Shine. Possibility. Radical Self-Love.

At the beginning of January I was browsing on the Pinterest, and I came across an interesting little blog post. The gist of the post was that at the beginning of each new calendar year, you choose a word that you would like to encompass that specific year. The word, or words, are to be directly tied to your goals, and would serve as a reminder of how you would like the next 12 months of your life to play out. In essence, this word would become your mantra for the year. I briefly read through all 100 of the "get some inspiration suggestions" to see what would jump out at me, and settled on two words that would compliment one another: Shine and Possibility. I looked at them over and over. I read them several times a day for a few days in a row. I wanted to see if they were something that resonated with me enough to carry them in my heart. I needed to decide if they inspired me to live up to them for a year. I was sure I wanted to let myself shine through my art and writing, and be open to the possibilities that doing this might bring. Last year was my "I'm going to write and make art and show the world" promise to myself, at which I fell miserably short. I wanted this year to be different. I wanted to "live up to my potential". Growing up, I'm sure I saw that phrase on my report cards about 60, 000 times as an elementary and high school student, although I could never figure out how any teacher could possibly know that I even had potential if I was determined not to live up to it.

A few days after I chose my mantra, my boyfriend made the decision to leave me. No face to face goodbye, and plenty of need for closure on my part. I will love him always, but deep in my heart I have come to terms with the fact that he was right, and that his leaving was for the best for both of us. Regardless, I felt angry, hurt, brokenhearted and absolutely blindsided. I looked at my mantra for the year again. Shine. Possibility. Seriously? How the fuck was I supposed to shine now? I looked at the list again, willing another word to jump out at me. Any word to reflect how I could possibly cope for an entire year with my unexpected newfound singleness. Not that I haven't been single before, and for long periods of time, but I honestly thought that Brian was The One. I had made future plans for us. I thought we were going to spend the rest of our lives together. I thought, I thought, I thought. I was wrong. I scanned the list again and again. Making Peace. Heal. Letting Go. These were the same words that I'd been dealing with for the past two or three years. I'd made peace with many things. I'd let go of just as many things. I had healed from numerous past wounds. I was so fucking tired of doing those things. I'd done those things with all of my being for what felt like forever. I'd conquered the healing process and the letting go process and although it's incredibly healthy, I wanted it to be background noise this year. I wanted those things to be automatic, not what I spent my whole year immersed in, goddamn it.

2 AM and I’m still awake, writing a song

If I get it all down on paper it’s no longer inside of me,

Threatening the life it belongs to

And I feel like I’m naked in front of the crowd

Cause these words are my diary, screaming out loud

And I know that you’ll use them, however you want to

                                     ~Anna Nalick

I looked back at my original choices. Shine. Possibility. Even though I was incredibly sad, those words continued to draw me to them like little beacons of hope. Words of forging on. Healing and Letting Go could be done as well, but Healing and Letting Go felt like they were holding me still until I was done. I have been treading water with Healing and Letting Go for a long time now. In my heart I didn't feel like being still anymore. I picked another phrase out of the list to add to my year. A word that encompassed those things with a different connotation - Radical Self-Love. Yes, I thought to myself, this time it feels right.

If you are interested in choosing a word mantra for your year laying before you, the above mentioned blog post has a lot of really great ideas: http://www.viviennemcmasterphotography.com/2015/01/02/100-words-of-the-year/

Unbreak My Heart

And suddenly it was over. Five days ago I got the news that my boyfriend, the man I considered my soul mate, told me he wasn't happy and then he just left. I'm not going to say I understand it or that I'm okay with it, but his mind is firmly made up and I can't change it. He is the only man I have ever been able to be 100% myself with. Maybe that was the problem? Do I have some unbearable traits that are unbeknownst to me? I can't answer that. I do know that although I am heartbroken and devastated right now, I am glad Brian and I met. I learned a lot from him, and I hope he learned a bit from me too.

What I learned:

1. You know when you buy onions and you put them in your fridge crisper or on your counter and all of those onion skins get all over everything? Keep them in an open produce bag and no flaky skins get anywhere.

