Stephanie, The Girly-Girl

I have been a total girl lately. I know, that's a weird thing for me to say considering that I am, in fact, a girl. But I was always the guy's girl;  my favourite pass times were drinking beer, watching sports, playing outside, and hanging out with my guy friends/brothers while doing and talking about guy things. Now, I still love beer and sports and playing outside, but I have become a much more feminine version of myself in the past year or so. 

I think for this to make any sense, I need to start from the beginning which is a long time ago. I grew up with four amazing brothers who are the light of my life. They are so fun and different from each other and we have so many amazing memories. Most of my favourite memories are with them (although, not to leave out my little sister, who is equally as amazing). The oldest of the bunch and I would do absolutely everything together when we were younger. Instead of barbies, I played Hot Wheels, and instead of makeup I wore dirt proudly on my body when we rough housed on the playground. We were best friends. 

My other brothers quickly joined the pack and we were inseparable. As we got older, we all became great friends and allies. We moved from playgrounds to bikes, and biked all weekend and every evening. During our long winters, we would snow suit up (for all you HIMYM fans) every night, whether homework was done or not, and make tracks in the snow that we could toboggan around. I was friends with my brother's friends, and the additional friends that I made were almost all male, because that's what I was used to. 

I only knew how to be around boys. I was the friend that usually had a crush on at least one of my guy friends, but we were just friends nonetheless. Then I moved out when I was 16. I moved because my father abused me and I couldn't take it anymore, and when I left I had this incredible void in me, this hunger for healthy male attention. Really, I always hungered after that, which is why I always had a crush on someone. I wanted so badly to be loved and accepted for who I was, and not taken advantage of and abused by someone in a trust position in my life. But as the song goes, I was looking for love in all the wrong places.

I dated this guy in high school who cared for me deeply, but I never completely trusted him. I was afraid of being criticized by him or his family so much so that I didn't even feel comfortable eating at his house in case I was doing it wrong. I felt like I had to prove myself to him, just like I was always trying to prove myself to the man I once called dad. I would lie to him, lies that he has no clue I told, because I thought that I had to for him to be interested in me, and I craved his attention more than anything else in the world. I thought that I loved him and he temporarily, although incompletely, filled the aching hole in my heart. 

Then we broke up. The end of the relationship consumed me. I was 16, almost 17, and the only consistency that I had in my life since I moved away from home was gone. I was at a loss and had no idea how to handle these adult emotions since I was still just a child. I would go to school each day, depressed, telling and retelling my friends stories and conversations and imaginary scenarios that I had prepared myself for (thanks, Bee and C, for always listening). My life was quite literally a soap opera. You could base a cheesy television show on those few years years of my life and probably have a few good seasons worth of material. Every conversation, every thought, every song I wrote, everything in my life was a cry for that mediocre at best love to return. 

I eventually got over him, but as I tried to leave him behind I continued to seek my worth in men. I went to grad with a guy that broke my heart the day after. I dated a guy shortly after high school who was exciting and interesting, but we were together a little over a month. By this time, I was 18 and really into the bar scene, so each weekend I was on the hunt for Mr. Right and only ever found Mr. Not-Ready-To-Commit, Mr. I-Have-A-Girlfriend, or Mr. I-Only-Want-To-Sleep-With-You. I felt hopeless.

In the meantime, the walls that barricaded my heart only became thicker and taller. I tried to be more relatable, more of a guy's girl again. I was tough, and tough to get to know. I was independent and head strong and wrote off men almost altogether. Shortly after I was 18, I started counselling. If you have been keeping up with my blog, I have raved about the process  before on more than one occasion. It was hard, the hardest thing I might ever have to do, but worth it. Jesus showed me how much He loves me, and came in and completely filled that void in me, wrapping me up in His perfect love and mercy. And then I met a man.

My husband is the most patient person that I know. If you were to ask, he would tell you that I was difficult. I didn't make him feel needed because I could always do everything myself. I didn't want to change for him or anyone. I hated ever having to rely on someone else. But he stuck it out, and stayed with me and supported me as I began to realize what my female heart needs. I am not a man. I am not wired up to be tough. My heart leads me, and always has led me, but I refused it any air time. I wouldn't cry, I would lash out in anger, I was impossible. But as my heart changed slowly with each counselling session, each dark and dirty secret revealed, I learned who I really was.

Yes, I am strong and independent, and I like beer, sports, and playing outside, but I am a woman, created to yearn for the love and acceptance of a man. And I can rest in that now. God has blessed me beyond measure with the husband he has given me. For the first time I am truly comfortable in the role that I was made for. And I think that there is evidence of that even in the small things in my life.

Girly lipstick

For my birthday, I asked for a makeup pallet that I really wanted. My husband got it for me, and now I often try out one or two looks a day just because I want to look my absolute best for my man. I was never like that before. I didn't care so much about how I looked or presented myself, and now like a girly-girl, I put in effort. I love doing that for him. And I love letting him take care of me. When I cry, he is there. When I am hurt he listens, and when I am hurt by him, he takes responsibility. He arrived at the perfect time, and as my heart softened he was always there to take up the slack. 

That's just one small example, and maybe it doesn't really say or mean a whole lot to you. But truly, I have changed. Everything is so different now. I love just being able to be a girl; a beautiful, comfortable, emotional, heart led girl.

-SP

Dream On, Dreamer

I have been told no all my life. "No, Steph, you can't do that." "No, Steph, you aren't good enough." "No, Steph, your dreams are unrealistic." I have been devastated time after time. My broken spirit was further torn over and over by people in positions of authority or honour. People I should have been able to trust made me feel small and insecure and I began to loathe myself, my desires to do something big and fulfilling with my life, because according to them I would never make the cut.

I have always wanted to do music. I was born to be on stage. My grandma came to visit me a couple months back with a man she calls her "friend" (he is really her boyfriend, she should just call it like it is), and she told him that I was singing before I could talk. I couldn't form words yet, but music was in me to share, and I wanted everyone to hear my song. My brother and I would sit in the basement for hours with our little one octave piano and make up songs, usually on my suggestion. When I was around six, I performed for the first time in front of a crowd that I didn't know. I had done it before at home for my parents and extended family, but never for a bunch of people who didn't really know who I was. I sang this song called Fingerprints, accompanied by my uncle on guitar, for the evening service at our church. I was upset that not everyone got to see it, so the pastors allowed me to perform it again for the morning service the following weekend.  Music has always been how I express, and there is nothing more fulfilling to me than standing up in front of a crowd as a confident yet relatable woman and singing my heart out while watching the audience respond. My heart feels so free and light.

