. Ahh...the dynamics of pre-teen relationships. : )

It was the one and only time I watched that movie, and while I am vaguely familiar with the bible story, I still can't say I know what it's all about. But other than crossing the street after the movie, one thing I do remember quite well was that song that Whitney Houston and Mariah Carey sang called When You Believe. It's about miracles. And this post is not. Well, not directly at least. Actually maybe in a way it is, I guess.

I'll get on with it.

Do you have a hard time believing people who say nice things about you? Do you believe you are totally and completely worthy of love? Of acceptance? Of happiness? Of joy? Of wealth? If you're anything like me, moments where you truly, deeply believe those things are few and far between. And I just can't figure out why.

be·lieve

[bih-leev]

-lieved, -liev·ing.

–verb (used without object)

1. to have confidence in the truth, the existence, or the reliability of something, although without absolute proof that one is right in doing so:

Only if one believes in something can one act purposefully.

My coworker was reading the beginning of this as I was writing, and I asked her why she thought we have such a hard time with this subject, and she gave me a kick-ass answer. One I wasn't expecting to write about. She said that believing the good stuff about yourself is hard because our expectations of ourselves are so high that we rarely meet them and therefore can't understand when people see good, pure things about us. Wow. Can I get an 'amen'?

I've touched on this topic many times during the course of this blog, the subject of expectations. And it's always the same outcome: I don't know about you, but my expectations of myself are far too high. And it's not like I necessarily want to lower them, but I want them to be more realistic. I want to believe that I am doing a good job in life and in love, and I want to believe that I am beautiful.

Let me repeat myself...

I. WANT. to. BELIEVE. that. I. am. BEAUTIFUL.

Walking out of work the past few days into the beautiful crisp sunshine has been amazing. Don't you agree? The cloudless, endless blue sky, and the colourful crunchy leaves and the down vests from The Gap are all enough to make me smile like a crazy person...but the sun. Oh the sun. I want to just pause and soak it in. I want to bask in it. I want to capture it, those rays of warmth and light and hope. I want to feel it resting gently on my back always and always and always.

The sun is real. We can feel it. We can see it. We can even almost touch it. We believe it.

That is how I want to feel about the beauty that is within me. I want to feel it. I want to see it. I want to believe it and I want to bask in it, soak it in, just like we soak in Mr. Sun. When people say nice things about me I don't want to make that face anymore; that mock-humble "nah" face where I act like I am embarrassed because what they said is true but I actually am embarrassed because I believe it isn't. That's horrible. It's not cool.

So even though I said this post wasn't going to be about miracles, I think I am changing my mind a little bit. Because the miracle would be for me, for US, to start BELIEVING that we ARE worthy of love, totally and completely, and we ARE beautiful and we should be soaking that in every single day.

Believe your parents when they tell you they are proud of you. Believe your boss when he or she tells you that you are doing good work. Believe your friends when they say that you can lean on them. Believe your boyfriend when he tells you that you are beautiful. Believe your teacher when he or she tells you that you are clever. Believe your little brothers and sisters when they tell you that you are their hero. And most importantly, believe in God because he says that he loves you. And that is a promise.

Time for me to sign off here. I have talked enough for one day. I have no answers that go along with this post. No cure or medication or ideas on how to start believing in these truths. But I know that it is time to try. Time to start now. I'll keep you posted and you keep me posted, too, okay?

~C~

Le Jour de l'action de Grâce

2010-10-07T08:31:00.000-07:00

Some things I am thankful for this blustery Thanksgiving weekend...

ma famille

le garçon

mes amis

Afrique

ma santé

But above ALL else, I am the most thankful for...

l'amour

In Every Form

In Every Capacity

In Every Way

Forever...

Nothing but love, baby.

Happy 2010 Thanksgiving to all my Canadian friends and my friends from around the world.

~C~

Crash and Burn

2010-10-04T08:48:00.000-07:00

When you feel all alone

and the world has turned its back on you

Give me a moment please

to tame your wild, wild heart.

I know you feel like the walls are closing in on you

You're caught in a one-way street

with the monsters in your head

When hopes and dreams are far away

and you feel like you can't face the day

Let me be the one you call

If you jump I'll break your fall

Lift you up and fly away with you into the night

If you need to fall apart

I can mend a broken heart

If you need to crash then crash and burn

and you're not alone

(oh, Savage Garden...)

There is a universal truth behind this song...people don't want to be alone. Well, at least I don't want to be alone. But the funny thing is, up until I met Brian I thought I really did want to be alone. I'm not good at asking for or accepting help. I am pretty independent when it comes to life and I enjoy my own company.

Of course there were those moments where the &*!$ would hit the fan and I'd be desperate for someone to gather this broken girl in their arms and rock me till everything felt right again. I am human, after all.

And then there were those seasons of insecurity where I defined myself by how many people I had in my life...or at least by how many people I felt close to. I held people from arms length and yet worked my butt off at the same time to fulfill as many coffee dates as humanly possible in any given week. It was insane there for awhile, for a few years at least. I had no concept of boundaries. At all. The more people I saw, the more I gave of myself, only all the while I was totally denying myself the joy of receiving from them as well. I felt like I had to always be the strong one; the rock, the counselor, the guardian.

You can all guess what came next, right?

After years of living this lifestyle in both Canada as well as Kenya and South Africa, I finally began to understand the concept of what it felt like to crash and burn. And crash and burn I did. Many a' time. Over and over. I felt empty a lot. Like I was depleted somehow. Sometimes I still do. Because I am still learning how to have equal, balanced friendships and relationships. I am still learning to lean on others.

Throughout those years my best friends were amazing. They gave back to me and they gave me no choice about that. When I was stubborn and didn't want a Christmas present they bought me one anyways. When I would shut down and refuse to tell them my problems, they would hold my hand until my resolve melted away. When I cried, they were right there beside me offering me kleenex and good advice and a shoulder to lean on. Maybe a part of me struggled to receive this kind of love because I thought I wasn't worthy of it. Maybe I thought I didn't deserve it.

When I hear this song it makes me a little teary. It's linked to some memories, both painful and joyful, and it reminds me every time that we are not meant to go this road alone. We are built for community and relationships. None of us are immune to hard times, and at some point or another, we are all going to crash and burn.

My challenge in the coming weeks and months and years is going to be knowing where to direct my needs. I fear that now that I am in a relationship all my needs will be projected onto this man, and while he is amazing there is only so much he can do. I need to remember that I have best friends out there who want to support me. I have a family to turn to. I have a loving God who knows my every fear and hope. This all falls back on the balance issue; learning when to give and when to take, when to listen and when to open up.

It's amazing knowing that when I crash and burn, there are people there that will catch me. You all know who you are and I want to thank you for being that friend to me.

Let me be the one you call

If you jump I'll break your fall

Lift you up and fly away with you into the night

If you need to fall apart

I can mend a broken heart

If you need to crash then crash and burn

and you're not alone.

You. Are. NOT. Alone.

~C~

Ebb and Flow and PMS

2010-09-30T17:51:00.001-07:00

Remember that scene in Look Who's Talking Too where Baby Julie and Kirstie Alley are getting all dolled up so Kirstie Alley can seduce John Travolta? It's this slow-motion sequence of blush flying about and lipstick being applied and fishnet stockings being rolled up on long tanned legs in a sultry fashion. It's all quite tasteful (um, NOT), but the best part about it all is that the show tune playing in the foreground is from Rodgers and Hammerstein's musical Flower Drum Song. Does anyone know the song I am talking about? It's called "I Enjoy Being a Girl".

Really?

Okay, so for the most part I DO quite enjoy being a girl. I like sparkles and glitter and Christmas and pink and all that stuff for sure. But I do not like the hormones that come with it. And no, this isn't gonna be a giant post about pms and such because you know and I know that we have been down that path with this blog before and we don't need to go there again.

But it really IS part of the ebb and flow of life. These waves of good times and hard times and all the times in between, and you'd think that after all these years I'd know better how to control my emotions, share my pain, laugh off the little things. But alas, I haven't yet.

First things first. I am really badly struggling right now with the departures of Alisha and Nicki. They are my two oldest and bestest friends who ironically got married within 2 weeks of each other in 2008 and then moved across the country within 4 weeks of each other this summer. I am so so so missing them right now. They have been the reason behind the lump in the back of my throat for days now, and I am usually on the verge of tears because of it. Even now, I could just burst into tears. Really, I thank GOD for the internet and for the phone. What did we do without those things? *I miss you girls*

I want to thank you so much those of you who emailed me about the Balance issue. You will be happy to learn that things are smoothing out a bit. Hannah and I had a fabulous girls-night-IN last Friday, and I have been enjoying quiet moments to myself and with some dear friends. However, you guys were right: I DO need to cherish this time with the boy, and I am. Somedays it is not easy, I'm not gonna lie, to realize that not every moment can be pure magic and pure bliss; life is complicated and hard sometimes, and why I ever thought that this relationship would be unaffected by that is beyond me. Ahh...gotta love those ever-present adjustments in life, hey? But he is lovely, and it's nice to enter a phase where we can kinda just let those true colours shine.

In other news, I am LOVING my sociology class. A lot. I made a new friend and we decided to study together, and this week I had to stop myself from doing homework so I didn't get too far ahead. Can you imagine?? This is coming from the girl who was ready to jump off a bridge towards the end of last semester for lack of motivation. This class is right up my alley. It's crazy to back up a little bit and try to see this world through the eyes of other cultures, countries, subgroups, and minorities. I love it.

Oh, and over the summer I totally forgot how much I love to run. I think I was so busy with that crazy job promotion and my class that it just seemed like I was running all the time (which I literally was), and somehow running for the pure sake of running took a backseat in my life. It's nice to get my head back in the game; to tie up those laces and crank up Alanis and hit the pavement (or sawdust or treadmill or track---my mood varies). It's a love-hate relationship...sometimes my knees want to buckle and my side is aching and my lungs are crying out for a deep breath of air and I just want to Q.U.I.T. But then I finish my run...and I slow down. And I am sweaty and tired and pacing back and forth trying to slow my heartbeat and I realize that I am happy. It's important to do good things for yourself even when they hurt, and I am slowly learning that my happy place is right there, right there at the end of my run when I can pat myself on the back and say "good job, Chris. you did it."

There was a time a few years ago where I ran for the wrong reasons. I ran because I was convinced that if I ran hard enough, I would morph into someone else; someone new, someone prettier than me, someone skinnier than me. It was enough to motivate me at the time, but it was really unhealthy. But in the same breath I am thankful for that time in my life because it has taught me to love who I am. Just as I am. And it taught me to run. So I am going to keep on running.

~C~

About Balance

2010-09-22T15:45:00.001-07:00

Balance. Equilibrium. Even-Steven. Harmony. Control. Equivalence. Parity. Stasis.

It's hard, isn't it?

Every time I think I have this balance thing worked out, something shifts in my life and I am back to square one.

Well...that might be a wee bit melodramatic, but it's how I feel.

Every September, people, it's the same thing.

In South Africa the word 'hectic' is used as often as the word 'awesome' is used here in Canada. Everything is hectic. Car accidents are hectic. Hard classes are hectic. Headaches are hectic.

I get it, South Africa. I get it.

To say my life is completely hectic would actually be pretty unfair. It's not that bad; it's just that transition is never easy for me, and this September has been no exception.

Perhaps I should have taken a break between camp and preschool. Maybe a day off or two here or there would have helped, but it was quite the opposite.

Anyways, enough of that. I don't want to be a complainer. Let's talk about balance.

