What is this thing I'm feeling?

My last post was fairly optimistic in feeling. I was fairly optimistic in its writing. Now, I find myself on a bit of a roller-coaster. We're all on this ride right now. Some of us are sitting up front, feeling the brunt of it first hand. Some of us are at the very back, being whipped around. Some of us are sitting in the middle and can't see what's coming ahead or what's going on behind us. But wherever we are sitting, we are all on it; the highs, the lows - we're all experiencing the peaks and valleys, and loop-de-loops together. 

I go up and down spontaneously and violently at times. At other times, I just feel down. I feel like crying all the time, like staying in bed all day, like eating and drinking too much and that's all I can manage. The thing is, I also feel guilty that I am not okay. I still have a job  (for now). My wife still has a job. My children are healthy, my family is healthy, and my friends are all safe and healthy too. I have the ability to adapt to this new life well. I have the technological skills to work and flourish in an online environment. So, if you look at my life on paper, you would think I have a lot to be grateful for. And truly, I do. 

So, what's the deal? I came to the realization a few days ago about exactly what it is I'm experiencing right now. This is grief. I am grieving loss. I should know - I've grieved so many times in my life, and it often looks similar to what I am doing now. I can function on the day to day. I can complete tasks, do work, and even smile and laugh. But inside, underneath it all, I am so not okay. We are likely all grieving in some way. The world has done an about turn - instead of connecting more, being more global, we are now closing borders, disconnecting and sitting in our homes, unable to connect the way we once did. 

Cartography of Grief Source: © Refuge in Grief

I've experienced several of the grief stages thus far. I've lived the denial phase, the depression phase (current), the bargaining phase (on and off), and the anger phase (underlying everything right now). I have yet to get to the acceptance phase and stay there. It's important to note that these phases aren't linear. We can move in an out of these phases fluidly. I've been moving around in them daily sometimes. My rational mind and the fact that I am responsible to others is what keeps me going right now, and without that, I would probably not leave my bedroom. 

So, why all the grief? I guess it goes without saying, but I will say it anyway. The lives we were living don't exist anymore. They are gone, ripped from us by a submicroscopic agent. It is normal to be feeling down, even when you know you should be feeling grateful. I am grateful to be alive. I am grateful to be healthy, employed an otherwise fairly unscathed by Covid 19. That said, I am also grieving a life. I grieve the job I had, which has now completely changed. I grieve the time spent with my family and friends. I grieve for my friends, who have lost jobs and businesses. I grieve for our economy, our country and all of those more affected than me. I grieve the loss of my kids' school milestones - grade 9 farewell, music and theater performances, rites of passage from one grade to the next. I grieve the fact that we had no time to say our goodbyes, make our peace and find our closure on that life we were living. 

The wonderful thing about grief is that it is actually part of healing. It's a necessary step toward a new normal - one that will be a part of the new life we will live. And isn't it a wonderful thing? Knowing that I am grieving helps me to remember that I will also be okay soon. I've grieved a great many things, and I've also come out the other side stronger and better, every single time. 

My takeaway from this act of catharsis I've just exercised is that even though I'm on a roller-coaster of grief right now, at some point the ride ends and I can get off. I will definitely be okay. Many of us will also be okay. Our world, our lives, will not be the same, but we will find our way again once the dust settles. For now, I am going to ride out my grief and allow myself to feel it. I'm not really okay but at the same time, I am. I am because I understand grief. 

It's okay to grieve right now. I promise.

When we need resilience the most.

Resilience has been on my mind in the last year and a half, almost exclusively. Obviously, several other things live in the landscape of this introvert's mind, but resilience is the grounding word that I've been single-mindedly focused on for the  majority of this time. That's because, in December of 2018, I embarked on a journey to speak at a TEDx event at my workplace. What possessed me to jump on that roller coaster isn't something I can quite put my finger on, but it stemmed from a thought that I had something that I needed to share. I didn't know exactly what it would look like, but through a year of planning, meeting with my coach, and writing several scripts, I came to the realization that my story was about resilience. I focused on three tools I have used in my own life to remain resilient in the face of some pretty significant trauma. In a nutshell, they were see yourself, forgive yourself and be transparent with those who depend on you.

