Love Letters

One year ago yesterday, my husband and I officially signed our Separation Agreement, in the presence of witnesses, a Notary, and shared a ceremonial slug of the “special whisky” Greg brought in honour of the occasion. Turns out, the whisky was awful – but somehow, its nasty burn seemed more fitting than a smooth scotch would have been, given the intensity and jarring impact of that moment on my life.  I had picked October 20 th  as the date for the paperwork, as I reckoned that was the day Greg first left our bed and moved out to the studio the year before that. From that moment to the clink of our whisky glasses, my whole world was turned inside out. I come from a long line of introverts. Apart from the kids who would come to visit me, my mother did not socialize with the neighbourhood folk much. She preferred to keep her private life, well, private. When Greg and I were courting, one of the songs he wrote for me that truly clinched the deal was called “Hermit Wife” ...

Happy Canada Day from a proud Canadian. Facebook – which I use only judiciously and strategically – likes to remind me what happened on this date over the years. I can completely turn it off if I wish, and for a time, those daily trips down memory lane had the power to completely undo me. So much so that I completely stopped Facebook for awhile. Then I learned how to build my social media bubble: I “unfollowed” a whole community of people; I changed my notifications and trained myself to leave the app alone. And I went away to focus on healing. Walking. Music. Talking. Sharing my story. Yoga. Weight lifting. More walking. Sleep stories. Mindfulness. Journaling. Gratitude. Random acts of kindness. And embracing all of those who gathered around me in my time of need. I called on an army of helpers, and made myself my Mission: to once and for all see me for the magnificent creature I am, and lean into Just Being Me. It has been a project more daunting than any other I hav...

Good Friday. A day wrought with symbolism - and for a storyteller who embraces ritual as a way to integrate life's experiences, this weekend is always special for me.  Last year at this time, I was living back in my old bedroom at Dad's house, nursing my shattered heart and dealing with the business of dissolving my marriage. As I walked by my old friend the river that Good Friday, I embraced Ritual. I began by shedding pain-laden artifacts, giving them to the mighty Ottawa (which was about to overflow in the great deluge of 2017). Then I sat on its bank, and imagined a future for myself as this new being, separate from Greg. And the only place I could see living that life, was in my beloved little blue house on the river - the home we were preparing to sell. The moment I made that choice, I began a love affair that might never have come, had I not had to fight so hard for my life throughout the long cold winter from which I was emerging. And here, a year later, I stand s...

BONO VOX: -        an alteration of Bonavox, a Latin phrase which translates to "good voice" As I continue my mental health crusade, sharing my experience (good, bad, ugly) in real time, I am honouring a call for the full expression of myself through personal storytelling. I am using my voice to inspire others, battling against any remaining barriers preventing people from seeking help for their mental health. “Nothing to stop this being the best day ever” -        Love is All We Have Left, U2, Songs of Experience I sing all the time. Music has always been there for me in my darkest moments. Specifically, U2 has always been there. I sing under my headphones as I walk (especially fun in the cold winter air!), I sing in the shower, and I sing as I drum in the studio. Until the last few months, I sang quietly. I don’t do that any more. In the dark, cold middle of March 2017, I packed a bunch of bags and boxes,...