I like routines. But don't mistake that for monotony. They are very different. Monotony is saying the same things over and over. Asking the same questions and getting no answers. But routines I like. Every evening before I go to bed, I set out my clothes for the next day, prepare my breakfast for easy access, count out my vitamins and set them beside my juice glass, pack my lunch, return emails, and so on and so forth. It helps me feel balanced. I try hard to keep in close contact with people who mean a lot to me; try to stay as involved as possible in their everyday lives. I try to visit my family every 2 weeks or so. I like to run a few times a week to keep up my strength. I try to stay on top of my homework and studying. I like to pay my bills on time and have no outstanding debts. I like to be on time for work.

Are you getting the picture here, my friends?

Control issue? Maybe....But in my case I don't think it's a bad thing. Wanting to be healthy and have a good handle on my life is a good thing. But it's when things don't go the way I planned that it becomes trouble. I start to spiral. Things slip. Priorities get mixed up. Friends start feeling as if I am distant. Bills pile up. Homework and excersize gets neglected. You all know what I'm sayin', right?

But honestly, I feel as if things this month haven't been as severe as they would have been this time last year. I feel stronger. I feel older somehow, like maybe I actually have learned a few lessons along the way and have made changes in my life (imagine that...it's a miracle). It's encouraging.

Now, one major way that things are different this year than last is because of Brian. He is my boyfriend. And I thought of writing an "introductory post" about him telling you how wonderful he is, but I changed my mind because throughout the coming months you will learn about him and the ways he has changed my life. Especially over these last 3 months. The biggest change has been going from "me" to "we". I gotta say, I've never really had to do that before. Despite past relationships, I've been very independant for the last 26 years, besides that whole not-being-able-to-walk thing when I was a baby. And it's not as if overnight I have lost the ability to put myself first, but slowly things are turning around and I am learning that my actions and decisions are directly affecting someone besides myself. How weird.

So while things with Brian have been really amazing and fun and exciting and joyful, there is also this part of me that knows I am not doing a very good job of balancing the things in my life that matter so much to me. How do you learn to time manage when you are in a new relationship? How do you decide who "gets" your time? Because I've definitely been accused already of neglecting people, and yet I feel like this stage in our relationship will only happen once and I want to enjoy it. I feel torn.

If you have any advice, please email me! I usually try to sit down and write a post that has a beginning, middle AND an end, but this time I only have the beginning and middle parts. Because I don't know the end; how to balance this out. I will keep learning and trying and striving to figure out this balance thing. I will do my best to maintain relationships. I will make sure to keep having that ever-so-important me-time.

And tomorrow night Hannah and I are having a GNO. I can hardly wait. I feel more balanced already ; )

~C~

Post-Summer Wrap-Up

2010-08-31T23:28:00.000-07:00

Since it is the end of a season and the beginning of a new one I thought I would change things up a bit...

New blog layout.

No more music feature.

New relationship.

Lots of new things to write about.

L.O.T.S.

But for now let's talk about post-summer wrap-up.

I wanted to write you last week and tell you how things were winding down nicely with camp but I never got a chance because things were and continue to be pretty crazy.

I remember the last day of camp last year: the staff were split into two groups that day. The group who had been to the waterslides almost every week that summer stayed behind to pack up the camp and clean the school, and the group who had been stuck at the school all summer (preschool leaders, for example!) got to go to the waterslides. We got back tired and chlorine-y and all stood around in a circle on the playground after the very last camper had been picked up. The coordinators had speeches prepared and these interesting slushie/float things that were very sweet. We laughed. We hugged. We said goodbye. And I went home and cried. A lot. It's what I do. Goodbyes and things ending are not things I deal with well. But at least it was a clean break. One minute I was a recreation leader for summer daycamps and the next I wasn't.

This summer that hasn't really been the case. There is no dividing line between senior coordinator and preschool teacher. The borders are blurry, the hours are merging, and my head is (once again) spinning.

We ended strong, I would say. Thursday night we had an amazing staff party at both AEP and Mission Springs, wrapping up with a competitive game of (contact?) volleyball in the sand. There was a lot of laughter and camaraderie. That night the assistant coordinator caught me in the parking lot and told me that she was calling a serious meeting for the following morning and she absolutely refused to tell me what it was in regards to. In hindsight I shouldn't have been as worried as I was, but I didn't see the hint of a smile or the sparkle in her eye---I was genuinely thinking there was a serious problem and was wondering if I would be able to deal with that on the last day of camp.

So I showed up in the morning and walked straight into a trap---a surprise party. I almost cried more than once. The staff were/are AMAZING. All the sweat and tears and confusion that the summer brought somehow became a distant memory in that moment and all I could think of was how blessed I was to have been given the opportunity to step-up this summer.

*thank you so much you guys*

So that brings us to this week. After a busy yet fulfilling and FUN weekend away in Quesnel with some new peeps and a special guy I came back to work Monday morning and realized that I was far from finished with camp. Which is probably why I didn't cry on Friday afternoon after I bid my team goodbye. There are a lot of loose ends to tie up, but that conflicts with the fact that I have 2 weeks worth of lessons to plan seeing as how I start back to teaching on Tuesday and my room needs to be set up and ready to go by then. Sometimes it seems to be too much, but I know that everything will be okay. It will.

Just keep swimming. Just keep swimming. Just keep swimming swimming swimming...

*thanks Dory*

And you have all been very patient with me. I know you are waiting to hear about this guy and you will. So stay tuned. He is worth waiting for!

Happy last day of August/first day of September everyone! May you find peace at Walmart as you shop for school supplies and new fall clothes!

~C~

'Nuff Said

2010-08-20T11:21:00.000-07:00

I found myself in tears today over this video, my friends. I was in need of some inspiration, some motivation, some joy. And I found it.

I tried to put the movie here on this page but I am not able to right now, so please feel free to check this out on YouTube when you get a chance. It's brilliant,

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=scHfgnJqhCg&feature=search

Please have an amazing weekend and be sure to give and take LOTS of free hugs, kay?

Love you guys!

~C~

One

2010-08-18T00:05:00.001-07:00

It's been a year! A whole entire year. 12 months. 365 days.

Did I ever think this day would come? Truthfully, no. Not because I didn't feel capable of healing, but because I never imagined that the freedom that would accompany my decision to end my self-destructive behaviour would be so fulfilling.

I thought I would always struggle.

I thought I would always cringe when I passed by a mirror.

I thought I would never again enjoy the taste of rich food without feeling guilty.

I thought I would spend every day for the rest of my life throwing up.

Now, I am not saying that this year has been entirely easy. I am not saying that it hasn't been a struggle every now and then to keep a meal down. But I AM saying this...

I don't struggle every day.

I don't cringe when I pass by mirrors.

I do enjoy rich food and I do not feel guilty about it (well, most of the time---I'm still human!)

And I made it through the last 365 days without throwing up even once.

So there. I did it.

Not without the help of God and my family and my friends, of course!

When I woke up yesterday morning, this is what awaited me in my inbox...

So I am pretty sure tomorrow is a special day for you...ONE YEAR BABY! Look how far you have come. I am so PROUD of you and am overwhelmed with joy when I think about where you are now...Here is to another year (well forever)!!! It sucks to have to have gone through that but I am sure your blog and song will touch many people!

And this...

One more sleep. You've practically DONE IT, Girl!! Did you ever think this was possible?? :) So happy to have had the privilege of being part of this, ultimately, very solo journey with you. Thank you.

So, thank you so much you two. You're both amazing!!

Sometimes people ask me how I did it, people who may or may not be going through the same or a similar struggle...how to even answer that question? Do you remember the Point Five mark? I shared a story about my friend who put me in my bed and sat with me until the pain went away. It's been a LOT of those moments. Moments where I was alone and had to go for a run or organize a cupboard or start a puzzle or do anything to keep me busy; anything to keep me from allowing that feeling of self-loathing to set in. There were moments when I was with people who loved me, people I had made promises to that I would always be honest with them and so I had to be; had to take that deep breath and tell them that I was thinking of throwing up. And there were many, many, many moments of debate...moments where I literally had two choices, and I can honestly say that I made a LOT of good choices this past year. Because not one of them involved me forcing myself to throw up. And I am really, really proud of myself.

Do I still have moments of insecurity? Absolutely.

Do I still wish I was skinnier sometimes? Sadly, yes.

Am I still learning different coping and defence mechanisms? Yep. And always will, too. Because in life we automatically internalize hurt. We watch scary, sad movies, and whether we know it or not, we internalize those scenes. We are sometimes let down by family or friends, and we take that sadness and tuck it inside. We make mistakes and need to find ways to deal with that. And worst of all, we see people every day who we wish we could be more like...people who are richer, taller, thinner, prettier, more successful, braver, kinder, more generous, and so on and so forth. So what do you do with those things? How do you stop yourself from internalizing the pain that so often accompanies life? How do you let go?

This past year it has boiled down to one main thing for me; one significant and dominant coping mechanism:

It's called L.O.V.E. baby. I have learned how to choose love.

Love over hate.

Love over jealousy.

Love over shame.

Love over hurt.

Love. It's a beautiful thing.

If you're reading this, chances are you've walked this road with me. You've held my hand, and you've caught me when I was falling. You faithfully stayed in touch with me and asked me hard questions and have listened to long and painfully drawn out answers. You've loved me through my recovery, and I am so, so, so thankful. So much more than you will ever know.

So tonight I am going to toast to me...whether that seems self-indulgent or narcissistic or selfish, I don't mind. Because I think this is something to celebrate, my three hundred and sixty-fifth day of FREEDOM!

And since I am the Queen of Lyrics, and even though I already included this in my Point Five post, I still wanted to bring this song back to life. Consider what is being said here and maybe you, too, will choose to DEFY GRAVITY!

Something has changed within me
Something is not the same
I'm through with playing by the rules
Of someone else's game
Too late for second-guessing
Too late to go back to sleep
It's time to trust my instincts
Close my eyes and leap!

I'm through accepting limits
''cause someone says they're so
Some things I cannot change
But till I try, I'll never know!
Too long I've been afraid of
Losing love I guess I've lost
Well, if that's love
It comes at much too high a cost!
It's time to try
Defying gravity
I think I'll try
Defying gravity
And you can't pull me down!

It's SO good to be alive!

If there has ever been a time to say this, I want to say it now, loud and clear while I have your attention:

I love you. I really, truly love you. Yes, YOU. : )

~C~

Sophie and Public Restrooms

2010-08-16T16:57:00.000-07:00

Weird title for a post? Yeah, I think so, too. But it's because I have a lot of things on my mind and couldn't really choose between what I have to say about Sophie and what I have to say about Public Restrooms.

Do you ever forget why I started this blog in the first place? I do. Sometimes. It becomes so easy to write about this and that and all the happenings of my week, and for those of you who still follow, thank you. But this blog isn't really about this and that and all the happenings of my week. It's about my recovery from bulimia. There's that word again. The heart of the matter.

The elephant in the room, so to speak, in more people's lives than you can ever imagine. The silent screamer, the liar, the deceiver. The Eating Disorder.

This spring I had to work at the annual Diversity Health Fair to promote summer camps, and each year a dance company trains dancers to perform at the fair. I was taking a little walk-about checking out other booths and passed by the stage as a young girl, maybe 12 or 13, did a slow, graceful dance to a song that immediately caught my attention. It was a song called 'Sophie', a song that I tucked away into my memory in order to look it up on YouTube. I forgot about it of course until something reminded me of it, so I looked it up the other day. I want to share it with you...

Did you listen to the words? Did you get through the song? It's hard for me sometimes. I alternate between shutting down and ignoring what is being sung and relating to it all too well.

The part that kills me is when it talks about Sophie's sister crying because her father says she is dying. In my years of being bulimic I did think about people other than myself, but I do think a part of me closed off to the fact that I was hurting others. I could barely deal with the fact that I was hurting myself.