But I had some terrible experiences; not performance experiences, although there are several that I'm glad are not on tape. People have come in and, knowing it or not, have ruined my self-confidence one ill comment at a time. The first, and most hurtful example, was right after Christmas in 2003, when I was 15 years old. I woke up one morning to my door partially open and could hear my father playing Mariah Carey's version of Oh Holy Night. Their bedroom was just across the hall from mine, and obviously he had no idea I was awake. My mom went into the room where he was sitting and said to him "you know, you really should encourage Steph and her music more." He did not hesitate to respond, saying "well, she can't hit the notes that Mariah Carey can, so there's no point." I cried, harder than I had cried in a long time. I wasn't worth it. If I couldn't do what a professional, trained vocalist could do with zero formal training of my own then I wasn't worth encouraging. And it may be different if they had invested in my music and sent me for lessons, but they didn't do that, not for any of us.

That moment has plagued me ever since. It devastated me as a musician, as a performer, unlike most other bad experiences I have had. Since then, I have had numerous of the same sort of comments carelessly flung at me by important people, and have been even more sensitive to them because of my father's lack of love. Most recently, one woman at my old church, the same one who tried to mediate my relationship with a former good friend, asked me if I was jealous of this friend one day. This friend is a musician also, and a damn good one at that. She is incredibly passionate and talented and, like me, has known her entire life that music is her calling. Her and I had been pit against each other in high school by teachers and peers, so I kept to myself and didn't get in her way. She did all the big performances, and I stuck to writing with a close friend and performing in smaller events here and there. Anyway, so this woman asks me if I am jealous of her, and I say no, and that I respect her as a musician, and that she is very talented. This woman said "yes, she is very talented" quite excitedly, and then said "and, you know, you have your gifts too" with a manner of uncertainty to her tone. She also told me once that my dream to win a Grammy was too big, and that I should seriously reconsider my desire to be so involved in the business of entertaining. It was awful. Once again, I was being compared to someone with entirely different strengths than I. She was the golden child, the one everyone wanted, and because I was not her clone I was not worth it.

Yup...meant to do this...

I don't believe this entirely, not anymore. It's hard for me not to think low of my own talents sometimes, but I know that I am growing and changing, and that the world is at my fingertips if I am willing to reach out and grab it. And I am lucky. I have an amazing group of professional musician friends who are encouraging and readily point out my strengths and help me to grow in my weaknesses. I attend a church where I am respected and my input is listened to and implemented. I have a husband who is my number one fan. And I have been playing more in the past few months than I have in years, and that in and of itself is a huge accomplishment.

Just like when I was young, there is still nothing better for my spirit than being on stage and performing. I love it. I am truly free and happy and myself there. I am comfortable; comfortable to be vulnerable and allow strangers a glimpse into who I am. And my dreams are not too big or unrealistic. I think that discouragement from other people comes out of their own insecurity most of the time, and not from truth. It is simply not true that I need to reconsider the call that I have had since I was a young girl, because I'm not good enough. Hopefully I will one day full and completely believe that.

So dream on, dreamer. Nothing is impossible, that has been proven over and over again. God doesn't place dreams and desires in people as a joke. He created you to want certain things, to hunger after purpose and to be fulfilled in your call. Don't settle for anything less than fulfillment.

-SP

Entitled Conversationalists

I am still really good at the art of Dutch Blitz

I have written recently about how language is a dying art in one sense, but after some keen observations over the past couple months I think that things can be simplified. It's not just poetry, it's general conversation. The ways that we express ourselves has changed significantly. Song lyrics are more and more trivial and without substance, phone conversations have been replaced with texts, hand written letters have been replaced with e-cards or two line emails, and conversational courtesies are being forgotten. Here are a few examples of what I mean.

I answer phones at work about 65 percent of the time. Now, I am not a phone talker, and am the first to admit that I prefer a text message over a phone call (which my mom might find weird since I was on the phone every single day when I was younger). But when people call in, as much as I dislike that form of communication, I am conscious about the way I might be perceived on the other line. I am polite, conversational and eager to serve. But when people don't get the response they desire, for example if the president of the company chooses not to take their call as I screen them, I get hung up on. Seriously? I may not enjoy most phone conversations, but part of it may be how rude people are when they are on the phone with me. There are some people that I love talking to, like my best friends, my husband, my mom, my siblings and my grandparents. But most of the time I would rather not speak on the phone because people are rude. My friends aren't the ones that have made me into this anti-phone person, it's two years of answering phones at work.


And then there's emails. Working at an office job has also turned me off to a lot of emails. I have gotten really pushy and rude emails, where people use capital letter to emphasize their (usually wrong) point. If I were to translate that into real life, face-to-face conversation, it woud seem that that person was raising his voice at me. I don't accept that. I don't accept everyday abuses, and have quite readily pointed out how extremely unnecessary those types of correspondances are. 


In looking at the chat feature on facebook in particular, I have struck up conversation with many people, people who I wouldn't normally speak to using phone or email. I am astonished at how many times simple conversational courtesies are forgotten or ignored. Just the other night I said hi to an old friend. He said hello back, I asked him what's going on, he told me, and then silence...no "how are you" or "hey, really busy at the moment and can't talk, but let's talk another time", just silence. This made me upset. I understand if you are busy, and even understand if for some reason you just don't want to talk so you make up an excuse not to. But I don't like silence, especially when it's been engrained in me to wait for and expect the same interest in return. Sure, it may be completely superficial interest, but it's something. I don't like it when I am the only one driving the conversation, and feeling that way has caused me to seriously re-evaluate some past friendships. The link provided sites one such example.


This got me thinking about other forms of expression that are becoming more and more superficial and lack luster by the second. Pop music, for example. Every song sounds the same. And while they are great to dance to, and fun to listen to, there's nothing to them. Some artists are amazing and play real songs about something relatable, but most don't. And that's the formula for success, it seems. The more upbeat and fake the tune, the more money you will make.


When did we stop wanting substance in expression? When did we stop asking real questions and showing real interest? When did hanging up without saying goodbye become the norm? I saw Taylor Mali in youtube perform this poem about speaking with conviction. It's kind of off topic, but it's worth a watch. He was a teacher before he was  full-time poet, and he has a lot of great things to say about how we communicate and express ourselves. Take a look through his work.


So if you care, show it. If you call someone, don't hang up before saying goodbye. If someone asks how you are, ask back and listen to the response. We have become a society of entitled non-listeners, and that's not ok.


-SP

Bah Humbug

Last year's Lego creation!

I am feeling much more festive than usual. Usually, I am more of a Grinch than anything, loathing the Christmas season and all that comes with it. I don't like snow, cold temperatures, long lines, traffic jams, or familial function obligation. I do like relaxation, some Christmas music, the lights and light displays, hot chocolate, decorating a tree and our newest tradition which is putting together a giant Lego thing on Christmas Eve. But the bad generally outweighs the good and I am more excited for the time when the tree comes down than for when it goes up.