2. I love cats. I used to think I hated them until I lived with one. Even though the cat was super jealous bitch to me, I still loved her. Now I have a wee kitty of my own :)

3. I don't need most of the stuff I have. A couple days after the break up, I went through my entire house and got rid of two vanfulls of "stuff" to Value Village. Stuff I had accumulated but didn't need, and kept for the sake of comfort and safety. I feel so much better with more open space in my home now.

4. If there is anything I shouldn't feel guilty about spend more money on, it's quality food. The Farmer's Market is awesome, and I love going there in the summer. I don't even mind getting out of bed for it. 

5. I need to write and paint more. It's an outlet for my overly emotional being.

6. Being bipolar is nothing to be ashamed of.

7. I don't have to cater to my children.  I pay the bills and I can make the rules. I need to ditch my single parent guilt at the door. I need to prepare them for life outside of my home.

8. A garage is for parking a vehicle in. This is my third winter in my condo and the first winter I've been able to park in my garage. Best thing I've ever done. 

Now it's time for me to let the healing begin, because even though in this moment it feels like healing isn't possible, it will happen. Eventually.

How To Appreciate a Good Man When You Find Him - Step One: Thank the Johnnys and Robs of Your Life For Breaking Your Heart

 

It's been a long time, no? It's like this: I was waiting for the light to change so I could cross the road and I met a boy who swept me off of my feet. Enough said? Oh, you want to hear more??

I was taking my daughter to the Canada Day parade (July 1st for all of you non-Canadians) when IT happened. But first, a bit of background information. I hate parades. You're right, hate IS a strong word. That being said, I hate parades buuuuut I still have one child who is young enough to love them. So on the morning of July 1st when it was all rainy and bleak I was ecstatic! YAAY! No parade! The closer it got to noon, which was parade time, the more it began to clear. Dammit! Why wouldn't the weather gods co-operate with me? I thought of just not going, making up a little white (black as the Devil's soul) lie about the parade being cancelled due to the impending rain, but one look into my daughter's big brown eyes and I knew I had no choice but to take her. I usually go right down to the park to sit, which is where the parade ends, but this year I decided on a less crowded venue on the main street where we could watch it sail by us and then go back home. We found a parking space as close as we were going to get at my last minute, feet-dragging pace to get downtown (we might as well have walked from home), and started making our way to find a parade-watching spot. As we were standing on the corner with a small group of other people waiting for the light to change, a boy (man) came up to wait as well. I had seen this boy around town before, since we were teenagers, actually. I thought of him as one of the "Downtown People" because that's the only place I'd ever seen him. I had tried to smile at him a time or two (or ten), but he walked right by me without acknowledging my presence, and I eventually just gave up. So here we all were standing at the same street corner, waiting for that red light to change when Downtown Boy looked at me and said, "I know you. I see you on Facebook." Now, before you all think this is a creepy stalkerish thing, it's really not. We have a lot of mutual friends and at times we had actually both commented on friends' Facebook statuses. So we didn't know each other, but we knew of each other, if that makes sense. He and I made small talk until the light changed, walked across the road together and then parted ways.

Now keep in mind, this man had my, admittedly shallow, attention with his looks from the minute he said hello. And yes, that's why I had tried to smile at him and catch his attention in the past. So of course as soon as the parade ended, I got on my beloved Facebook and "friended" that Downtown Boy. Conversation ensued, and we made a date to meet. At our first meeting (date), we got together at a local pub. We sat down at a booth and both of us put our cell phones and keys up on the table. We both had the exact same phone (iPhone 4) with the exact same black Otterbox on it. Each of our key chains had the same clip (you know, those clips that say "not for climbing") on them because we both have trouble keeping track of where we put them so we need to secure the keys to something (I use my purse, he uses his belt loop). We had a drink or two and went for a little walk afterward, and at the point that he reached his hand out to touch a soft looking plant as we walked by, I knew that there was more than coincidence going on. We both touch (caress) plants as we walk by them? Unreal. I mean, who does that?? We talked about how we both long to live in the country, and how we feel that the trees and the sounds of nature are truly healing for the soul. The more we got to know each other, the more we found we had in common. It was as if we were the same person split into two different bodies.