Yesterday I went to the aquarium and stopped to use the public restroom before entering the main viewing area. The stall I chose had vomit everywhere. At first I was repulsed. Then I was heartbroken. And I stayed that way for awhile. I had one of those freaky this-used-to-be-me moments. I could actually see myself there, bent over, dying inside. I didn't stay in that stall for long, but I stood there in the doorway long enough to say a prayer for that girl, for that girl who might have had a bout of morning sickness, or food poisoning, or heat exhaustion or any of those other things that make one nauseous, but I prayed especially for that girl who quite possibly stuck her fingers down her throat and felt that sweet relief mixed with confusion, anger and hurt come pouring out of her. How heartbreaking.

How that used to be me is so crazy. I don't feel in ANY way above it or beyond it but I feel far from it somehow...like it was so long ago that the horrible memories are slowly fading and those memories are being replaced by the outcomes of all the lessons that I have had to learn along the way. The lessons are far from finished being learned, being internalized, being accepted, and being put to use, but I am getting there. Every day is a step closer.

Wednesday is a special day. To those of you who have followed along thus far, stay tuned.

You'll get mixed up, of course, as you already know.

You'll get mixed up with many strange birds as you go.

So be sure when you step.

Step with care and great tact,

and remember that life's a great balancing act.

Just never forget to be dexterous and deft.

And never mix up your right foot with your left.

And will you succeed?

Yes!

You will, indeed!

(98 and ¾ percent guaranteed)

-Dr. Seuss

~C~

Fight the Good Fight

2010-08-05T22:42:00.000-07:00

Ever have one of those weeks that you actually feel will never end? You get to Thursday and all you can think is that it STILL isn't over. I'm having one of those weeks, friends. Not gonna lie. I knew from the start that my plate was full, that I served myself up more than I could handle, sure, but the knowledge that I am capable of surviving all this is not cutting it right now. I know it could be worse, that I could be in the midst of a week where I lost my job, crashed my car, got robbed, or any of the above, and none of those terrible things happened, but I feel so far removed from summer right now that I DO kinda feel robbed in a way. Gone (for now) are those long beautiful evenings of taking slow, peaceful walks, or the days of setting up camp somewhere warm and scenic and reading an entire book in 2 days flat---for fun. Because this week has been one obligation after the next.

Just to clarify, I am not talking about work-related things, and I am not referring to my new position. Of course it has been a steep and challenging climb this week as I have sought to regain lost footing and right some wrongs, but overall it has been a week of watching puzzle pieces that I never imagined would fit come together in such a way that I am finally seeing the bigger picture. This is thanks to an amazing staff team who are dedicated beyond the call of duty to making summer day camp a magical experience for the children in Abbotsford. Part of me is sad that there are only 3 remaining weeks before we pack up camp for another year, because we're in a good place right now. I am loving this.

Rather those obligations I have mentioned are in the form of school work. Blackberry messenger has a great emoticom of a "smiley" face bawling, and those of who communicate with me on bbm know first hand how often I have used that one this week. Because seriously, I do feel like bawling. 60% of my grade happens between now and Monday. Keep in mind the fact that I am working a nearly 50 hour week, hours that seem to blur into each other in such a way that it's usually 3 or 4pm by the time I remember a little thing called lunch. I come home hot and tired and sweaty and stare with dread at the mountains of homework that await me. It's not that I can't do it, it's just that I really, really don't want to do it. I'm like a little child who can't sit still these days, and all I want to do is run and skip and play. Well, usually. The concept of watching an entire movie from beginning to end is such a distant reality right now that I would rather not even imagine it. It would be like heaven.

Okay, so I know I am being a giant baby right now. I know that this is life and that we all have to do things we don't want to. I know that in 4 sleeps this exam will be over and done with, my term paper will be submitted, and there won't be anything I can do about it. I ask you this, though: How the hell do I get from here to there? How do I go about gaining enough momentum to study for more than an hour or two straight? At what point between then and now do those last 3 pages of my paper get written, and not only written, but written well?

(insert bawling emoticom here)

It doesn't help that I miss somebody pretty badly right now. I'm not quite ready to say who, but it's someone pretty freaking special. So maybe, just maybe, this girl is a bit too distracted and lost in a dream land to focus. That's all I'm sayin' for now. : )

I had a little freak-out moment tonight when I realized that what I thought was a completed essay was 3 pages short of finished. I just happened to be on the phone at that moment with someone who cares about me enough to make me hang up the phone, tie on my runners, and take some aggression out on the pavement. So I did. I tied on my runners and I started to run. And I ran and ran and ran, and every time I felt like quitting, I thought of that stupid bloody horrible essay and I ran some more. And it really, really worked people. By the time I ran back into my cul-de-sac I was smiling again. And you know, it may have been the wrong choice, but I decided to turn a blind eye to that paper tonight. Because what good is a half-assed essay anyways? So instead I kept a special person company until bedtime and then had a wonderful 1.5 hour conversation with my oldest best friend who I needed to connect with desperately.

4 more sleeps. Just 4 more sleeps.

You know, I had my staff fill out some peer feedback evaluations this week, and I got one turned in that was for me. It was a surprise because I wasn't expecting to receive one. Someone told me I was Superwoman. I think that person got a little confused between that and Batman though, because they wrote "nananananananana SUPERWOMAN!". I had a little chuckle about that one. But you know what my friends? As flattering as that was to hear, it's not really true. I'm not Superwoman and no one ever asked me to be. I am just an ordinary girl who needs to do some homework, who needs to get some sleep tonight. All this pressure is so unnecessary, no? And if I don't get an 'A' in Anthropology I am okay with that. Because that silly little letter is not worth all this bawling and stressing. It just isn't.

I can think of a hundred things that are more worth my time right now. One of them is closing these hazelly-green eyes of mine and getting enough sleep to wake up in the morning and fight the good fight once again.

Finish this week strong, friends. Finish strong.

~C~

What. Ay. Day.

2010-07-29T17:23:00.000-07:00

Actually, it's more than just TOday. It's more like the past 48 hours that qualify for a record-breaking pandemonium. I have experienced the highest of highs and the lowest of lows in such a short period of time that I am wondering if maybe I should be heading away for a personal retreat this weekend. Ah, if only I wasn't an entire THREE weeks behind on my homework, I probably could have ducked out for a few days. No can do, though.

Starting with yesterday: I had known for about 6 days that I was going to the Celebration of Lights to see Mexico. That wasn't even an option for me. I am all about traditions and free community events, so naturally I would be out there with bells on. I was all geared up for an evening spent on the beach watching jugglers and fire throwers and drunkards, and I had accepted the fact that I was gonna get squished and pushed around and dirty and feel all claustrophobic, and I was excited. Really excited. We stopped for a quick bite to eat at Subway before hitting the backroads to the bridge, and after we were on the other side of the Fraser River I just felt this surge of energy go through me, the kind that indicates something amazing is about to happen. I can't exactly remember when or how I was told, but one moment I thought we were going to Kits Beach and the next moment I had found out that the 4 of us were actually going on a yacht to watch the fireworks from English Bay. Not the beach. The ocean. On a 40 foot yacht. Did I mention that I was excited for the crummy beach? THIS was absolutely mind-blowing news. It was a surprise from 2 of our friends. I almost cried. We arrived at the Linnwood Marina and saw this:

There we were, one of my favourite girls and I, dangling our legs off the side of this beautiful boat, beer in hand, perma-smiles on our faces, floating past Canada Place and the Harbour Centre Tower and Stanley Park and under the Lions Gate Bridge as the sun gently set behind those mountains of ours...it was magic. Magic, I tell you.

And the actual fireworks? There are no words. I was deliriously content and happy and could have stayed right there in that moment forever and ever and ever. It was beautiful. I was freezing and I had to pee really, really badly, but I was happy.

Not to put a damper on this blissful post, but some things happened today that swung that pendulum so far in the other direction that my head was spinning. Let's start off with an early morning phone call from my supervisor...She was wondering what time my kids were going to be settled and eating lunch. Weird. I told her 12pm. She asked if she could pop in during that time to have a word with my coworker and I. Even more weird. I asked her what it was in regards to, whether or not he and I were in trouble, and she said she wanted to discuss our futures for the remainder of summer camp with us. Interesting. So with that lurking in the corners of our minds, we packed up our smiley group of kiddies and headed to the park for a morning of fun. We were there all of 30 minutes when we heard a crashing sound, followed by screaming. Needless to say, someone was hurt, and it wasn't pretty. Thankfully all is well and we have a tough group this week, but it was still enough to send that adrenaline coursing through my veins at lightening speed.

Got back to our home base, had a little lunch, got some big news...I have been asked to step up permanently into the position of Sr. Coordinator. Which I accepted gladly, of course. It was just so many emotions and so many things taking place all at once. I was overwhelmed yet unexplainably calm through it all. It just feels right. It feels like this is how it's supposed to be. You know what I'm sayin'?

This is life. This is how it goes. It's exciting and it's nerve wracking and it's adventurous and scary and dangerous and it's so, so, so wonderful.

It was quite the day...ahem, quite the 48 hours, I should say, and I wouldn't change a minute of it.

I was reminded today of a quote by Mary Oliver. It's a good one. It's got me thinking, that's for sure...

What is it that you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?

~C~

Teamwork

2010-07-27T17:19:00.000-07:00

Did you know that half the summer is nearly over? That's just crazy. I sent out a dinner invitation to the summer camp staff last night for next Tuesday so we could celebrate completing exactly half the weeks of camp. Half. How and when did that happen? I feel like in so many ways we are just getting our bearings and figuring this whole thing out, so it definitely feels like summer has only just begun.

In my experience this summer, camp has started out fairly smoothly on Monday mornings. Yes, there is the hectic running around, setting up, and signing in factor, but I always look forward to welcoming that new batch of local kids who have no idea how much fun they are about to have. I enjoy taking the hands of little ones as they tearfully and bravely wave bye to Mom. There is the confusion that washes over me as we sit in our circle and play that first round of the Name Game and I seriously wonder how I will ever keep the names straight (or even learn how to pronounce some of them for that matter!). I love how as the day passes we start to figure out who these kids really are, where they come from, what they need, and how to make them smile. And as the week goes on, I love being able to look around at all those kids briefly and know exactly which kid is still in the bathroom.

Yesterday morning was a tough one and I don't really know why. I spent the weekend camping out of town, and as relaxing as it was, I still think I could have used an additional day off. Even though I don't feel like I have the flu, I spent Sunday evening pretty sick and was up most of the night. That didn't contribute well to my morning, I guess. When I got to AEP my coworker was kind of tired and cranky, and my strong front started to crumble as I realized that if he was allowed to be tired then so was I. Things kinda fell apart from that point on. We didn't have class lists or sign-in sheets printed, we couldn't find our supplies even though I clearly asked for them to be labelled, another staff member gave us some serious attitude, we were running pretty late and we were still trying to gather things on the other side of town, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. It wasn't pretty. So I made a phone call to one of the supervisors in the city, and let's just say that although my intentions were to avoid confrontation, I basically vented my little heart out to her and almost cried and said things I might not have said had I gotten a little more sleep the night before. At first I felt much better, but then she said something about having people sit down to work through things, and I realized I maybe shouldn't have placed that call. Because I hate those meetings. I have been in them many-a-time before. I know that it is good to communicate and have mediation and resolve, but I don't want to. Simple as that. I don't want to sit in a meeting and have to tell people how they are letting me down. Would you?

In the past few years, and especially this past year and half working for the City, I have learned to hold the value of teamwork very highly. It's impossible to accomplish anything without it. I don't know where or when we went wrong yesterday, but at some point we stopped leaning on each other and were all running around trying to do things our way, on our own, and it just wasn't working. As soon as we pulled together and realized that we needed each other things slowly took a turn for the better. My first impression of this week filled me with dread and made me wish the week away, but now I am so thankful for the group of amazing little kids we have and for the dynamics of this particular camp and for the sunshine and for the lake and for my partner in crime. As a side note, the kids caught 16 fish at the lake today using homemade fishing poles, and my coworker also caught a huge turtle with his bare hands! It was brilliant. I smiled for 6 hours straight.