I did my speech on February 27th. I've been trying really hard to process what it all meant, and my feelings around the event. At first, I was elated. It was done, and I was proud of what I had said. I think it had some impact on the audience. I could see their eyes, and I know they heard me. Then, I sank into this place where I couldn't quite feel proud. I haven't seen the video yet, and the further we get away from it, the more at peace I feel with it all. But, honestly, I need to work on my own advice. It didn't go perfectly according to the script, and so I kind of beat myself up about it. Maybe I should have added another piece - be gentle with yourself. And maybe another one, believe people when they tell you that you did a good job. I'm such a terrible inner critic that I have a hard time taking praise. Or criticism actually. However, I am working on it! Really hard. I'm anxious to see the video, but also anxious about seeing the video.

So, what's the point of this little story? I think the journey I've been on for the past year and a half, discovering what makes me resilient, was incredibly timely. At this time in the world, everything feels like it's balancing on the end of a knife. Our global way of life has changed. The world is CLOSED. The landscape in which we do work, education, and even have relationships is changing minute by minute. My career, for the foreseeable future, has gone remote and online. My children have no school to go to, no activities to do, no way of spending time with friends. My social interactions have been limited to small groups, one on one and on FaceTime. I am not alone in my isolation. None of us are.

It's these kinds of times that truly test our resilience. My generation has never seen something like this.  As we isolate further and further, we actually need to move closer together in support of one another. People are losing their jobs, their businesses. People are losing their loved ones. How are we going to respond? Will we fall to pieces? Or will we join together (figuratively) to help one another, to lend a hand to those who need it most, to love harder than we ever have before?

I'm going to try to take my own advice here (because I think maybe it is good advice). I'm going to give myself time to reflect and turn inward when I feel the pressure becoming too much. This is essential. See all of it. I need to see and acknowledge when I'm faltering, when I don't feel strong, and also see and acknowledge that I've been through some pretty awful things, and I can do it again. I need to forgive myself for those moments when I don't believe I can handle things, for times when I might complain, or be impatient, for moments when I falter and can't be my best. Because honestly, we can't always be our best. It's impossible. And lastly, I need to be honest and transparent about all the things that are going on. Transparency is a breath of fresh air, and it helps build empathy. The more real we are with each other, the more we can see that we actually are in this together. Empathy, that is what is going to get us through this crazy time. The more empathy we have for one another, the more we build up our collective resilience (ha, that's a line from my TEDx).

Guys, our world is changing. Let's show the world just how resilient we are. Turn inward, make sure you're all good there, and then turn back outward and push that resilience where we need it most. Stay strong out there everyone.

1995, December, A month to live

Every time I decorate a Christmas tree, I am back in 1995, in the living room with the dusty rose carpet. My mom, wrapped in a blanket, is too weak to even stand up and put ornaments on the tree. She has no hair. Her skin is paper thin. I have this ornament, one I’ve had since I was a toddler. It is a mouse in a mitten, or a sock. I can’t remember. In 2019, that ornament is long gone. In 1995, it’s a part of my childhood. My mom gave it to me long ago.

When I wrap Christmas presents, I remember her. She taught me how to wrap them neatly. Fold the edges into a neat triangle, then fold the end over once more and tape for a uniform look on both sides.

In 1995, I filled my sister’s stocking before I went to bed. First I made sure she was asleep, then I carefully placed items in the oversized sock (literally, you could fit a child in there), and my mom watched my work. When you’re 6, Santa is your hero, so mom made sure she had the stocking full. I don’t remember Christmas morning much. I don’t remember the presents I got that year. My picture is missing pieces. The image burned into my mind is that of my mom, wrapped in her blanket, telling me where to hang the ornaments so the tree looked nice.

 She’d been shopping weeks earlier. She was sick and weak but she had to do her Christmas shopping. She went with her best friends. She had no energy; she was desiccated by chemo. They pushed her in a shopping cart. There are photos of her smiling and laughing.