But this year is different. Perhaps it's the environment change, maybe it's that some key relationships in our lives have been healed, but whatever the reason I am actually excited about Christmas. Last year, I did our cards for family and friends very last minute, and some cards were never sent out. The year before that, I didn't do cards at all. This year, however, I have my list, have checked it twice and have over half of our cards written and addressed and ready to be mailed.  It could also be that we aren't doing any Christmas shopping this year. We have opted for a more non-traditional gift, purchasing from or donating to charity; we just need to do some research and decide what suits us best. My husband is wondering what has gotten into me, and honestly I don't know, but I am excited!

The weird part is that this is probably one of the harder Christmases for me. In April of this year, I cut off relationship with my father entirely. We haven't spoken or seen each other since, and won't unless and until he accepts responsibility for his actions (if you have no clue what I'm talking about, read here). So this year, I have needed to do some major juggling. I was invited to a family barbecue by my aunt on my father's side this summer. I had to ask my cousin, who invited me, if my father would be there, because if he has confirmed then I could not attend. Then, for Thanksgiving, I was in Edmonton to see my family at which time we had a dinner at my grandpa's house and my father was strictly not invited. Christmas will be much the same, as will any other family functions that he would attend. Before that, I had a conversation with him a few weeks before my wedding explaining to him that he could not walk me down the aisle. Of course, there would be exceptions to the rule. I would never miss a wedding or a funeral even if he is to attend, but if it were a wedding I would request to be seated at a different table, and at a funeral I wouldn't make any effort to acknowledge him.

But at the same time, even with all the juggling and the questions and the awkward conversations, I feel free. I feel happy. I know that I am doing to right thing by putting up a boundary and sticking with it. I know that I have clearly said to him that though I won't contact him, as the ball is in his court, he has the ability to change everything by accepting that he is wrong. I do hope that one day he does, and for now I need to make some difficult stands and decisions against him. But it's for the good.

So this Christmas, as difficult as it will be in some senses, it will be an excellent one. We are spending Christmas day with my husband's family, and are having a mini-Christmas with our really good friends. I might even pull out the decorations next week and start making the house pretty. This is the first time in years that I am enjoying this wonderful season. I might even lose my Grinch status.

-SP

Passion In The Church

Oh Christmas...

I had an interesting and refreshing conversation last night. My husband and I are involved in the Christmas thing that our church puts on every year, and are quite excited to have the opportunity since we have been officially been attending this church for only about a month. Rehearsals are every Wednesday night, and in December they will be on Wednesday and Saturday. It's been a really great opportunity to meet other musicians and some people who have been attending the church for a long time. There are a lot of people who are well connected to the rest of the community, so we really feel as if we are quickly finding our place in the body.

When we got to the rehearsal last night, I wasn't in the best of moods. My tooth hurt, I had a headache, I was tired, and generally not a happy person. People would ask me "hey, how are you" and every time I responded I started with "well, I was at the dentist today". Luckily, they immediately understood why I was having an off night. By the end of the rehersal, my spirits had been lifted. I am part of a five or six voice ensemble, doing a couple solos here and there and the girls that I sing with are lovely. They have beautiful voices, soft hearts, and it's great. If you are at all musically inclined, then I'm sure that you can relate; after and hour and a half of singing, my heart was lighter, the pain didn't seem so sharp, and I was happy.

While people were leaving, one of the girls sat with me and we started talking. She asked excellent questions. She asked when we moved and why, and I told her a bit about the history leading up to our move. There were a lot of factors that contributed to the final decision, but ultimately it was for a few key reasons. I had confronted my father on his abuse and he rejected me three times. He refused to take responsibility, so I cut off the relationship, and suddenly we had one less tie to Edmonton. Then, I had a falling out with a good friend, which then led to a falling out with a ministry at our home church that I was heavily involved in, and had been involved in for years. There are other great reasons, like the fact that all our best friends live in Calgary and we are more connected to the music scene out here, but when I chatted with this girl last night we focused on the church aspect.

She had recently moved with her family to Calgary for a similar reason. God spoke to her and her husband about the discord in their church, and they felt led to move here and so they did. They did a lot of work prior to leaving, though. They hired counsellors to mediate conversations and healing, and stuck it out until it was finished. She said it took about a year. My story is similar, but quite different. We didn't stick around, we didn't converse a lot with the leaders of the ministry about the hurts caused by both us and them. For us, God opened some really key doors much earlier, so we didn't think we needed to stay. And honestly, I'm not ready to talk with them. Maybe one day I will be, we will be, but that day is not today.

It was so refreshing to find someone who had in some way been there. Things get so messy and hurtful when ministry is added to the equation. I have seen so many churches and church leaders take advantage of their people and then get upset when you aren't interested in being used anymore. That is not right! This girl said last night that she read a book that basically said that church used to be about passion. We were passionate to get up in the morning, passionate about seeking God's face and meeting Him, passionate about serving, and passionate about the community. But people get weary of being in church when passion is replaced by obligation. When the heart is no longer involved, and church becomes a list of duties, then we lose interest. I agree wholly.

I need to be passionate to grow and at my old church I wasn't passionate. I was used and then thrown away when I wanted different. I was growing, yes, because there were other areas of my life that I was passionately learning about and changing. That may be my saving grace. If I didn't have that, I may not have grown much at all. I am glad to have a passionate community to be part of now.

-SP

Ew Dentists

Usually my blogs are much more insightful and deep and/or confusing than this one will be. But this is all I can think about right now. I went to he dentist today after breaking a temporary filling on a popcorn seed a few weeks back. I dislike dentists. Dentists are nice human beings, but it is unpleasant to be awake and feel someone drilling into your jaw while they are trying to talk to about normal stuff. Seriously, you're currently ripping out part of my tooth, and my mouth is set in the open position. Can we please not talk?

Brush your teeth...

Being at the dentist isn't as bad as the aftermath though. I left his office at around 12:30 this afternoon, and half my face was completely frozen. I had only eaten two granola bars by then, and was super hungry, but wasn't supposed to eat because I might bite my tongue or lip or cheek. I went to Starbucks, because that was about the only thing that could make me feel somewhat better, got my favourite drink and called my husband. I would imagine he found it difficult to understand me with my temporary speech impediment, but I made it through with little to no drooling, a small triumph.

I am fine now, but ate about a half hour before I should have (which was still three hours after I normally eat lunch) and bit my lip really bad. I felt it a little because the freezing had eased enough to alarm my brain, but on top of the headache that I have as a result of the needles and drills, I also have a swollen and sore lip.

