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

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!

~C

christinachantal.net

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R n' R

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!

~C

To Everything, Turn, Turn, Turn

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.

~C

S.A.D.

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.

~C

The Net (stolen from Kelle Hampton)

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

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.

~C

Food for Thought

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

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

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

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!

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

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

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!

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

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.

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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.

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

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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?

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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...

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

.

~C~

AA

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

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

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~