When I was talking to my supervisor yesterday about all the drama, she said to me, "Rachel, we can never change anybody or the way they affect us, but we can change the way we respond to the things that they do and we can learn how to respect and value them". I thought that was very sound advice. I am putting it into effect immediately.

So, even though summer is half over, I am gonna go with the whole "the glass is half full" thing. It suits, doesn't it? 4.5 more weeks of amazing sun and fun and laughter and days spent at the pool and waterpark and 7-11.

I'm walkin' on SUNSHINE!

~C~

Oh Where, Oh Where Has My Motivation Gone?

2010-07-22T22:10:00.000-07:00

Anthropology.

I went from loving it to hating it. Maybe I am being a little dramatic. And maybe I am just tired. And maybe distracted at the moment. By a few things. Good things.

Anyways, summer hit and I stopped studying. No matter how I examine and try to prove otherwise, that is the truth. I haven't even unzipped my binder in weeks. Except to find my favourite pen, that is.

And now the pressure is on. When you pay $427 (+ fees) per class, you are gonna do your freaking best to make it worthwhile, and especially when you got off to such a great start and you were making good grades. It's hard to not to feel like a failure. It's hard not to give up. It's hard to take the first step and reopen text books and force yourself back into that mind space. But I am going to do it. I have to do it. I owe it to myself and to the people who back me up and believe in me.

The problem is, when? I was just explaining the other day to a certain someone how I am being ridiculous with my time these days. I work 40+ hours per week at a job that is very hard to walk away from at the end of the day. I am overbooking. I am overcommitting. I am burning out. I am tired. Not the same kind of tired as before, the kind that consumed me and immobilized me. But the kind where I miss my house and I miss playing my instruments and I realize I haven't sat still for longer than 20 minutes at a time. Minus sleep-time, which has actually been gradually dissipating lately.

It's back to the drawing board for this girl. Back to that place where I sit down with a piece of paper and a pen and literally pick and choose life giving activities as opposed to activities that deplete me. It's back to blocking out time (preferably every day) for myself; time where I can sit in my window and watch the neighbourhood kids playing, time where I can make a decent meal and have the space to enjoy it.

And time to make time for my schoolwork. It's tough when it's sunny and warm and the lake is so close you can breathe it in, but sometimes you gotta do what ya gotta do. And I am going to muster up every bit of strength and read once again about the Sto:lo and about resource use and about the 4 year salmon run in the Fraser Valley Watershed. I am going to pass this course with flying colours because I deserve to.

I am going to rebalance. I am going to keep on figuring out this life thing.

Happy almost-weekend, my friends.

~C~

The Perfect Jar

2010-07-16T21:00:00.000-07:00

I think I am in serious debt. Remember the Perfect Jar? The one where I put 5 imaginary cents into an imaginary jar every time I use the word 'perfect'? Well, I'm pulling it out again. Because I think I am slowly but surely losing sight again. Sight of what is and what most certainly isn't important in life.

Like perfection. Point taken.

Anyways, this past week was an adventurous one for me. Not in the sense that I was rock climbing or travelling or anything like that, but in the sense that I felt like I was truly challenged in my job for the first time in a long time. Because let's be honest, this past year was pretty repetitive for me work-wise, and I needed a change.

I got more than that. When our Sr. Coordinator's father passed away last week they asked me to step up to the plate. I was really sad for Dan's family, but a spark of excitement went through me. It was as if this was my chance to shine. To get some things organized that have been driving me crazy. To build up and encourage some people. To have a break from children. To feel a little more grown up.

To. Step. Out. Of. My. Comfort. Zone.

And step out I did. Actually, I was thrown out. Head first. And it was thrilling.

My phone rang off the hook all week. The to-do list kept growing longer by the hour. Month-old messages needed to be returned. Supplies needed to be ordered, purchased and organized. Staff needed to be spoken to (gently). Meetings needed to take place to further set the summer in motion. Storage rooms needed to be sorted through and emptied. Coffee needed to be drank. Bonding needed to happen. Badly. Kids needed to be played with, watched over, entertained, loved.

I can honestly say that thanks to a team effort, every single one of those things not only happened but thrived and were completed successfully.

You can imagine where I am going with this...

The Perfect Jar.

I owe a LOT of money right now.

There is an internal pendulum within my personality that teeters between Type A and Type C. Can't make up it's mind. It gets me in trouble. I like Type-C Christina. She is mellow. She is calm and content. She is flexible. She is generally a heck of a lot more relaxed than Type A girl. Type A girl showed up countless times along the way of the Battle With Bulimia. She is a lot more demanding. She is ruthless. She is a 'Get'r Done" kinda girl. She doesn't let me forget my mistakes. She wants me to be perfect.

*clink*

There goes another hard-earned nickel into the Perfect Jar.

Type A girl came to visit me today. She stayed back almost all week, allowing me to complete seemingly monumental tasks along the way. But today...today I felt the pressure. The pressure of wrapping up this week with confidence and closure and security and the joy of knowing the effort was well worth it. I felt immobilized. Helpless. Weak. And you know what? There is no room for her in my life anymore. She is not me. She was once a part of me, and I have her to thank for my organizational skills and desire to be tidy. But I'm done with the bossing around.

Please don't think I have schizophrenia. I may seem a bit split personality at the moment, but this is just me taking all things internal and making them public. And I am starting to feel better.

I am going to start working off my debt right now. I am going to relax this weekend. I am going to put my homework aside and choose to have some fun. I am going to be 26 years old and I am going to swim in the lake. I am going to fly a kite. I am going to enjoy life. And I am not going to use the 'P Word'.

It's just not worth it.

Do you know what is worth it?

LIFE

Every single living breathing feeling flying moment of it.

Cheers to a bright and beautiful weekend.

~C~

There She Goes

2010-07-14T19:10:00.000-07:00

Before she leaves, I have something to say. Actually, I have a lot to say. So much that I am in desperate need of an outlet right now; a way to express myself, and even though I know writing won't do my feelings justice, it might help.

We met six years ago. The bond was instant. The love deeply rooted.

We were 20 and 21 when we met each other. We were at Camp Qwanoes. We were really broken. We were really in need of this sisterhood that we have shared for the past 6 years.

"Alisha and I have been having little dates at night since this is my week off from counseling, and we are getting really close. I really think God has put her in my life to be someone to be honest with. The things I have told her have been brutally honest, like about Jake and just the way I really feel about myself and about life. I don't feel like I CAN be fake with her, and it's been awesome..."

"Alisha had a crappy Christmas but I don't know the whole story yet. Unfortunately we had a bit of a fight but we are currently in the process of working through it. Please help her feel better and come home soon..."

"So Alisha and I both had quite a rocky weekend. We spent a lot of time together and we both broke up with our boyfriends in a sense. Neither officially, but we have both reached our breaking points. It's ironic, really, because normally we are both so balanced with each other. One is weaker and the other is stronger at just the right times so for us this is new. But empathy is good and we are growing closer every year..."

"I want to live with Alisha. It looks like she is getting a place with Abby, Elyssa, and Abby's brother. And by place I mean a big house. I would love that. But I'm too afraid to ask if I can come. Besides, I haven't even applied to school yet and I am definitely jumping the gun. I'm starting to consider her one of my best friends in the world, actually. I just got back from hanging out with her tonight, and as usual it was amazing. We've had some adventures, like going to Crash Crawleys and accidentely driving to Abbotsford and sitting in the middle of intersections and getting free cake at Montana's, but the best times have been sitting in the car and sitting at Starbucks. I can't get over how much that girl and I can talk. I don't think we've ever had a conversation that hasn't last at least 20 minutes, even when we are just calling to ask the simplest question. We can talk forever, and not only are we both over-analyzers, explainers and justifiers, we both love to dig and search each others hearts. So in a nutshell, our conversations are extremely meaningful. I can't begin to say how thankful I am to her...to have her..."

Alisha, I don't use people's names very often in my blog, but I had to this time. Because this is for YOU. You are my best friend. You are my family. You are my sister and my buddy and my shoulder to cry on.

I'm not going to say how terribly I am going to miss you or how hard it will be for me to be without you because I know this is only for a little while. I'm not going to say how hard it will be to listen to Jann Arden and Wilson Phillips and Sarah McLachlan, because those are our girls and I know that while I am listening to them here and thinking of you, you will be there listening to them and thinking of me.

Thanks for being my best friend. You're the greatest ever. We are ALL thinking of you, wishing you a safe trip and the sweetest, most awesome, crazy-good 2 years ever.

SEE YOU SOON MY GIRL

~C~

Slow. Down.

2010-07-12T22:43:00.000-07:00

Tonight's post is gonna be a simple one.

The summer staff gang hung out tonight and had gelato. It was really fun. On the way home I was going to drop off one of our girls, and something caught my eye.

It was THEE most beautiful, glorious sunset I have seen in a long time. I could see the actual sun setting behind us in the eastern sky, but what was most amazing was the west. The sky was bathed in the boldest pink and purple hues, and tucked away over to the right was a rainbow.

A rainbow.

Not a drop of rain in the sky. Scientifically I am going to assume that the humidity trapped in the clouds caused this, but it is not meant to be analyzed.

It's meant to be adored. Cherished. Appreciated.

We jumped out of the car, leaving it parked haphazardly somewhat near the curb and ran into someone's yard to get the best possible view of this amazing evening sky. Tried to capture it with my little Canon, but didn't do it justice. Doesn't matter. It's tucked away inside me.

And you know what else? Last night I saw a shooting star. For real.

Let's slow down this week. For lack of a better term, let's stop and smell the roses. Enjoy a sunset. Breathe deeply. Tell someone close to you about something beautiful you encountered throughout your day. Smile more.

Know. You. Are. Loved.

~C~

These Four Walls

2010-07-09T00:56:00.000-07:00

I've had this topic in mind for awhile, but I haven't had the time or energy to sit down and write about it. Not that this is the best time, mind you, a time when I should be fast asleep and not pounding down the keys on my laptop. But when inspiration calls, you listen!

This week I have the upmost privilege of working with some of the sweetest kids in Abbotsford at our annual day camps. There are 4 little girls who are just not as athletic as the other kids, so we have been hanging out on the sidelines enjoying the sun and each others company. In true elementary-school-age-fashion, we have been playing Truth or Dare. Classic. Don't worry though, I have been steering them clear of the "Have you ever kissed a boy?" questions. But today one of them said to me, "Rachel Rabbit..." (pause---that's the camp name I have been given)... "what are you afraid of?" I thought for a second, but I knew fairly quickly what the answer was.

I'm afraid of being trapped.

In a room, in a car, in a relationship, under water, on the ocean, on an island, in a marriage, in a dead-end job, in an emergency, in a box.

In. A. Box.

There is a Saved By the Bell episode that I watched the other night that freaked me out. It was the senior prom (of course it was), and Jessie and Slater got trapped in the boiler room while they were looking for a ladder and no one could hear them and no one came to look for them. They were just sitting there against a cold cement wall arguing with each other and growing more and more hopeless as time went on.

I hate imagining what that would feel like. I mean in real life. The panic that would set in, and the harsh reality you would have to face.

Sometimes I feel like this is a tangible fear of mine in the sense that one day I could very well get trapped in a physical situation that I can't get out of, like getting locked in an industrial refrigerator or something. But mostly, I think this fear is really based on something mental. Something unseen.

I think that all parents, teachers, aunts and uncles, and other people of influence in our lives sometimes try too hard to mould us into what they think we should be. From the time we are born, grown ups are thinking hard about our futures. Mostly they will lie and say that they don't care what you turn out to be, as long as you are happy. But actually, I think that every parent kind of wants their kid to be a little bit like themselves. A chip off the old block. And so they start to make decisions for us about who we can play with and what kind of activities we will do, and if they want us to be really smart they will force us to do extra homework or take summer school.