Is this why everyone hates dentists? And is it the hatred of dentists the reason that that profession has a high suicide rate? I suppose I will never know that, as I have no aspirations to become one. And I don't hate the dentist, but it's not my favourite passtime. I had been to see one in May before moving, and before that probably hadn't been in at least six years. I am not a fan of the experience as a whole, no matter how nice the doctor, or how relaxing the waiting area. The sound/feeling of drills kind of ruin it for me.

-SP

Marriage Part 1: The Root

One day at work not long ago, a very cynical co-worker of mine was saying that there is no such thing as being happily married, as I had heard many times before from other jaded husbands who outwardly regret the commitment they have promised themselves to. He basically said that one can be contentedly settled, but no one truly finds the fuel to their heart flame and is really madly in love after years of marriage. He had this air about him, as if to say "you just wait, kiddo, you'll soon know". But I don't care what people say, and I don't care how much longer they have been married than I, we are truly an exception to the rule.

But it scares me to think that my husband and/or I may wake up one day and realize that he was right. We are no different than the other bitter old couples. We know each other through and through, there is no longer a desire or a need to explore each other, to learn about each other, to love each other with enthusiasm. That would be one of my worst nightmares becoming reality. 

I was created to be married, I am convinced of it. When I was around seven years old, my brother and I would go over to the friend's house across the street from my aunt's house and play. I always wanted to have a pretend wedding. I wanted to be a bride, and to live happily ever after with the best man in the land. Later, in grade five, I was 'boyfriend-girlfriend' with this guy in my class, Ryan Monaghan. He would 'date' me, which really meant that during art class we would sit together, and then 'break up' with me and 'date' my best friend. He kept going back and forth and I was so heart broken because the whole time I just wanted for him to love and marry me. He was not my first crush, though. My first crush, Jason D. (I can't remember how to spell his last name) had me so hooked and he didn't even know it. I wrote him a song while doing flyers with my best friend (the same best friend who kept getting in the way of Ryan and I, who I'm positive is gay now) and mailed it to him, hand written on my best stationary with my favourite perfume gracing the pages. He lived close to home so I went to his house just to be near him. I was his dad's favourite Sunday School student, and he joked about me going on a picnic with his family. I remember so clearly in my mind the quick talks I would have with Jason in passing. I was obsessed with him, and with the idea of being with him forever. The high school sweetheart thing was a most appealing idea for me, and I wanted so badly to find that person as quickly as possible.

Obviously, it never worked between Jason and I, and later in life, in grade eleven, I met this guy who gave me the attention that I yearned for. I moved out shortly after meeting him because my home life was extremely unhealthy, and we were free to be together. He was older, seemed established, goal oriented, and mature. I was young, spirited, and insecure and found it quite easy to fall for him, much like I had fallen for all the cute boys in the past. We dated for a year and at one time I sat with my mom, and when she asked I told her "yes, I want to marry him. He is the one". He wasn't.

My dating life has been overcome with disappointment after disappointment. I would meet someone, fall for him so quickly, fling my abnormally fragile heart and soul in his general direction hoping with any part of me that was left that he would catch it, that he would be the one, and he wasn't. Until I met my husband.

He really was my knight. He wanted the same things as I did, he is ambitious and loving and, best of all, when I slightly more cautiously lobbed my heart and soul towards him, he caught it. He held onto it like it were his most prized possession. He covered the bruises, nurtured the open wounds, and told me that no one would toss it away anymore, because he was here and he was here to stay. He has kept his promise. We have been together for over three years now, married for one, and he still sends me a love message every single morning. He still gets me a glass of water every night for my nightstand. He still opens the car door for me every time we are driving somewhere together. He still loves me with the same passion and consistency that he did when we first met, only now the love is more deeply rooted, more stable, more true and real.

Love

I recently congratulated a friend's wife as she is having a baby. But I surprised even myself at what I said. Instead of the traditional "congratulations, know what the sex is, blah blah blah" I said to her "praying for you both, that your marriage will be strengthened in this time, that it will be a firm foundation on which to have a family, and that you both will always put each other first". Perhaps that is where the disconnect is. Perhaps it's not in falling out of love or knowing each other too well, it's in not putting each other first twenty some-odd years later as you did just months or a few years into your commitment. God bless my marriage, that though we will struggle with making each other first priority over everyone else, we will not forget that a healthy house starts at the root; at us. 

-SP

Closet Poet

Words. They are often on the tip of my tongue and at the same time completely out of my reach. I imagine myself grasping in front of my face at the the thin air that slips between my slender fingers, trying to hold onto them tightly, as if they had some sort of mass that I could grip. I have these moments of genius where I feel that I have finally found the best way to express the cries in the depths of me, both joyful and pained, and then someone else comes in who seems to know me much better than I know myself, and they say what I've been wanting to say all along. This is why I love slam poetry.


I have been watching a lot of it lately on the internet. I love the images that my mind creates as I listen to these normal people give abnormally insightful and eloquent four minute speeches on life subjects. The poets captivate me, motivate me, provoke emotions from me, promote creativity in me. I have never found both a better outlet for me after a hard day (or conversely a great day) and a more effective motivator for my own writing. I get home, sit on the couch, and observe; observe a passion I have, the words I wish I had, and a bravery to share it all. 


Performance poetry is one of those things that I imagine myself doing well, but have no idea where to begin. The arts are dying, and as an artist, the slow, rotting demise stares blankly at me, as if asking for help. Yes, there is a thriving community of musicians around me, and I am very thankful to have my foot in the door. Maybe if I were more involved in other aspects of the arts, I would know where to look for such things. There has got to be some closet performance poets who convene on a regular basis, sharing their thoughts, their wisdom, their words.


Words. They enslave me, and yet I live to tell my story. I stutter, am tongue tied, but can't stop talking once you get me started. How beautifully they can come together, not just to make sentences, but to paint pictures in vivid colours only your mind could conceive. This art should not die. 

-SP

Circle Of Influence

I am currently talking to my brother on facebook chat. He is amazing. All my siblings are younger than me, the one that I am speaking with is third in line in the age chain. He is 17, will be graduating high school next year, has a car and all the girls are after him.

I watch his facebook. I observe who he talks to, how often, and who is commenting on his status changes and pictures. He is in this huge transition stage of his life, and it's interesting to sit back and watch how he sees his world, what he is learning, and how he is different from me and my other four siblings. I asked him tonight about this female friend of his that comments on everything, as if she waits for him to post something like I used to wait by the phone in case "he" called. My brother told me that they are just really good friends. Now, I would believe that if it weren't for the fact that she comments on his pictures, telling him he's cute with a little heart at the end of her sentence. So I asked him about it a little more.