 

After this date, our mutual friend Christa called that boy up, in nothing but my best interests, to give him a talking to that any awesome friend would. She explained me to him, and how my love can run quickly and deep. She wanted him to understand what I was about before he got his feet wet, which was probably one of the greatest things anyone has ever done for me. It dropped the veil from my eccentricities early on, leaving him with only half of the work of uncovering these (sometime) oddities.

 

It was on that first date that Brian first told me that he was bipolar, but I said nothing about my own mental health experiences. I had been denying the same diagnosis for most of my life. The phrases, "They made a mistake" and "I was misdiagnosed" often came out of my mouth when discussing it. His acceptance of that part of himself made it safe for me to do the same, and his full acceptance of me has instilled more love in me than I have ever had before. He has made me feel that it's ok to be me -- fully me -- for the first time in my life.

I was discussing my relationship with Brian with a friend just the other day. This friend and I had had our hearts broken by the same man, years apart. I told her that I didn't regret my past hurts because without them I would not be who I am right now. Without the Johnnys and Robs that had completely devastated me, I never would have developed into the type of woman with the ability to love a man like Brian, and feel that I honestly deserved his love in return. I now know that those past loves were preparing me for my great love. With John (the father of my children), Johnny and Rob I questioned everything: my worthiness, the actual amount of their affection, why their words and actions didn't match, and why their ambiguity reduced me to tears on an almost daily basis.

There are two types of romantic relationships - the ones that prepare you for your one great love, and the other is your one great love. How do you know which is which? The ones who prepare you make you question everything, especially yourself. The great one does not question you and you don't either. ~Rebecca Lammersen

Brian, being the "nice guy" that women talk about, would have quickly fallen off of my radar if I hadn't learned from my past experiences how utterly valuable this type of man really is. He loves my kids and they love him (ok the oldest teenager is a bit of a harder nut to crack), and he treats them as if they were his own. After 10 years, I know this is an incredibly rare trait to find in a man and I am super thankful for it! With Brian, I question nothing. Not him, not myself and not the two of us together. Everything feels completely right and comfortable, and has from day one because our past relationships have prepared us for each other.

Brian makes me feel safe, and appreciated. I know when I am with him I am important, and when I'm not I'm still on his mind. And you know what? It's completely mutual.

 



The Micro Waves in Microwaves: Will They Kill Me Or Not?

I recently decided to get rid of my microwave. I'd been toying with the idea for a while, but got more serious about it once my youngest child turned 10. I was worried about them using the stove top to heat things up, you see. I know accidents can happen at any time and I just wanted them to have a bit more maturity under their belts before they took on the large household appliances.

So I'd been reading a bit about the dangers of those little micro waves heating up our food, and although I want to believe they're super dangerous, the World Health Organization says it's all a-ok to use microwaves. I tend to be a bit more skeptical of these things in my advancing age, and don't necessarily believe something like that is true just because I'm told it is. One website even called people like me "a member of the tinfoil hat brigade". Jerks. Anyway when all was said and done, I'd sent the microwave off to live out its life with someone else.

The problem with getting rid of my handy little appliance, was that I was used to it. There had been a microwave in my home ever since I was 7 years old. What a convenience! The first full day without it I realized how habitually ingrained it was for me to take a leftover out of the fridge and throw it in the microwave. That day I found myself wanting a bagel. Now. My chat with myself in my head went something like this:

"Oh shit I keep the bagels in the freezer. Yeah that one in the basement that freezes things really, really solid. Ummmm ok now how can I make this bagel less of a block of ice so I can cut it in half and put it in the toaster? No. Waiting is NOT an option. I want it NOW. I wish Siri could have made it for me. I would have given her the instructions five fucking minutes ago so I would've already had it. That's how fast I want it. Instantaneously. Ok, put it in the oven to thaw? Too long. On top of the toaster? Won't defrost right through. I know! I'll run it under hot water until I can pry a knife in there to cut it. Oh wow. Who knew frozen bread would get so soggy under running water?"