That in itself isn't exactly what scares me. Maybe I won't even be able to define it for you. But I will use one really good example of how a friend and I have been made to fit into two very different and very opposite boxes in life:

Taylor and I were talking about our summer plans the other day, and I told her that I really wanted to take a trip somewhere, like maybe Hawaii. I was expecting her to be excited about that, and maybe even say that she wanted to come, but she didn't. Instead she said that she thought it was a bad idea because she knows I don't have a lot of money right now. That was a totally legitimate reply, but it kind of bummed me out. We even had a little mini argument about it. Later that day, we made amends and talked out what had happened. She told me that her whole life she has been taught to work for what you want. In essences, Work Now, Play Later. That was really shocking to me, but it really helped me see Taylor's point of view. I explained to her next that I was brought up quite differently, in a world where there might not be a tomorrow so get everything out of life you can. Translation: There will always be work to do, so make sure you play hard.

Completely different upbringings. Completely different perspectives. No right or wrong answer.

When I moved to Abbotsford I was 19, and felt very young and nowhere NEAR ready for a serious relationship. Where I grew up nobody was in a serious relationship, actually. So it was a shock for me to move here and find that the girls my age were either married, "courting", or already knocked up. I couldn't believe it. I think it is kind of cultural here. So for the last 7 years I have felt really behind the times.

But although it took me awhile, I learned that this was yet another box in life. Only this was a box in which you had to get married and become a wife in order to be happy in life. Kind of like that box where you have to go to university the second you graduate and have a career at 22.

I don't fit into either of those boxes. Or maybe I don't fit into ANY box. I am 26 and single, in my very first year of university, still slightly unsure of what I want to do in life. And you know what, people? I am happy. I am surviving. I am gonna make it. Just because I am not married and don't have a career does not define my happiness.

I am not trapped. I am not trapped. And I am just now realizing this.

In my bathroom I have a message that I cut out of magazine letters and framed. It helps me every single day to realize I don't need to worry about being stuck in a box. That message means a lot to me. This is what it says:

why can't you see

freedom is sometimes

just simply

another perspective away

There will always be four walls threatening to close in on you if you let them. If you let those stereotypes and preconceived notions and guidelines and rules and traditions in life get the best of you. But the fact is, babies are not born with manuals and nobody, not even God, has ever came up with a formula on how to live your life.

Well, except that we are supposed to love each other. And as long as I am loving others I know I am doing my best.

~C~

Also known as...Rachel Rabbit

Measure In Love

2010-07-02T00:20:00.000-07:00

This is a tribute to Seasons of Love...

Twenty-six leaf-crunching, vest-wearing, chai latte-drinking Autumns.

Twenty-six holly, jolly Christmases.

Twenty-six hope-filled, flowers-blooming, wear-your-windbreaker Springs.

Twenty-six smokin' hot, beautiful, carefree Summers.

Nine thousand, four-hundred and ninety days of love, love, love.

Countless tears.

Bottomless laughter.

Infinite memories.

Gazillions of smiles.

Thousands of firsts.

Hundreds of lasts.

Never-ending hugs.

Ever-present love.

Two hundred and twenty-seven thousand, seven hundred and sixty hours of living.

Breathing.

Seeing.

Hearing.

Feeling.

Loving.

Being.

I’m choosing to measure in love. Not in years, not in wrinkles (except the smiley ones), not in aches...nothing but love.

I’m twenty-six years old today and I’m gonna celebrate.

~C~

To Love the Unlovable

2010-06-30T23:52:00.000-07:00

An extraordinary thing happening today. Something that completely caught me off-guard. Something that I could not have been prepared for even if I had been warned extensively. And yet something that gave me great inner peace.

Allow me to start from the beginning...

Recently I have taken a liking to the cob salad at Safeway. It's just so yummy. About an hour before I was due at ARC for our final night of staff training, I decided I could go for a cob salad for dinner because I didn't have time to go home first. So I went to Safeway, got my salad, and decided it was too crowded in the little cafe there to stay. So I went to my car. I pushed back the seat, pulled out a good book, and was just starting to enjoy my salad when...I noticed two men in my rearview mirror signalling to me. I think one even tapped on my back window. That is when I heard it.

The unmistakeable sound of someone in trouble. A woman in trouble. Big trouble. I dashed out of my car and followed the cowardly pointing of the two men who had beckoned me from my dinner...I saw a girl, no older than 20, walking towards us in hysterics.

Soaking wet.

Buck naked.

No joke.

My first thought as I made a mad dash toward her and my novel fell to the ground was that she had been raped. She was inconsolable. Fell into my arms and cried like a newborn baby. And between the sobs I began to make out some sentences...

"...wasn't my fault..."

"...she's gonna kill me..."

"...had sex with him..."

"...nobody loves me..."

"...I'm gonna die..."

"...I want to die..."

This was all taking place as she clung to me, and as one unit we slowly made our way to my car. I opened the trunk, found an old blanket and covered her up as I finally made eye contact with another witness and asked him to call 911.

I don't think she knew she was naked. Or soaked.

That girl finally allowed me to pry her off for just a second so I could get a look at her face. I wanted to look into her eyes. I wanted to know who she was. She looked at me, too, and for just a second, the crying ceased. There was a moment of peace that passed through her. I saw it. I saw it with my own eyes.

That moment was interrupted by a figure approaching us. It was a woman. A woman who scared Crying Girl big time. A woman I would have avoided had I crossed paths with her in any other situation. And yet here she was, boldly approaching, clearly angry.

I thought for sure this was it; we were both gonna be beaten.

Instead she just started yelling at the girl, at which point I learned the girl's name. And the girl, in turn, started that sobbing, choking, newborn crying again. It was a hard call for me: get involved and stick up for this girl, or protect her silently, with my body, and stay out of it. I guess I did a bit of both. Enough to find out that Scary Lady was Crying Girl's off-duty caretaker. Caretaker for what, exactly, I have no idea. In any case, they knew that Crying Girl was out there buck naked and soaked, although Scary Lady didn't exactly know why. And she wasn't being very rational or nice or calm either. She kept threatening her, saying if she didn't quit it she would end up back in the hospital. The hardest part for me was that she kept trying to take the girl away from me, but the girl was determined not to let me go. I didn't mind that; I wasn't planning on letting her go either.

So where, you might ask, are the police? It's now been somewhere between 15 minutes and 10, 000 hours, and we are still here, just the three of us, save for awkward passerby's who never once offered help or even eye contact. I began to feel very alone.

Scary Lady made one last attempt to get Crying Girl off of me: She threatened to call the police. I had to tell her, as much as I didn't want to, that the police had, in fact, been called and were hopefully (had better be!) on their way. Interestingly enough, this was all it took to see Scary Lady take off for the wilderness. Apparently she didn't want to have anything to do with the cops and was only using them as a threat.

It was just the two of us. Once again.

Out of the complete and utter blue came the moment that perhaps confused me the most. Crying Girl asked if she could kiss me. Kiss me. I said she could kiss me on the hand, which she did. Only a few moments later she decided that wasn't good enough and kissed me on the cheek. Before I had the chance to ask her why she had done that, she said, between tears, "God told me to kiss you. He wanted me to do that."

Okaaaaaayyy...

Just as I was starting to feel really, really angry at the police station or the 911 people or whoever was supposed to be showing up, this really big (and altogether quite gorgeous) cop appeared. I felt really guilty for feeling so attracted to him given the current situation, that a very unstable, naked girl was practically sitting on my lap in the trunk of my car. But what can you do? Anyways, turns out they knew each other. Not in a good way. I know all of zero details. But the girl did get up to "hug" him, dropping the blanket and further worsening the situation.

Incredulously, the officer just shook my hand, thanked me, and told me to go. No report or anything. The girl clung for just a final second, told me she loves me (?) and that was that.

I didn't want to go to staff training in the first place, and I especially didn't want to go after that. I wanted to talk to someone. I wanted to debrief. I wished so much that someone else had been present to witness that. But none of those things happened, really. So I zoned in and out all evening long, sometimes actively participating in conversations and sometimes just finding myself back in that place of confusion and shock. It happened so fast and yet it changed me, somehow.

Now that a few hours have gone by, some things have come up in my mind...

One thing I purposely neglected to mention earlier was that one lady did actually stop and talk to us. I'd say she was in her 60's, just innocently heading to Safeway to buy some groceries. Crying Girl scared her, I think, or in any case startled her. She asked the lady, not quietly I might add, to pray for her. She wanted someone to pray for her. She asked the lady if she was a Christian and the lady said yes. So Crying Girl said, "Good, then can you please pray for me now?" It was most definitely the only clear, concise, intelligible sentence I heard her say the whole time. The only one. I am sorry to tell you that the lady said no, clutched her purse even tighter and hurried off, leaving me with an even sadder Crying Girl. So I prayed for her, but I think in her mind it was too late. In her mind that lady had kind of stolen something from her, some hidden hope I guess. It was the only time I felt helpless throughout this whole fiasco.

I wish the Christian lady had just prayed for her. I think it's what Jesus would have done. I am not saying she didn't have her reasons to be scared and want to leave quickly, but it still makes me really sad. That's just my opinion.

If you go back to the top of this post, I said something that might not make sense to you, now that you have read through the story that took place in the Safeway parking lot. I said that what happened today gave me great inner peace. That's true. It did.

When I was in Africa holding those sick babies as they grew even sicker, people would email me and ask me how I did it, how I held up under such circumstances. I think sometimes people hear my soft baby voice or see me crying or something and just assume that I am hypersensitive or weak. I'll never claim to be one of great strength, but I do have to say that I personally feel my best quality is thick skin and a soft heart. It has served me well my whole life. It takes a lot to take me down when it comes to the real stuff in life, and yet I do feel empathetic enough to want to reach out.

It's what has led me to where I am today, fascinated with sociology and social work and psychology. I am desperate to learn more about the human condition and to learn more about how we all fit into this world. I know that I won't ever be able to wrap my mind around it. What happened today only drives this longing deeper, this passion to want to be a part of these things that happen. What happened today has left me with endless unanswered questions about Crying Girl.

A big question I have is this: How in the world did Naked Crying Girl get from Point A to Point B without someone stopping to help her? There aren't exactly a lot of houses around that area. She had to have crossed a busy street. She had to have passed by someone. And yet she made it all the way to the middle of the parking lot. How many people in Abbotsford tonight saw her and have told the story to their friends and families about the crazy girl they saw? But why did no one help her? Why?

I want to know why. I want to learn about this. I want to learn about this thing called life.

And also, I want to do this. I want to hold soaking wet people. I want to spend the rest of my life loving the unloveable.

The strangest thing about this is that never once did I feel fearful. I only felt at peace, like this is who I am supposed to be. And I swear, if there was a camera trained on me during that time, you would have seen a faint smile on my lips. Because I felt this deep joy. I felt like I was exactly where I was supposed to be at exactly the right time.

Crying Girl, you've taught me so much. Sleep well tonight, dear girl. Don't catch cold.

~C~

PS When I arranged the song for this post, I really wanted to play you Unloved by Jann Arden, but it was unavailable. Instead I chose Hold On...it pretty much speaks for itself.

PPS I guess I lied. I told you that you wouldn't hear from me till I was 26, but when you gotta write, you gotta write. Thanks so much for listening.

PPPS There is a part of me that feels I somehow crossed some unseen line by sharing this so openly. If you know Crying Girl, or think you might, then please respect her. This blog is only meant to shed light on the human condition...