He said that there is nothing going on, and I believe him, but I believe him to be naive like most men his age are. I told him that I have had lots of close male friends, best friends even, and while I was single I never once commented on their stuff or sent texts with little hearts. So he may not see it, but I think she might have a thing for him. And rightfully so! He is young, ambitious, attractive, and one of the absolute sweetest people I have ever had the privilege of knowing. And I have seen the worst of him. Growing up was not a cake walk. But we grew, and grew up, and now have this amazing brother-sister relationship. I long for him to know that I love him and have his back should he ever need me, and even when he doesn't. And I don't have a problem at all with any girl that would come into his life. He deserves to know the love of a woman. I just want to see him make good decisions.

So we chatted, and I gave him my sisterly advice. I told him that there is wisdom in knowing who to choose to be with and when. I also said that he may not always be wise. I sure wasn't. I threw my heart at whoever seemed suitable to take it, and usually those people weren't at all equipped to handle it with care. But, I told him, if you take your time, think through things, let God speak to you about the women you are interested in or who are interested in you, you will make good decisions. I then told him that there are other guys in his life that I know he looks up to who want to walk through these things with him, and want to be there for him, so if he needs someone or advice he should go to those people. I then made some tongue in cheek comment about how he probably won't want to come to his sister. What he said to me floored me.

My brother <3

He told me that he just might, because I am one of the biggest influences in his life *smily face*. Me? I am one of the biggest influences in his life? Really? What an honour! I have talked in my last two blogs at least about experiences that have humbled me, and this is yet another that has helped me to know the work that God has done in my life. It is my desire to be a good influence to people, especially my siblings. As I said earlier, they are all younger than me. I want them to be able to look at me, look at my life and say "yah, she's made mistakes, but no one is perfect. She is a good person who loves God and I see Jesus in her". Now I know unequivocally that they do. 

In thinking about the people that I respect and admire the most, there is one thing that they all have in common. They aren't striving for anything other than Jesus. One cannot strive to be an influential person, that will lead him no where. If I strive to be a good influence, I think that would be fake. It reminds me of my father. He has admitted on several occasions to me that he is two very different people; one at work, and one at home. At home, he is a dictator. He is abusive, angry, reclusive, uninvolved, and petty. At work, however, he is a servant. He listens only to Christian radio stations, he seeks opportunities to share about the love of Jesus, he doesn't swear, he is patient and he is kind. But he is not real. Someone that he works with might call him a good influence, a man of God, but his family knows better. I know that that's not how God has intended for us to be.

And I may have ended up just like him, if it weren't for the influence of some amazing people God has put in my path. I was him at one point in a way. I was jovial, spiritual, loving and selfless around people, and then angry, confused, resentful, and toxic when alone. I wasn't real. And it was through a long process of awakening that I became real and vulnerable to all people (to differing degrees, certainly). It is because of that process that I have stopped striving; striving to be something I am not, striving for wholeness in humans rather than God, striving for purpose in my own selfish desires. And it is because I no longer strive that I can quietly, and without ever knowing it, be a good influence. 

You never know how you will affect someone's life by being in it. I am so glad that I have left a positive mark on someone, especially someone that I love so deeply.

-SP

Courage Is Contagious

A good friend of mine posted on her facebook the other day that she is unloading some of the junk in her life. I messaged her and said that if she ever needs someone to talk to, someone who has been there, she can always come to me. Here is a little background for you, first about me and then about her.

For those of you who are accessing my blog through my facebook, or my husband's facebook, you may have noticed that I have a goal. I love to blog, it is a great release for me and often I find that I come to major and minor conclusions while I write and think of things that I hadn't before no matter how much thought I put into the subject. But I don't want to just blog. My life isn't that exciting. Sure, I never run out of things to say, but that could be because I am female, or because I only started this a month or so ago. But I have an idea. I want to start another separate blog that is focused on the affects of sexual abuse and the healing process that I went through, so as to reach out to other victims and give practical insight into their hurts through my own experiences. I want to partner with some churches in Edmonton and Calgary for prayer support, and also local counsellors who might be willing to contribute by posting on some topics, or lending their expertise by commenting on my blogs, while also recommending it to appropriate clients. My life may be somewhat boring, but my journey hasn't been. I think that if done well, this could be a resource to all kinds of victims of abuse while having a primary focus on sexual abuse victims. I am excited! My story is now, more than ever, a huge blessing.

<3

Now my friend. I have known her since high school. We have been best friends for years. She experienced a lot of things while growing up, and those things were magnified when she met the man of her dreams. Her father, who abandoned her and her family when she was young, made no effort at all to be part of her life even though she tried to give him opportunities to get to know her and her now husband. She got nothing in return. She has all of this hurt and pain and guilt from her relationship with him that she has started to work through. I am so proud of her! She is spending time learning about the scars left over, not covering them up. She has been writing out specific incidences and hurts and learning to forgive and move forward without resentment while affording him the opportunity to enter into her life if/when he so chooses, on the basis that he will take responsibility. What grace! He is so undeserving of her grace, just as we are so undeserving of the grace that God gives us, and yet she is openly, willingly giving that to him. I have never seen a more Christ-like act.

Of course, this takes time, lots of time. It took me three years of counselling, a long battle with crippling depression, many conversations, tears, and prayers before I was ready to sit with my father and offer him a relationship if he would take responsibility and make steps to change, without lingering resentment and anger in my heart. He didn't, but I will discuss that later (hopefully in my new blog!), and now we don't have a relationship at all. But he still has the power to change it. The door to relationship, Godly relationship, is closed but not locked. If he ever can come to me humbly and recognise fully the sin that festers inside him, and will make himself vulnerable and accountable to someone or a program that can help him move forward and purge the infections from his heart, then we can have a relationship of some kind.

It took me a long time to get to the point that I am at today, and it may take my friend a lot of time, but the fact that she is doing it is an inspiration to me. The most humbling part of watching her experience this all is that she told me that I inspired her. The moment that I heard that, my eyes filled with joyous tears. My story inspired someone else to be so brave and start on a journey to be healed with Christ's awesome love. I have said for a while now that my story is my blessing, perhaps not while fully believing what I was saying. Maybe I said that because I needed to convince myself that it was something other than the curse it felt like. When my best friend told me that my story, my journey, the woman that I became inspired her to dive into her own journey, I fully realized that all the hurts of my past truly are a blessing.

But this is the thing. They are not a blessing because of what I have done with them. It took a lot of convincing for me to take that first step and sit with a counsellor. It was so painful to re-experience all the pain, much more painful than the first time. My story, the abuse, the healing, it's a blessing because of what I let God do with it. In the times that I relied most heavily on my own understanding and coping mechanisms, I felt the most alone and desperate. But when I would give up and hand them over to God, He very gently began to heal me. It is not because of me that I have a great testimony, but because of how the Spirit has moved in me and transformed me.