Yeah that happened. Luckily I was home alone at the time so there was no one to see my crazy chain of events. And so it has gone with almost everything I pull out to eat/heat up/cook. It's no longer an automatic motion, I actually have to think if the new best way to do it. There's a bit of a learning curve but I'm enjoying the new challenge. I wonder of micro waves (the actual waves, not the cooking machines) can travel through walls? Maybe I should go talk to my neighbour about the dangers of her appliances....

I'm a Bibliophile. It's Not as Bad as it Sounds.

 

 

There's nothing like reading a great book. My absolute favourite books are the life changing ones. You know, the ones where you take away a profound new thought or idea. Really, how can you not love that? I'm not a fast reader, and most times it takes me at least a month to get through a book unless I really, really adore it, only because I am easily distracted. Candy Crush is usually the main distraction, but other usual things that capture my attention are watching movies with my kids, laundry, playing with guinea pigs, texting until late at night, and painting random things as the desire hits me. If I detest a book I won't finish it. If I love it, I'll keep it close to my bed even after I've finished it and read passages from it as my whims dictate to me.

I have lists of books that I want to read, and I go searching for them on a regular basis. Ahhh but my searching is systematic. I try to check books out of the library when I can, but if it's a popular book and I'm not able to renew it once or twice it doesn't work for me (remember: slow reader). If that's the case, or if the library doesn't have that particular book, I search in other places. I start at the used book corner store at the library. Always cheap prices there but not a very high turnover. Next is the Salvation Army, where books are super cheap, but there is almost no turnover. Once in a while there are a dozen new books on the shelf, but the rows around them contain the same ones that have been there forever. The Goodwill is more expensive but still reasonable. The only problem being that they apparently have a book connoisseur on staff, because anything that's quite recent is marked up to the $8-$10 range. They've got you over a barrel there because although it's expensive, you can't get it for that price if you buy it new. Value Village sells their most expensive books for $5 each but if you buy four, the fifth book is free. Then there are the actual used book stores. After that, if I'm crazy desperate I order off of Amazon. At this point, are you wondering how often I go through this book finding process? Great question! Once or twice a week. Enough that it takes up a ridiculous amount of time that I could be spending actually reading the books I do have. Enough said.

 

The other day I was in the Goodwill purchasing some much needed (ok, not needed so much as wanted) books. I was at the checkout and the elderly lady behind me eyed up my armful of hardcovers and then informed me that she just LOVES her Ereader because she can just put so many books on it and take it everywhere with her. I wanted to tell her, "That's great, but what about the feel of the book in your hands? What about leafing back through the pages to find a certain passage or to clarify something for yourself? What about turning down the page corners on something profound that you want to be able to pick out instantly when you pick that book back off of the shelf? What about underlining paragraphs and putting your own thoughts in the margins? (yes, I do that from time to time)"

Instead, I smiled sweetly and nodded at her as I thought, "We'll see who's reading a book during a zombie apocalypse when there's not any electricity to charge your fucking Ereader, lady."

I Have 806 Rolls of Toilet Paper

I've been doing some spring cleaning for the past couple of months. I've also been taking that chance to reflect on the collection and consumption of "things" and why people are the way they are, why they collect the things they do. Looking around my house, I see a direct reflection of my grandmother. Although she came from a large family, they did not go hungry. They had what they needed but not a whole lot more. When my Gramma married my Grampa and started a family at the age of 15, I suppose knowing that times could be tough, she stored many things. Not things in the pack rat sense, or the hoarder sense. They didn't have a lot of material possessions, but there was always lots of food and other necessities to go around. My Grampa was an only child, and I grew up an only child as well. I don't think my Grampa grew up in the lap of luxury, but unlike my Gramma he didn't have to fight nine other siblings for the use of anything either. I suspect he appeased my grandmother quite a bit with her collecting of the essentials. Eventually having a total of seven children, family always gathered at their house and they were always willing to provide. Weekly Sunday dinners were the norm with everyone coming over every Sunday for years, usually totaling up to at least 10 people but lots of times more. Everyone was welcome and no one ever went hungry. I remember my grandmother having workers over one time which was very unusual, as my grandfather used to fix everything that needed to be fixed in the house. As the men laboured on, it became supper time and she had them come up and eat dinner with the family, even though they protested and explained they had to get their work done. She told them they weren't going to go hungry at supper time in her house, and eventually they had to comply. Her theory was, if you had an unexpected supper guest, it was no problem to just throw a couple more potatoes in the pot.