Smile

2010-06-29T23:02:00.000-07:00

I don't want to be one of those people who resorts to discussing the weather on a regular basis. The weather is a space filler; something to talk about when things are awkward or crappy or boring. And I don't want to be someone who blames bad things on the weather, either. But to be really honest, I am sad it's not very sunny. I put away the winter blanket last week. Tonight I pulled it out again. I am sad that it is supposed to pour on my birthday.

A very good friend of mine emailed me tonight about some things that are going on in her life. She was blatantly honest and candid and real. Real as real can get. I love her for that. I hope she will forgive me for saying this in a public forum, but one thing she said really stuck out to me---something about being glad that she doesn't have to wear summer clothes right now. I totally get that. It's not nice out enough to wear short shorts and tank tops. So, so, so much easier it is to hide in hoodies and zippies and long jeans. I'm desperate for a steady stream of sunshine and warmth, but I'm no more excited than she is to be out there in summer clothes. It's something we both need to work on. Confidence. Acceptance. Comfort. I don't think I am ready for that, yet. I wish I was.

Anyways, when I sat down to write tonight it was to tell you that I am working on a special birthday post. I wasn't gonna attempt to impart wisdom or anything like that right now, because it is late and I'm tired.

What I was planning on doing was posting a little video I found a few years ago. For all I know it has circulated around YouTube a million times and you have already seen it. I know some of you have, at least. I wanted to post it because I know that my friend and I are not the only ones feeling a bit gloomy about the weather and what it is or isn't doing. I wanted to post it because I really wanted to smile before I went to sleep tonight. And if you watch it you might smile, too.

Next time you hear from me I will no longer be 25. As much as I am excited about my birthday, I am a bit sad, too. 25 was fun, but as Monica Geller says, "[We] don't get older. [We] only get better". Amen to that!

Cheers, guys.

~C~

To Eden, With Love

2010-06-27T14:04:00.000-07:00

I shouldn't, I suppose, be so surprised that something actually grew in that garden of mine. I guess the torrential rains and then the blasting sun took away some of my hope that strawberries and peppers and cilantro and other such delicacies would come to fruition.

But low and behold, today I marched out into the garden to water it with an old garbage pail (still gotta buy a watering can!) and nearly fell over when I saw this:

Oh the simple joys in life. I'm happy. Really, really happy. With the help of H2O and some beautiful sunshine I actually grew something for the first time in my life. And it's awesome.

So I ran into the house to get Eden the Bunny. She is really, really happy, too.

Enjoy your strawberry, my little one.

~C~

Kick in the Pantz

2010-06-24T21:58:00.000-07:00

The timing of the 'selfish' post could not have been more ironic. Just when I go ahead and announce to the world that I am not good at sharing, all of a sudden it is "teacher appreciation week" at ARC.

I went through a really long phase after high school that lasted until a year or two ago in which I was really bad at receiving gifts. Well, not even just gifts. I was too insecure to accept compliments, offers of help in times of need, presents, encouragement, you name it. I must have babysat for like a thousand families for free because I didn't know how to answer the question parents like to ask that goes, "how much do you charge?". I would always just wave my hands frantically in the air in front of me and insist that this was a favour and no money was expected. My friends would always tell me that this was something I needed to work on, but I didn't know how. I remember one Christmas my best friend was trying to give me a really sweet, meaningful gift, and I hid. Literally. Like, went into a bedroom and hid. Looking back now I can't even remember what I was so afraid of. But perhaps it has something to do with not placing enough value in myself. I didn't think I was worth anything. I thought it was a waste of time for people, even loved ones, to invest anything in this broken girl.

The irony is that one of my prominent love languages is receiving. Interesting, hey?

There is definitely no defined period in my life where this aversion to receiving ended. I can't remember waking up one day and deciding that from now I would cheerfully let people help me and give me things. And actually, to be honest I am still too freaking stubborn sometimes to let people help. But somewhere along the way, somewhere between learning to love myself and learning to love others, I also learned a valuable lesson: people are insulted when you refuse their offers of tangible love. Another huge love language in this world is giving. It is a currency of love. That's huge.

When I hid from my best friend and her Christmas present, I imagine her feelings were quite hurt. I know I feel hurt when someone who I know needs help won't let me in.

It's become increasingly easier to receive these past few years, mainly because in some ways I haven't had a choice. When I decided that the last time I threw up on purpose would BE the last time I threw up on purpose, there was no possible way I could move forward without tons of help. That help came in the form of late night phone calls, accountability, prayer, flowers, support. Imagine if I had refused that...there is no way I could be where I am today if not for that outpouring of love.

So yes, this week seems to be the week when we cash in for every toddler-induced migraine, every pair of pants that were ruined by food colouring, every time we answered the same question 500 times, every 'accident' we cleaned up, every trip to the storage room, every bandaid we applied to unseen owies, and every ounce of patience that was mustered these past 10 months. Parents have seriously gone overboard with the gifts this time (and we thought Christmas was bad). There is one parent in particular who doubles as a faithful blog-follower and deserves an extra huge thank you for her gift to me. Seriously lady, I can't thank you enough.

So while I am pouring my heart out to you guys about how I am selfish, irony kicks me in the pantz and shows me what giving looks like. So thank you, lesson. Dually noted.

Wish me luck tomorrow at the year-end bbq. Nearly 100 people will be in attendance, 55 of them my kiddies who I so often portray as little rugrats, but who, in complete and utter truth, hold my heart in each of their tiny little paint-smeared hands. It's been totally and completely worth it. All of it.

It's time to say goodbye to all our friends....

It's time to say goodbye with a smile and a wave

It's time to say goodbye to all our friends.

~C~

On Sharing...

2010-06-22T07:56:00.001-07:00

Today when Todd the Telus Guy came to my house, I awkwardly blurted out to him that I am really selfish. It was a statement, and hardly an answer to a question. All he had said was, ‘Do you live alone?’. I don’t know what came over me; it was all I could think to say, though. I think Todd the Telus Guy felt a little awkward after that.

Do you ever feel like some people look at you and create this perception that doesn’t quite sit well? I don’t know if it’s because I am so hard on myself or what, but contrary to what others say about me, I really am quite selfish. I am not a good share-er. Maybe I should ask my mom when she gets home from Germany if I was good at sharing as a child. My brother and sisters are not close to my age, so I certainly didn’t have to share my dolls or anything.

I think that in theory we all want to be generous and strive to put others first. At least, I hope we do. But you have to admit that there are those moments when you hold two chocolate chip cookies in your hands and decide to give the smaller one away. Or when you hide your favorite tea when your friends come to visit. I get like that sometimes. A lot, actually. It’s hard to be sacrificial, isn’t it?

But then I think of my Lama. She is thee most generous person on earth, who would literally lay down her life for her friends. She gives away her possessions and money and time and groceries. She goes completely out of her way to help anyone in need. It is quite inspirational.

Not to mention...convicting.

This culture, this suburbia, this inner-focused world we live in teaches us the opposite, I think. Everything is about comfort, security, satisfaction, gratification. How many of us can honestly say lately that we have gone without? We are blessed and we are cared for. We work hard to get there, too. I can honestly say that every sip of coffee is “well earned”. Whatever that means.

At work we have Secret Pals. It’s something I have been taking along with me to every job I have worked at these past few years. The concept it basic. Draw name. Read profile. Watch for signs of needed encouragement. Purchase/create something special. Surprise pal. Completely and utterly enjoy seeing pal’s spirits lift. Kapiche.

Sometimes it is the only nice thing I do for someone else in a given week. Otherwise I just look forward to the end of the day when I can get home and be alone. And I just don’t know if that’s normal. It feels normal. But it also makes me seriously question whether or not I am cut out to ever be in a serious relationship. Maybe not. I just can’t imagine having to share everything when all I want to do is keep it close and to myself. And I am not just talking about worldly goods. I am talking time, energy, remote control, the works.

It’s something to think about.

My parents are coming back to Canada this week and next, thankfully. I really missed them and have admittedly shed a tear or two. It’ll be good to see Lama and Mom in their philanthropist armor loving people and sharing with them. I have a thing or two to learn.

~C~

PS As you can imagine, Todd the Telus Guy came to fix the internet. This is my very first post to you in my new house. : )

Finish Strong

2010-06-21T09:03:00.000-07:00

It’s Monday morning. Just another manic Monday. Only it isn’t just another manic Monday this time. Because this week is different. After this week is over, my life, my routine, my schedule, is going to change drastically.

I have 5 preschool classes, 1 baby playtime, 1 Safari Zone shift, 2 mornings in child minding, and viola, contract 4 with the City of Abbotsford officially expires.

Of course, I have already signed contract 5. But that’s besides the point.

For now, I want to focus on finishing strong. The last few weeks my work performance has been pretty sketchy. I’d say 60% of the time I am flying below the radar. Ever since we got home from California I have been feeling blue and it is reflecting in my work ethic which was once upon a time pretty good.

Some of my coworkers deserve both an apology and a giant thank you. One of them told me last week that whenever they notice me slipping away they round up the cutest baby in the preschool wing and place it in my arms as soon as possible. It seems to me that the CoA has some pretty amazing people working for them. The other preschool teacher has probably been affected the most by my dissipating enthusiasm. Thankfully she is one of the strongest people I know and has encouraged me to stand in the wings and take care of all our administration and parent-related issues. This has served us both well. Of course, when I am with the kids I am reminded of why I love them. Nothing beats those sticky little hands reaching for yours. I will genuinely miss this bunch of kids.

This week, though, is going to be different. I think the Welbutrin is having a placebo effect on me. It’s too soon to have fully kicked in, but I think the simple fact that I made a good decision has been helping me feel better. And I want to prove that this week. I want to smile more and I want to do my best. I want to write notes to the amazing staff at ARC and AEP. I want to reach out to each of my 55 students and hug them goodbye. I want to say thank you to those parents that kept us fueled this year, bringing chocolate or some other little treat on the days we thought we would lose our minds. It’s been a great year overall.

It might seem to you like I am acting as if the world is coming to an end. Obviously it isn’t. I just want to realize and recognize all the good that has taken place this year. But I am looking forward to the summer. I really, really am. Back in February I was hired as a coordinator for specialty camps and worked hard planning out the 8 weeks of summer. It’s so hard to believe that those weeks are right around the corner now. I think I am ready for it, though. The hours will be longer than I am used to, yes, but to work with kids who are a little bit older and don’t need nose-wiping assistance will be pretty awesome. I get to go on a field trip every single day! It’s gonna be sweet.

So here I am, ready to step out into a week of many lasts. I am ready for it. Can’t promise that I won’t cry about it, but I am ready.

~C~

I'll Sing It With You

2010-06-17T08:24:00.001-07:00

I love it when life orchestrates itself in such a way that there is nothing distracting you from the harmonies and melodies that sweep through and around you. No matter how loud and chaotic your life may be, there are those special times when you feel like you are inside this bubble; this place where nothing can touch you or harm you. And that, my friends, is where I am at tonight as I peacefully type away, my sister-friend gently dreaming beside me.

She is visiting from Edmonton. They say having house guests is exhausting, that it is a strain on your resources and bills and time. But actually, having her here is like scooping up the freshest, coldest, most delicious drink of water from a clean and quiet stream on the hottest day of summer. She is pouring into me, loving me, building me up. And I am so thankful. Last night she cut my hair (trust me, if she lived in BC her clientele would be all of you guys, because I can’t say enough about her gift of making people look and feel like movie stars). So there we were in the kitchen, me in a hard wooden chair, and her behind me, loving me with her gift. Since the moment she arrived, there was this hovering little conversation that so badly needed to be had and yet so clearly needed to be brought up at the right time. The topic was anti-depressants. She reads the blog, but was in Washington at the time that particular post went out, so while she knew something was up that I wasn’t saying, she didn’t know what it was. So I took a deep breath and told her everything, right there in that kitchen chair as she snipped and measured and snipped some more. Needless to say, the news didn’t come as a shock, and she took it for what it was: her best friend needed help and was getting it. She was supportive and empathetic and encouraging. She knew that I needed to be looked right in the eyes and told everything is going to be okay. I love her for that.