Courage has been my life word for a few years. It has popped up everywhere; I have been spoken over and told that I am courageous, I was given a necklace by a stranger with the word on it, I even got a tattoo of it. If ever I have felt excited to be a woman of courage it has been lately. God has completely honoured my courage, my perseverance, by showing me that it is contagious. It is because of the results in me that my friend is taking a more focused leap into her pain. It is because of God in me.

Be brave! The journey may be long and so difficult, but it is worth it and others around you will see a change in you even especially when you can't. Not everyone has my story, or my friend's story, but everyone has opportunities to be courageous. And if you do have a story that is littered with hurts caused by others, more specifically people in trust positions in your life, then be encouraged. You are not alone, and you are welcome to contact me.

I leave you with this: John Maxwell said "if we're growing, we're always going to be out of our comfort zone".

-SP

Surprise!

Today is my birthday. I'm not a huge fan of birthdays, particularly my own, as I spoke about in a previous blog. I don't know what it is. My husband knows about my issues, we talk about them every year. He wants to do something big and fun for my birthday, and I would just like something small, just him and I and maybe one or two close friends or couples. I throw together some sort of small restaurant get together the day before and hope that maybe a few people can show up. People always do, my friends are amazing that way, but most of them would want to make a bigger deal out of my birthday than I would, so I won't let them. Even this year, I had a couple of specific rules for my husband; no family, only close friends, and nothing huge. I would have even been happy with just a nice expensive dinner, just the two of us.

He broke the rules slightly and planned a surprise party for me. It was so fun! My husband and I spent the whole day together on Saturday, and then that night we got all dressed up and had a nice dinner at a place down the road. He pretended he wasn't feeling well, so we decided to call it a night early and picked up a bottle of sparkling wine with the intention of having a nice romantic bath together. We get home, I unlock and open the door, and my best of friends (minus one or two who don't live here) were popping out of the dark corners of the room yelling "surprise!" I felt so loved.

Surprise! Some of the greatest lady friends!

They promptly placed a crown on my head and a necklace around my neck and started taking pictures. I looked around the room and saw banners and balloons that my best friend and her husband had put up while we were having dinner. My husband began to explain the details of the surprise and how he pulled it off. More friends arrived throughout the evening. We played cards (dutch blitz, my favourite) drank wine, ate Doritos, talked, listened to music and just spent time together. Those are the kinds of nights that I enjoy the most, the ones with little to no agenda where you can just talk and be together. I couldn't have asked for a better celebration.

I was so humbled. That all of these wonderful people would take time out of their busy weekend for me made me feel so valued. I had never felt so loved by my friends. The last of the party animals left around one in the morning. I went to sleep with a smile on my face. I'll never forget that night.

-SP

Escape Artist

The next Harry Potter movie is about to hit theatres, and I couldn't be more excited. I have been anticipating the release of it ever since I read the book last summer. I read the entire series in a little under two months (I had a lot of down time at work) and have never been more enamored with fiction novels.

Usually I read non-fiction. I like opinions. I like books about what people experience, how they see their world. For years after high school that was the only type of books that I would read. I felt like I was learning, growing, developing my own thoughts and conclusions while reading those of others. I quickly grew weary of reading all together.

Before Harry Potter, the last book I read was probably about a year before. I didn't have time for reading anymore. I didn't find that I got any sort of relaxation or release out of it. But all along, I was reading too much of the wrong genre. I randomly decided one day that I would read the Harry Potter series. I had read the first and second book in elementary school when they first came out, but my parents got on the Focus On The Family bandwagon and banned the "heathen" material from my house because it "glorified the use of witch craft". Meanwhile, they encouraged me to read the Chronicles Of Narnia because it was by a Christian author, you know, the one with the magical wardrobe and the talking lion. Weird. Anyway, I decided to go get Harry Potter, and read each book from the beginning. The first three were the same plot format, and I almost lost interest. But as I got into the fourth book, and each subsequent book, I became more and more involved and interested in the twisty turny plot. I was always so excited to see where it would take me, what adventure would unfold next, as if I was part of the story.

I am re-reading the 7th book, and am more in love with it the second time around than the first. All the little things that I missed because I was so excited to see what happens next are coming out of the woodwork. I find the series as a whole to be brilliant and captivating.

As I think about this, I am wondering why we get so into these fictional stories. Why is it that I read this book, and my sense of adventure seems to find peace and rest? Why is it that when I watch a romantic comedy I feel romanced and beautiful? Why is it that when I watch a drama, whether it be a television drama or a movie, I get so into it, so connected with the story that tears fill my eyes when something negative occurs? Is it unhealthy to become so invested in these shows and books that I have physical reactions to the plot, as if I myself am experiencing the pain, the happiness, the urgency, the love, the hate or the grief?

I think that everyone searches for an escape. An escape can take many forms; it can really be most anything. I suppose the real question is not at all about what type of escape you have, unless it is sinful and/or damaging to you or other people. It is what are you trying to escape from? What am I escaping from? Am I enticed because of a plot, or because I would rather not think about my own life for a while? I am not saying that escapes are a bad thing. They can be good and necessary. But they need to be kept in check. No escape should be a means to run away from life, or put off the hard things. It's healthy to take short breaks, but it is unhealthy to decide not to resume living your life.

Love HP this much!

I guess I am thinking about this because I was (still am) a master escape artist. I knew all the tricks to put off dealing with the pain that chained me, as if in a cold prison cell, and instead put on a beautiful, spontaneous, excited, but extremely fake, outer mask. Knowing what I know now, I think it would be impossible to pretend my life is peachy when it isn't, at least to that extent. I am lucky, so lucky, to have been released from the strongholds of my ignorance, and can now be beautiful, spontaneous, excited and real. That is far better than who I was before.

I leave you with this, the Harry Potter trailer for the movie coming out on November 19th! If you haven't seen it, you must, and then you must go see the movie! It'll be awesome.

-SP

Don't Forget To Remember

Remembrance Day is important to me. It always was important, but now that my brother is in the military, it weighs heavily with me. I remember learning about it in school and reading the poem "In Flanders Fields". No matter how much we studied it, I didn't understand it like I do today, and probably still don't understand and appreciate it like our troops do.

My boss went around the office and shop and handed out poppies this morning. It's a small act, and by the end of the day most employees will have either lost theirs or removed it, only to chuck it in the garbage until next year. But I appreciated seeing someone walk around and remind everyone to remember; remember that the freedom we have today is due to the bravery of those who came before us, and remember that there are still troops willingly risking their lives for us today. But for most, that doesn't quite hit home. Yes, we can all appreciate the veterans that are still around to share their stories, but what does this day actually mean to us? What does it mean to you?