At Christmas, I have to fight memories and a broken heart. At Christmas, I have to fight to feel the joy my mom was so good at making me feel. Depending on the day, I can feel sadness, joy, or both and everything in between. This year, I find myself seeing the parallels between my life and hers, and I feel the pang of the fact that, were I in her shoes, this would be my last Christmas. I am the age she was when she passed. Were I her, I’d have 36 days left to live. Please forgive me if I am down this holiday season. I’m working hard to embrace my joy, because I really have a blessed life. But the holidays, they are hard, this one more than most.

"Self Love is the Greatest Middle Finger of All Time" - Anonymous

We go through waves, periods, eras in life. There are periods of discipline, periods of indulgence, periods of joy, struggle and even periods of balance. I've always striven for balance, but rarely achieved it. And so, I try to balance my waves as best I can. Last year, I worked really hard on nutrition, losing weight, my career, and learning to say no to things. It was my "year of no." 2019 has thus far been my "year of shit." In my long list of "years of shit," it hasn't actually been that terrible, but there has been a great deal of change, a great deal of struggle and a great deal of turmoil.

What I've realized from this whole half-year of kind-of-bad-I've-been-better, is that I need to be more gentle with myself than I was last year. Some fairly extreme sadness through the beginning months of spring put me into a trend of eating too much, exercising too little, and beating myself up for it. I couldn't write much, I couldn't look at myself with any kind of satisifaction - I basically thought of myself as what's left at the bottom of the toilet after someone's taken a shit and flushed. You know, leftovers. I felt like something that needed to be cleaned off the bottom.

Now, on summer vacation, away from a life that overruns me with 'busy', I have been free to reflect and right some of the wrongs going on inside me. I made some key decisions at the beginning of summer.

1. I'm going to stop trying to lose weight. I gained back every pound I lost last year, and I need a new, more balanced approach to my wellness. I am very much an all or nothing kind of person, so this is hard for me. I'm not recording food, not counting calories, not adhering to any kind of diet plan. I am eating what I want and when I'm hungry. But, what I am doing to be better to myself is exercising. I want to exercise in some way every day. I've become somewhat addicted to classes at my local gym. First, it was yoga. A lot of yoga. Like I went and bought a yoga mat because I love it so much. I feel strong, centered, and peaceful. I feel challenged and opened up. Yoga, yoga, yoga...but today I tried something that terrified me. I did a 45 minute class of high intenstity interval training. I was red in the face for an hour after, but I felt good. I felt strong. I felt more powerful than I have in a long time.

2. I need to ditch the scale. This one hasn't lasted, if I am being honest. I weighed myself just this morning, actually. But, this is not a good vibe for me, and so I want to stay away from it. That said, I have to stop beating myself up for doing it. Just accept that this is where I am, and I have to be okay with it. My body is so strong, and I am surprising myself left and right with just how much I can do, with how hard I can push, with how I can push further with each class, each breath, each decision. I feel fucking amazing. I'm chubby, but man am I strong.

3. I need to be active and not sleep through summer. I am so good at sleeping. I would win the Olympics for sleeping. Leave me alone and I will sleep a whole day. I can't sleep this precious time away though. I sleep my 8 - 9 hours, then get up and go to yoga, the beach, bike riding with my kids. Even if I just enjoy a morning coffee on the patio, I feel that I am achieving this goal. 9:30 am sure beats 6:30 am.

So, those are my goals for myself. So far, I think I'm doing well. The last, and most important goal I've made for myself is that I need to be kind and gentle to myself and listen to my needs. If I need to sit at home and be quiet, I have to honour that. If I want to see a friend, I do that. If I want to read a book, watch Netflix, sit on my patio and bake in the sun, I do that. I spend the majority of my year catering to my circumstances, the needs of those around me and ignoring myself (to an extent). This summer I have been kinder and more in touch with my needs, and it is so refreshing. I love and want to fill the needs of others - I am wired for this. It's a huge part of who I am. But what energy I put into others I also have to put into myself.