So there I was, back at the good old doctors office (albeit 15 minutes late), my heart pounding once again, my friend waiting patiently for me. I had called ahead to find out if there was something special that I needed to do or bring in order to get a prescription for this filled, but the receptionist said no. I’m not a huge fan of my doctor’s bedside manner, which is fairly business-like and sometimes abrasive, so I was prepared to break her down a bit today and try to get her to see eye-to-eye with me. Surprisingly, it didn’t take much. My ‘all-business, all-the-time’ doctor actually sat down across from me and displayed what seemed to be genuine empathy and concern. I filled out a questionnaire and scored myself a ‘mild’ on the depression scale. That didn’t shock me; I don’t feel depressed...I feel tired and unmotivated. I thought after scoring mild that she would tell me no, that she wouldn’t prescribe me anything. But she didn’t say that. Instead, she ordered yet another round of blood work (um, I seem to remember having a full blood count done like 2 months ago, but what can you do?) and she gave me a 1 week sample of Welbutrin, the baby of all anti-depressants. Now, I am fully aware that 1 week isn’t nearly enough time to find out if this is going to be good for me or not, but she said it was just to test the side effects. If I don’t have any, she will give me a real prescription, but if the side effects are bad, she has other mild options. Simple as that. I have another appointment for the same day, same time next week.

Tonight my sister-friend and I were watching Corrina, Corrina, and I completely teared up at the end when Molly and her Grandma are sitting outside on the steps together. Grandma is grief-stricken after losing her husband, and Molly is gently encouraging her to sing This Little Light of Mine. Grandma just doesn’t have it in her, so Molly puts her little arms around her and says, “Come on. I’ll sing it with you.”

You have all, in some way or another, sang it with me. If life is a song, you are my melody. You are my harmony. You are my percussion. You are my song.

You’ve all listened faithfully to my story, and I am so thankful for that.

I am writing this late at night, my girl sleeping beside me, my eyes drowsy. I know that in a few short hours I will be taking that first pill to my lips. I will be hearing the sounds of you singing beside me. It’s a baby step, but it’s a step.

~C~

50!

2010-06-11T13:48:00.000-07:00

Today’s post is special. It’s the 50th. That’s a lot.

To celebrate, I changed up the template a bit, which is clear as day. I just felt like I needed a change. I thought maybe you did, too. I was going for something bright and summer-y, but when I saw this delightfully pink one, I just saw myself in it. We can always use more pink. That’s my opinion at least. : )

I thought maybe I would use this post to give you a bit of an update on things in my life. Things I might not have mentioned or things that those of you who don’t see me regularly might be curious about. Sorry if that sounds narcissistic.

First and foremost, it has been 299 days since the last time I forced myself to throw up. Two hundred and ninety nine. That is something to celebrate. This year has been so, so, so hard. Probably gonna be a record, actually. But, my friends, it has been so worth it. All those emotions that were buried and masked and convoluted and ignored and twisted have been totally and utterly exposed. How unbelievably painful this journey has been. But at the same time, how incredible to embrace my freedom from bulimia. Only 66 days left until my one year anniversary! Yahoo!

Things with my family have been interesting these past weeks and months. My relationship with my brother continues to grow stronger for sure, which is really nice. My older sister and I are working through some stuff right now which hasn’t been easy. I am hoping we’ll come out closer in the end. My mom, step-dad, grandma, and honorary grandpa are all in Germany this month, so I feel slightly orphaned. It’s so weird how we take our families for granted. So many times these past few weeks I have picked up my phone to call home only to realize no one is there. I am happy for them all, though, because Germany is home to my family and as we all know, there’s no place like home.

The new house is coming along. Sometimes I still look around and wonder if it’s really mine. It’s all my stuff; it’s my furniture and clothes and lotions and shoes and paint and pictures and life...but at the same time, that ‘new house smell’ still lingers. I still walk through the door and wonder for a second where to put my purse. I still look for things that I can’t even remember unpacking. On another note, the nights have been pretty calm. Thankfully I can bolt my front door shut and need a key to open it, so that’s a lot to go through should I decide in the middle of the night to leave the house. I can remember a few sleepwalking incidents since I moved in, but lots of night lights are helping. I am excited for summer in Sidoni Place. I plan to enjoy it. Thoroughly.

Work has been good these days. I have 10 teaching days left. Holy cow. It’s been a long year, but I will genuinely be sad to say goodbye to some of these kids. My “work friends” have been a wonderful support system for me lately. I have been struggling a lot as you know, but these girls who see me every single day give me a reason to smile and keep my chin up. (Thanks for the inside jokes, dance parties, and storage room heart-to-hearts. You know who you are.)

Eden is being a good little bunny---most of the time. In addition to her diet of alfalfa hay, veggies, and bunny food, she is quite fond of the following delicacies: Rice Krispies, popcorn, orange juice, Premium Plus crackers (salted), bananas, watermelon, and as I have recently discovered, Corn Pops. Can you tell I drop a lot of food? One night I was watching a movie, and Eden jumped into the popcorn bowl. Needless to say, she got to keep that batch. She has been out in the garden with me but so far nothing that we planted has grown out enough for me to feed it to her. When she first came to live here, I would practically have to force her to spend time with me, but now I can’t get rid of her! If I am in the bathroom, she is in the bathroom. If I am cooking, there she is, just waiting for me to drop something. I feel like I signed up to get a bunny and somehow ended up with a two pound puppy. Have I mentioned yet that she licks, too? As I write this, she is literally in my bed with me, her little pink bell jingling as she wriggles around lost under the covers. I love her.

I made a doctors appointment. Cue: deep breath. June 16th, 4:15pm. I’m ready. Of course, it will help that one of my best friends will be out visiting from Edmonton at that point, so I won’t be going alone. By the way, thanks for all the feedback, guys. Almost all of you were really supportive of my decision and I so appreciate that.

And on the topic of appointments, I also made one at the bank. I am gonna consolidate my debt. It’s not a lot, but it is enough to stress me out. Thanks to moving costs and increased rent and tuition and life, I have definitely fallen behind. But I have a plan and a strong will, so I know everything will be alright. Just one more thing to work on. Just one more thing to conquer.

And I think that about sums it up. Life is a curious thing, isn’t it?

One of my favorite books in the world is called The Little Prince (1943), by Antoine De Saint-Exupery...it soothes me. May it soothe you, too...

“As the little prince was falling asleep, I picked him up in my arms, and started walking again. I was moved. It was as if I were carrying a fragile treasure. It actually seemed to me there was nothing more fragile on Earth. By the light of the moon, I gazed at that pale forehead, those closed eyes, those locks of hair trembling in the wind, and I said to myself, What I am looking at is only a shell. What’s most important is invisible...

As his lips parted in a half smile, I said to myself again, What moves me so deeply about this sleeping little prince in his loyalty to a flower---the image of a rose shining within him like the flame within a lamp, even when he’s asleep...And I realized he was even more fragile that I had thought. Lamps must be protected. A gust of wind can blow them out...”

Nothing I say can top that, so I will bid you farewell for now, my friends. Thank you for sticking by me. Here is to the next 50 posts. : )

~C~

PS I saved the most important update for last. My eyebrow grew back. Not well, I might add. But the important thing is, it’s back!

In the Meantime...

2010-06-08T12:10:00.000-07:00

My First Nations anthropology class is going quite well, I think. Sure, there are times when it feels like I am learning a foreign language and get really, really overwhelmed by it all. But now that I am catching on I am finding that I enjoy it. Last Tuesday I met up with a few classmates at the campus library, which was a good move. If I haven’t already mentioned it, the class is online so meeting face-to-face with people who have been equally confused and overwhelmed was so comforting. Two of them were aboriginal. Like, braided hair and all. Such beautiful women. One of them walked in and immediately noticed my City of Abbotsford name tag which I so often forget to remove and exclaimed, “Your last name is Marand?!” Clearly this was a rhetorical question. I smiled and nodded, and she went on to say that we might be cousins. I wanted to laugh. I have enough cousins. Like hundreds of them. No joke.

She asked if she could explain the coincidence, and no one seemed to mind. Turns out that last year her family had hired a genealogist to trace their ancestry, and he managed to take them back to the year 1100, according to her. A few hundred years ago the family name had been LaMarande. She explained that along the way the ‘e’ had been dropped off the end, and eventually the ‘m’ had been reduced to a lower case letter. So now her last name is Lamarand*. She immediately knew that I was Metis. No one has ever come up with that assumption before.

It felt good. It felt like a piece of the puzzle fell into place. It felt like I belonged.

I may have a very small percentage of aboriginal blood in me, but at that moment all that mattered was that I had some at all. She started calling me ‘hon’ and ‘sweetheart’, and not in a degrading or condescending way. In a “I care about you for real” kind of way.

Yes, I am Metis and my last name is Marand and my hair is really thick and looks good in braids. When I was little, my mom made me moccasins and gave me a papoose so I could carry my favorite doll on my back.

Ask any of my closest friends and they will tell you that never in our friendships have they ever heard that come out of me. I’m sorry it hasn’t. But it will from now on.

Meeting new people is always an adventure in itself, and meeting my new classmate who is beautiful and claims to be twenty years behind in school and whose last name is Lamarand was no exception.

Here’s hoping for more exciting discoveries along the way. : )

~C~

*For the record, I was given permission to use her real last name.

For Now

2010-06-06T15:55:00.000-07:00

I have decided to do it.

It wasn’t an easy decision to make.

It isn’t an easy decision to come to terms with.

But I am doing it. I am taking charge of my life. I am taking care of me and my body and my health and my future and, most importantly, my relationships.

As you all well know, life has been a bit rough lately. It might not seem like it to you guys who put up with a lot of my written drama, but I have tried to withhold from whining and complaining on here as much as I have wanted to. This blog was originally an outlet for me to tell you guys that I struggled with bulimia, and has turned into a wonderful, relieving, stress-reducing part of my life. You have listened with dedication and kindness, open-mindedness and empathy. I really want to thank you for that. Those of you who see me in everyday life have been amazing with asking those hard questions, those “how are you doing for real” questions. I want to thank you for that.

I want to thank all you women who gave your input and advice and concern and care into your responses to my Anti-Depressants post. You really helped me in making the right choice for me. And that choice, for now, is to give them a try.

For the record, I took my own advice in hopes that it would lift this miserable cloud that has been shadowing me for months. I took walks. I took vitamins. I took a long hard look at my life and have genuinely spent years owning up to it and learning to love. I looked in the mirror and repeated on end, “You are loved. You are beautiful”. I went to bed early as often as possible. I cut out junk food. I cried when I needed to. I asked for help. I prayed.

As much as I genuinely believe in those life-giving activities, they just aren’t cutting it somehow. I am so, so tired. Especially at work. I am sad. Simple chores, like doing a few measly dishes or needing to change Eden’s cage seem like insurmountable tasks. I have been needing to-do lists for absolutely everything lately, from showering to doing homework to calling home once in awhile. I constantly feel the weight of the world and sometimes cry for humanity for no reason.

It wasn’t always like this, and I expect it won’t always be.

It’s just that for now, for at least a few months, I am going to treat these feelings as a medical condition and see if anti-depressants help. Because right now I am not feeling good. And people who don’t feel good see a doctor. That’s what I am doing.

I’m tired of to-do lists that take me down. I want to get back to living life without the little black rain cloud that Winnie the Pooh somehow turned into something way too cute for what it is worth.

Again, thank you so much for being in my life. What a relief knowing that you are out there, patiently watching me figure out this life thing.