My brother will be serving in Afghanistan next year for the majority of the year, and before that will be going to the states for acclimatization training. With the deadline right now, he'll be done January 1, 2011, but if they extend the deadline his tour could be longer. I am terrified, but this is his choice, his calling, and I support him as best I can. It is difficult for me not to consider that I could lose him, that we all could lose him, while he is over there. I try not to dwell on that, but I would be naive to ignore that possibility. As I think about that, though, my spirit is deeply humbled. He would not just die, but he would die for peace, for freedom, for me so that I do not have to pay the price. What a beautiful and brave act. I'm sure it's not his first choice, just as it's not mine, but he wouldn't die in vain.

No one fought in vain in the world wars. So please, do not forget to remember. Calgary has a memorial set up for the fallen soldiers, I will be sure to visit it this evening. Please do your part, take a moment of silence, and really be thankful. Don't forget to participate, don't sit idly by and not really think about what this day means. We must honour those who fought for us in Flanders fields, where poppies blow...

-SP

Deeper Daily

I woke up this morning to discomfort. I showered while my insides ached and began my day. I had felt this way before on more than one occasion, and because of that have a standing prescription at the pharmacy for the antibiotic that cures all that ails me, but I had to get to work. Luckily, my husband has the day off. I told him my predicament, and said that I would wait a bit longer to make sure that I was correct about the cause of my symptoms, and would call him later if I needed him to pick up the drugs for me.

I got to work and by that time knew that I was right. I needed the medication to avoid a more severe pain, so I called the pharmacy and told them my husband would be there within the hour to pick up my prescription. I then called my husband who was lounging in bed. He hasn't been feeling the greatest for the past day or so, so he was quite happy to have a slow morning at home with no real errands or commitments. Unfortunately, I very inopportunely changed his plans.

We've all been there before; laying in bed one minute, scrambling to find day old clothing the next. He went from relaxing and recovering in bed, and preparing for some session work with a friend, to scrambling to get out the door as fast as possible, make the hour round trip to me and back, only to go to our friend's house right away without even so much as a shower, and so he was very understandably frustrated. I felt bad, because if it weren't for me he would have had some good, quality time to himself. He quickly reassured me that it's not my fault, and that it's just the situation that he finds frustrating.

Everyone handles frustration and stress differently. My husband handles it graciously; he can be frustrated or angry, but he rarely loses control of his temper, and he is quick to ensure that the blame isn't being placed on people who have no responsibility. I am almost the complete opposite. I get frustrated quickly and am quick to blame, slow to reason. Why is that? I see the same traits in my parents. They are quick to be hot tempered and try to manipulate situations to their benefit. Am I just a product of how I was raised in that regard?

Best day ever

I am not blaming my parents for my mistakes. I know that I am an intelligent adult with ability to choose to react differently. And a lot of the time, I do. I am not an expert at it, but I try. I am just amazed at how different people are. My husband is one way, similar to his family, and I am another, similar to mine.

I think that we are lucky to have each other. The more that we discover about ourselves, the more we teach one another. I am fortunate to have a husband that teaches me a better way of handling stress and frustration. Whether he knows it or not, I learned a lot from him today. He was real and honest about being upset, but he wasn't a jerk to me or anyone else because he was upset. Every single day that I'm with him, I discover new reasons to fall in love with him all over again, and today this was my reason.

-SP

Relax

One of the most relaxing places I have ever been to

I am pretty sure I was born with the inability to just relax. I can't just be. I am go go go, no matter the consequence and I have gotten myself into trouble with it before. For example, there is one Sunday I was so sick but I was supposed to be on a worship team at church. I got up, went to church with literally no voice and managed to sing some manly sounding harmony. I barely got through the morning, was utterly exhausted by the end of it, and my smooth, dulcet but manly tones were reduced to an almost inaudible whisper by the time the service was over. I think that I even went out for lunch that day.


Tonight I was bored. I was so bored I began doing annoying things on purpose (usually I do them a bit more unintentionally). I had a hard time just sitting at home, watching television or listening to music or reading, and felt like I would be missing something important if I stayed home. As the night continued drawing to a close, I decided to have a bath. It was glorious. I poured my aromatic bath salts into the warm water and just relaxed. It was quiet. My husband sat in the other room and read a book while I just closed my eyes and enjoyed the soothing warmth.


I have been missing what is important all along by trying not to miss anything. I haven't given myself an opportunity to sit and recuperate. I am learning to just be...be quiet, be still, be open, be content, be at peace, be relaxed. I have a hard time being just one of those things, let alone all of them. It is completely opposite to my personality type. Being relaxed and at peace means that I let my guard down and don't try so hard. Not that I am 'trying too hard', I hope that you know what I mean. I am finding words hard to come by. I like to call it ambition or being goal oriented, but really it's not prioritizing correctly. My health, both physically and emotionally, should be higher up on the list of things to take care of, or I'll never be able to take care of the people I love.


I have much more free time lately than I am used to, but I feel like I have gotten to know who I am in a crucial way in the silence. Without the other 'stuff' cluttering my world, I can just be myself. 

Military Nightmare

I saw the newspaper sitting on our granite island this morning. On the front page of the National Post was a picture of Canadian troops in Afghanistan and a headline saying that troops may be staying in Afghanistan past the 2011 deadline. I cried.

My brother giving me away

My brother is in the military. He is in the infantry and loves his job. He's a typical male; most days I am sure that the biggest draw for him, along with the structured environment, is that he gets to shoot huge guns and blow things up. He's a man's man. He likes beer, Halo, driving his truck, UFC, and explosions. The military was a natural transition for him. I wish I could say the same for me.

When my brother left for basic training initially, I was a wreck. That was the catalyst to a long period of depression where I lost my appetite for food and fun entirely (along with 25 pounds I probably didn't have). I am lucky that my husband (we were dating at the time) was so strong for me. The day that my brother left, I went with my parents to the airport. I managed to hold it together for the most part, cried a little as he was about to go through security, took one last hug and looked back to wave, and then sat in silence as my parents drove me back to my car. My husband, who lived in Calgary at the time, was in Edmonton that weekend, and by the time I got home he had already let himself into my house. We went out for lunch, and as I drove to the restaurant my eyes filled with uncontrollable tears. I have never felt so alone.

For the next two weeks straight, I would cry these tears of immense sadness for hours on end. I would sit and watch a comedy, but would not laugh, and tears would silently fall from my face. I didn't sleep, I didn't eat, and I didn't understand. I had no idea why I was so sad. My brother and I were close, meaning we had experienced a lot of things together both good and bad, but I never expected that him leaving would affect me so deeply. I was blindsided by utter grief, and it took months for me to be able to explain it.

I would sit with my counsellor, weeping, trying so hard to work through letting go of him while progressing in what I was there for; the abuse that was suffered when I was a child. I felt like I was getting no where. I felt like no one could help me, especially if I couldn't in some way help myself. I felt like the only person who could understand and who was on my side was gone. I later made some very devastating realizations about my relationship with him, but I will get into those at another time. They deserve their own space.