When my Gramma died and the minister came to the house, she asked us to tell stories so she could understand the woman my Gramma was. Everyone went on and told about her generosity and open arms into her home to those that needed it. And the fact that the pantry was still fully stocked, and among other things, there were 27 tins of salmon down there. It was the expensive kind that she would never pay full price for, but stocked up on when it was on sale. At that time, and at the age of 28, I didn't know this wasn't the norm in every single person's home. I thought that everyone went to a good sale and bought 20 or 30 of whatever the excellent buy was, even if it meant giving your kids money to go into the store because there was a limit on the item. I have inherited this trait, which I used to be embarrassed about and apologized to guests who saw the extent of my buying of necessities. Last week I had an electrician come over and when I saw him eyeing up my toilet paper stash I actually said, "Soooo I'm not crazy. I just compulsively buy toilet paper." I'm not sure if this habit is more compulsion or perhaps a deeply insecure fear that one day I might not be able to provide for my family so I keep things stock piled just in case.

Regardless, I am not going to analyze it too much and I am in my house, savouring that cozy feeling  with my 806 rolls of toilet paper, 420 serviettes, and enough laundry soap for 795 loads of laundry. That reminds me, I need to get more paper towels. I only have 27 rolls left.

Letters to Myself: Past, Present and Future

Dear 6 year old Paula,

It's ok to not fit in.

It's ok to like to play alone.

It's ok to not know how to play with other kids or not know what to say to them.

It's ok to just not understand people

If you try hard enough and believe strongly enough, you really can ride your bike as fast as the wind.

Your parents are doing the best that they know how.

Dear 14 year old Paula,

It's ok to not fit in.

Yes getting drunk is fun, but don't do it all the time.

It's ok to be unsure of yourself.

The people who make fun of you, or put you down are just as unsure of themselves as you are. In 20 years, 99% of them with either not remember what they said (or did) to you, or wish they hadn't done the things they did. Honest.

Try not to take everything so personally. It's mostly about them, not you. A bad day can offset anyone's mood. You have no idea what's really going on in someone else's life or in their head.

Suicide is not the answer.

Your parents are doing the best that they know how.

Dear 24 year old Paula,

It's ok to not fit in.

Some day you will look back on all the things you've gone through and realize how strong you were, even if you don't feel strong in the moment.

In the not so distant future you will find yourself vacuuming and be unconcerned as to whether that brown mark on the floor is chocolate or poop. Having children makes you that much less squeamish.

You really do accept the love you think you deserve. You don't have to settle. Ever.

You are a part of the universe, made of starstuff. You are an important part of this universe and the history of it. Without you, there would be many different outcomes for many different people.

Suicide is not the answer.

Your parents are doing the best that they know how.

Dear 40 year old Paula,

It's ok to not fit in.

Your identity is not the number on the scale.

Enjoy yourself. Don't be so serious.

Enjoy your children. They won't be with you forever, nor you with them.

The things that you worry about now will probably seem insignificant in 10 years.

I know you never thought you'd get this old, but you have. Wrinkles and silver hair are a natural part of aging. If you don't get over it, you are going to self destruct.

Don't forget when you're awake in the middle of the night thinking about what could have been, that broken hearts heal, and the things you think are going to haunt you forever often don't.

Your parents did the best that they knew how.

Dear 60 year old Paula,

It's ok to not fit in.

I hope your kids are not still living with you.

I hope you are finding more time for yourself.

I hope you are doing things that you love.

I hope that you wrote the book you had been pondering over for so many years.

Your parents did the best that they knew how.

Dear 85 year old Paula,

It's ok to have never fit in.

I hope you got to retire at a decent age, and I hope you're not doing anything right now but the things you love the best.

I hope that you call or see your kids often. I wonder if you have grandchildren now.

I hope you finally found true love and kept it. I hope you had someone to share your life with, and grew old with them.

I hope you forgave yourself for not ever feeling like a good enough parent, and I hope your children know that you did the best that you knew how.