~C~

Oh Man

2010-06-05T09:56:00.001-07:00

Last night before I went to bed I was searching frantically for my laptop charger because I knew my computer was gonna die. I can't find it anywhere! You all know how frustrating that can be, right???

I woke up early anyways and drove around looking an Internet connection. Oh yeah, still no Internet at my house. I found one, opened up the laptop only to stare at a blank screen. It really bummed me out because my huge big entry to you guys is saved in a file on it. And now I can't access it.

So...you'll just have to wait to hear the news!!

Sorry guys.

On another, more positive note, THE SUN IS SHINING!

Oh yes it is!

Enjoy your Saturday my friends!!!!!

~C~

Simple Song

2010-06-04T08:16:00.000-07:00

I don’t usually post entries on the weekend because readership goes down as you all jet off on fabulous adventures. But just so you know, this is kind of a two-part series, and even though tomorrow is Saturday, I will be posting something important. Something I need to share with you.

You all remember Hannah, right? My California buddy? If there is one thing you should know, it’s that we are like little kids when we get together. She reminds me that life doesn’t need to be taken so freaking seriously all the time. She lets me get all crazy and dancy and loud. And I love her for it.

I don’t know whether to say we love Miley Cyrus, or we loved Miley Cyrus. I’m pretty sure Hannah isn’t sure either. I don’t love Can’t Be Tamed Miley, but I do love the funny girl from Tennessee that knows how to laugh at herself.

In her Breakout album she wrote a track called Simple Song. When I first heard it I was totally broken for her. The lyrics are not at all deep or philosophical or even that good, but if they are any indication of how she was feeling when she wrote them, they are real. And you know I love real.

You can check out the lyrics if you want to.

I was really worried about her. Maybe that sounds stupid to you, because she is an A-List celebrity and couldn’t care less about me. But I did care about her. She sounded so defeated. It broke my heart.

I think I first heard that song in the summer. Although I have explained to you guys that is wasn’t exactly the easiest summer, I was still in a better place then I am right now. I smiled a lot and was able to relax and sleep at night. I got through my days with ease and enjoyed people’s company.

As you all know, that hasn’t been the case lately. Things are just not looking up or getting any better, despite so many genuine efforts to keep my chin up. I am having tons of fun dressing up for girlie movies (SatC2 TWICE now!) and loving Eden and feeling blessed by my friends and family, but there is a general cloudiness in my life that I can’t seem to shake.

It seems that if I had the compassion and energy to be concerned enough to write Miley a letter (oh yes, it’s true), then I should have the same regards to my own well being. So I am making some tough decisions right now that you will hear about tomorrow.

In the meantime, there is no way I can post this entry without a little treat for you guys. I was so worried about Miley that I had to distract myself by roping Hannah into making a music video with me. ; )

We all want to hear a simple song, don’t we now. We all want to turn down the static and noise and unwelcome thoughts and demands in our lives.

This is the simplest song I could come up with on the spot...

Sing it with me, won’t you?

This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine...

This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine.

Let it shine, let it shine, let it shine.

~C~

Country Roads, Take Me Home

2010-05-31T18:27:00.000-07:00

We were driving along this road, my girl and I, and suddenly this huge gust of cotton blew up over the windshield. It totally felt like a dream. It was beautiful. I wanted to cry. Oh wait, I did cry.

I cried a lot this weekend. Can't blame it on PMS this time, though. I don't want to blame it on anything, actually. I just want to accept it. Accept the fact that I am sad about my two best friends moving away. Accept the fact that I am just plain lonely. Accept the fact that sometimes it is hard to revisit the past.

That's basically what I did these past two days. Revisited the past. As mentioned, I am going back to my roots, and while camp is not where my life's journey started, it plays a major roll in it.

Saturday was a pretty typical rainy day, only I woke up in this dark mood that carried into the early afternoon. I dropped my wallet in a puddle at the gas station. All my money fell out and scattered. The machine took like a gazillion years to process my debit card. I was late picking up my girl. I dropped my muffin which was so dirty even I wouldn't eat it. Everything was just crappy.

But then we got to the ferry, and somehow we had made it in time for the early afternoon sailing that we never thought we could catch. Hmm...life started looking up a bit at that point. After a few hours of catch-up conversation, a People magazine, and BC Ferries ice cream, I felt better. Shopping (aka retail-therepy) helped a lot, too.

But I actually think that while shopping and making the ferry on time and everything was good, the real reason I had started to feel better was because I realized that, in a way, I was home. I didn't live on the Island for too long, but starting about 11 years ago I began spending every summer of my life until I was 20 there. I have so many memories there, both good and bad. And as if it was orchestrated, all those memories unravelled this past weekend.

I spent Saturday night with my two best friends, having lovely dinner and drinkies at Milestones on the waterfront and catching SatC2 at Tillicum Theatre. We stayed up till about 3:30am talking and giggling as only true friends can, and woke up at 8am exhausted. Surprise, surprise. It was glorious.

Yesterday, two of us drove up island to go back to camp. Cue: Tears. We hadn't even made it to Duncan yet when the tears started to flow. And how. I actually felt a little out of control of my emotions. It reminded me of my very favourite Dane Cook impression. Watch it. You will know why. But I think the reason I (ahem, we) cried so hard is because, like I said before, revisiting the past is freaking hard. Yes, millions of amazing memories are wrapped up in the time spent at that camp and on the Island. But for me, that time in my life also represents incredible brokenness, insecurity, and pain.

It took me a long time to calm down enough to grasp, even shallowly, the fact that I am not the same girl as I was 6 years ago. Maybe she is still there inside of me, but I am so much more now. So much has taken place between then and now, and I feel like that is really a good thing.

So once the crying shenanigans ceased, we got back in the car and drove to the camp...My heart was pounding. Literally. I was nervous. But I can't deny the fact that I was actually pretty excited, too. We started bumping down the gravel road and came to the sign that always made me feel like I was being welcomed home. And it aaallll came pouring back.

The rain was totally appropriate, because I was being soaked head to toe in some of the most amazing memories and feelings. I began to wonder what I was so scared about earlier in the car. This felt so right. It felt like home. It felt like me. It felt like some of my roots were being exposed, and I didn't even mind.

I can't tell you how many deep, live-giving, incredible breaths of air I took yesterday, but it was a lot. We walked around the whole property, all 56 acres of scenic waterfront property, and literally had comments and memories and giggles and tears for every inch of that place.

There's no place like home. There's no place like home. There's no place like home.

It was an amazing weekend getaway with the people in my life I am most thankful for. I will never forget it. Ever.

~C~

Go To Your Room, Young Lady!!

2010-05-27T22:30:00.000-07:00

The duration of a typical work day for me includes issuing a least one time-out to one of several mischievous little ones at preschool. Every so often we get through a class without name-calling, budging, hair-pulling and selective hearing, but these little guys are curious and very young and sometimes need to just sit down, chill out, and think about their actions. We have a red chair against a wall of our classroom which is the “time-out chair”. Every one of them knows what the chair is for, and no one voluntarily sits in it, even thought it is more like a little couch and quite comfortable. To the repeat offenders, all we have to do is point to the red chair and they go sit down and wait quietly for us to come and have a chat with them about why they had to sit there.

Every so often, though, we run into problems with kids we never expected to. They don’t sit in the red chair peacefully; it is as if the world will end if we make them sit down in it. They cry and plead and beg and apologize. The angry ones make me laugh (um, but not to their faces, of course!) because they almost always say, “YOU go have a time-out!”.

Oh, the irony.

“YES, PLEASE!” I want to reply.

There is truth behind those angry little remarks from stubborn 3 year olds. Sometimes I SHOULD go have a time-out. We should all go have time-outs.

Count to 10. Breathe in and out. Think about what I did wrong and think about what I am going to do to fix it. Come to terms with my bad decisions and get over it.

Don’t you love how when you were little and really ticked off your parents, they got all up in your face and yelled at you to go to your room? I love how that was a punishment. Gone are the days when I would cry and pout and be angry about having to hang out in my room and be quiet.

Now I welcome those moments.

I am going to start being intentional about time-outs. I am going to issue them to myself on a regular basis. I am going to enjoy them and even learn to love them. And around 10pm each night, I will look at my reflection in the mirror and say, “Go to your room, young lady!”. Not at 12am, 1am, or 2am. I will go to bed at a decent hour and maybe not be so grumpy and maybe not race the clock in the mornings.

Go have a time-out, and especially enjoy your weekend, folks. You deserve it.

~C~

Roots

2010-05-25T22:25:00.000-07:00

I have been thinking a lot about roots lately. Literally and figuratively.

Remember that post where I talked about my land? Well, for the first time ever (sans watching my Lama puttering around in our backyard) I have become a gardener.

I like to think of of it as my own little Garden of Eden. Um, except for the sinning and eating of forbidden fruit and serpents and nakedness and all that stuff. It’s the Garden of Eden because I am growing vegetables and strawberries for my little bunny Eden. She has quickly taken up residence in my heart, and I want to nourish her. I want to provide good things for her.

So yesterday, I got my hands dirty. I dug and pulled weeds and shoveled and rested and shoveled some more. It was awesome.

(I didn’t do it alone, though. Here is a shout-out to TL and CH for all their help! Thanks for the herbs and veggies, T!)

There is something totally therapeutic and satisfying about dig dig digging, coming to the bottom of a deeply rooted plant or weed, and pulling it right out of the ground. You hear a ripping sound. You feel your muscles relax as that weed succumbs to your strength. You hold it in your hands in awe of its size and weight. You realize that you did it. You uprooted something.

But somehow I think that feels better in real life rather than in theory. Because when you think of how deep our emotions, like roots, run, how much more painful is it to dig to the bottom and rip those weeds out? Pretty stinking painful, I think. Ahem...I know, actually. It hurts. But I think in some ways it is even more satisfying than plants. Because it is healing.

A few weeks ago I started an anthropology course called First Nations of British Columbia-Traditional Cultures. Uh, have I mentioned to you guys yet that I am aboriginal? Some of you have seen it in my slanted eyes or ridiculously thick, coarse hair. Some of you have seen my eyes shift downward when I have told you about my heritage. It is typically not something I have nurtured in myself or been all that proud of. I have talked briefly about my dad to you guys, and for the record, he is the one from which my native background stems from. He kind of bailed on me, so that is why I haven’t tried very hard to learn about my paternal roots. He never seemed proud of it, so I didn’t either.

When I started the course, I felt a little overwhelmed, knowing that all kinds of stuff would start coming up for me, being someone who cares deeply about my past and “baggage”. So I followed my instinct and I emailed my big sister Marcy. I really love her and have looked up to her my whole life, but sadly we don’t know each other as well as I wish we did. Emailing her about our history and background was the right thing to do though, because she was really helpful in explaining to me about these things. She told me our dad was (is?) a registered Metis, and that I could be registered, too. From what I have read about in my text book thus far, Metis are not a dominant band in BC, and somehow that makes me want to learn about them (us) all the more.

Suddenly, a spark of interest has come over me. This is part of who I am. It is in my genes. It is part of my make-up. I have relatives I have never thought about in my life. I think I may have turned over a new leaf here.

My back is sore from gardening today, but this is all just a part of the next chapter for me. Sore back today, yes, but I am prepared for sore emotions in the coming months as I dig deeper in my life AND in the garden, and learn even more about who I am. Isn’t that exciting?

Remember the shout-out my brother received a while back?

Well, I want to now honor my sister Marcy and let her know in a public forum that she is totally loved and adored by me, her little sister. Thank you for your help, Marc. : )

Stay tuned as I uproot more of who I am, and plant more of what Eden the Bunny will be eating this summer. Because trust me, you will be hearing aaaallll about it!

Life is grand! : )

~C~

as a side note, this will hopefully be my last internet-less week and I can be a bit more consistent with the posting...I miss talking to you guys as often as I have in the past!