Back to this morning. My brother is being deployed next year. I knew this was coming. Overseas missions is the whole purpose of the military. But I had found some solace in the deadline. Knowing that Canadian troops were not going to be occupying Afghanistan in any way after December 31st, 2011, was comforting to me. But as I suspected, that could change in the next couple weeks. Canadian authorities, such as the defence minister, have been getting pressure from all sides lately. The Portuguese government, according to today's paper, has told Stephen Harper, and even Canadian entertainment acts, that they are not welcome there unless they make some kind of commitment to stay in Afghanistan.The Danish defense minister has also been in talks with ours, playing on our duty as allies.

I knew this would happen. It just terrifies me. It scares me that even though this a peaceful mission, he could die. I won't be able to see him again. It's bad enough that I will go nearly a year without seeing him, and probably won't hear from him often, if at all. And I have another brother who is eagerly awaiting the time when he comes of age and can enlist. That is about 7 months away. My heart will be ripped out once again (not quite to the same extent).

I'm not really sure how to take the news, how to process it, how to support my brothers with my whole heart. I love them and don't want to see anything happen to them, but I can never stand in the way of what they want. I selfishly wish that I could sometimes. But I can't. I shouldn't. I won't. So how do I support them, like I have always promised that I would, with this brokenness? With prayer and time and the Lord I will be able to one day. But for now I am conflicted and human.

-SP

The Professional Pretender

My passion is music. My husband and I are both musicians, and are very fortunate to be able to play fairly often. Performing is so much fun. I feel at home on stage. It's like this whole other personality comes to life when I let myself go and just be in the music and perform the song. There is no hint of insecurity, I am just this confident, energetic, passionate woman when I have a mic in my hand and am performing for a crowd. I feed off the band and the dancing and feel as if nothing could go wrong in that moment, despite any personal struggles I may be going through in that period of life. And when it is a smaller, more intimate setting, maybe an acoustic set, I just get lost in the music. I think about how I feel, what the words say, and how the music sounds. Performance is an awesome way for me to express myself.


But I have often wondered if I am being something I'm not. My husband and I had a conversation recently about what it means to perform. I said to him that, to me, performance is about conveying the message of a song without necessarily believing in it entirely. And I think that for me, it's true. I can to some degree relate to most of the songs that I perform, but don't always agree with the message or condone what is being talked about. But I am a good performer. To me, it's about getting whoever is watching engaged in what you are singing with how you sing it. But does that make me fake?

The performer in me

I don't know. My aim in everything is to be authentic. If I am not genuinely interested, I won't ask the question. If I don't care, I won't put my heart into it. So if I don't agree with a song, is it not authentic for me to perform it with all of me? Am I a professional pretender? I guess it would be similar to acting; I must get into character and play a part to convey the message of a song clearly. But it's just weird to think about. I have never thought of performance like this before.


I don't think this is a bad thing. I love performing, it makes me feel so good and I know that I am doing what I should be when I am. It's just a new perspective. And the more that I do it, the more I will gain insight into the art as a whole. But it really is true that you can be one person in one setting, and your truer self in another. Performance is the exaggerated, less real version of myself, but it seems appropriate for the stage.


-SP

My Utter Imperfection

Life has been a series of realizations lately. I have realized my strength, my beauty, my gifts, but most prominently have realized my weaknesses. If we were speaking as my high school self, I would be ignorant and proud and unable to admit wrong doing. But as I get older (and hopefully a bit wiser) I can more readily acknowledge that I am flawed, perhaps the most flawed of them all. I am lucky that there is grace and mercy, or I would be cast aside like garbage. 


One of the biggest flaws that I am realizing is avoidance. Now, I have been extremely aware of my tendency to avoid for some time now. When I began counselling in 2007, avoidance was probably the most obvious coping mechanism that I used to mask the hurt in my heart. I am an avoider. And while I no longer avoid the hurt that was caused in my childhood, and I no longer look past my scars as if I am looking through a window, I still avoid. It's the most fundamental tactic in my play book. Avoidance is familiar and easy, but so unhealthy.


I have gotten a lot better. If you have known me intimately throughout my continuing transformation, you would know that. But I was taught avoidance from an early age. My parents are the biggest avoiders I know. My family never talked about things. My parents would say that we could talk to them about anything, but that didn't mean "anything". We weren't taught to work out our issues and talk about our feelings. In fact, to feel and express feelings was such a foreign concept to me right into my late teens. The closest I ever got to 'feelings' were the sitcoms that would make fun of it on television. And then I "fell in love" and it was the most overwhelming experience for me. I had no idea how to properly express how I felt, especially in times of conflict, and it became the most difficult relationship to overcome. 


For years after we broke up, I didn't feel that I had attained any sort of closure, because I didn't feel heard. But I didn't know to speak up and say what I needed to say because I had never done it before. Every major conversation that we had where I had the floor and got to say my piece was nearly scripted. I would sit down with a friend, maybe write a song, and think through a few key things that I needed to say, and how to say them. If it weren't for my critical thinking we would have spent all our time in silence, and even when I did somehow correctly predict how the upcoming conversation would go, I would second guess myself, and wonder if I had chosen the right words. I would often just not say anything at all, or not say what I intended, and I would leave feeling resentful and even more hurt and broken. What a terrible way to live!

The family I can love, because I know who I am

I eventually got closure and stopped avoiding those particular hurts. I forgave and moved on and met the love of my life years later. And it wasn't until I fell in love with my husband, and we began to work at our relationship, that I realized how bad I am at confronting issues head on. Everything was happening at once. I was in the thick of my counselling in one of the most challenging periods of my life so far (and probably to come), and also had to face all of my inadequacies as a woman to my man. I would beat myself up, cry, sit silently, go for a drive, all to prolong facing the issues at hand. And the thing is, they usually weren't huge, make-or-break issues; they were small things that I should have just been able to acknowledge and move forward from, but I had no clue how. I was like baby trying my hardest to roll over for the first time; I would get on my side, thinking I can do it, and fall on my back and give up. 


I don't do that anymore. Perhaps I sometimes go too far the other way and over express myself in times of conflict, especially with people that I know and trust. But often I would rather write a letter than make a phone call, or send an email than ask someone out to coffee if there is something we need to discuss. I am working on it, and have had some very difficult, life changing conversations in a direct and loving manner. But for small things, or things that I don't see as high on the priority list, I don't always face them head on and then, like I did when I was 16 and in love for the first time, I don't feel heard.


I could go into way more detail, but I will save that for another time and end with this. Habits need to be broken. I know that I need to be more consistent in how I deal with people. It's just hard. Most times in my life, when given the option to fight or flee, I run like hell. 


-SP