Being 38 scares me. I don't like it because my mortality is in sharp focus. So, I need to take care of myself. I need to live. I need to celebrate this body I have because it is healthy. It has given me so much, and continues to do so. I have to really love it.

Self love is the greatest middle finger of all time. 

So this is May.

Every May gives me a double whammy of bittersweet.  It's Mother's Day, shortly followed by my birthday.  You'd think both those days would be happy and exciting, right?  It's so fun waking up to sweet homemade gifts from my kids on Mother's Day each year, and who doesn't like a good birthday celebration?

It should be all sweetness, but there is a bitter taste for both these days.  Each Mother's Day, I am reminded of what I have, but also of what I don't have.  It's been so long since I could say "Happy Mother's Day" to my own person, and that makes me miss my mom fiercely.  I honestly can't even remember her last Mother's Day with us, which would've been in 1995.  I was a week away from turning 14 that year, and I'm sure I didn't make a big enough deal of it.  So each Mother's Day, I wake up with the sweetness, feeling grateful that I have two healthy and decent young woment to call my daughters, but then that bitter taste sits at the back of my mouth and I have to swallow hard in order to curb the seeping sadness. I like and don't like Mother's Day. 

This same bitter taste taints my birthday.  I like and don't like that day as well.  My birthday is also my mom's birthday.  The last birthday she saw was when she turned 38, and then 9 months later, she was gone.  It used to be the most special day.  I loved waking up on my birthday because I knew my mom and I shared something really special. She would leave special things in my room for me to find when I woke up, and we would share a birthday cake with both our names.  It felt like our special connection that no one else had.  Now, my birthday has that same bittersweet feeling, because it's just mine, but I don't want it to be.  I miss that specialness that the first 14 of my birthdays had.  I miss feeling like I was in on a secret nobody else knew. 

This birthday is a big mouthful of bitter for me.  I am turning 38 in 6 days.  I refer to it as my "scary birthday".  I don't know what life can look like for me after 38.  I kind of want to close my eyes this year, and just wait for 39 because then I won't be the same age as my mom was when she died.  I want to skip this one.  This birthday carries with it more bitter than sweet, and I just have a gutful of gross sitting inside me right now.  I feel desperately sad.  I know I won't feel this way for long, and I know I can still be happy in my sadness, but at the moment, sadness is the heaviest thing I feel.  It's the kind of sadness that makes a person want to stay in their pjs all day, close the curtains, and pull up the blankets tight around your neck.  It's the kind of sadness that makes a person want to sleep through it. 

I'm not writing this because I am looking for sympathy or well wishes.  I write this because it's really important for me to embrace my times of not okay, because when I feel those emotions fully, I can work through them and let them go.  It really is okay to not be okay.  I can put my smile on any day of the week and act like all is well, but why?  Why should I need to act all the time?  I need to be authentic, and reality is far more interesting than any make-believe I can weave.  Sometimes I need to draw into myself and do some inner medicine, just allowing some gentleness and softness in.  I'm really good at being critical of myself, of my choices, of my actions, but today, this week, this month, I choose to be kind and gentle and treat my sadness with softness.  Don't be afraid to feel sad.  Being not okay is okay.  At least it's real.

When we are Silent

I have been overwhelmed by the support my last blog post received (https://saysomethingquiet.blogspot.com/2019/04/what-its-like-to-be-gay-in-alberta.html?m=1). I have heard messages of support from people I never expected to hear from. I have had several people's words make me feel more loved and supported than I even knew cared. I am so very grateful.

Those words, likes, shares and the general goodwill really give me hope and faith that whatever the majority's political stripe, they are moderate in social beliefs and don't reflect the bigoted garbage that came out this election. Those words have helped fan a fire in me to be louder, stronger and more active in my community and my province.

What I also heard, though, were the silences. In life, I have worked very hard to surround myself with those who bring out my best self, those who reciprocate love, support, empathy, and the energy I put into them. When I go through hard times, I don't always reach out. Those closest to me usually see what's  happening as it does, but I don't always reach out. A few weeks ago, I reached out in the most public way available to me. I opened my heart to the page, and showed just a glimpse of the pain I was feeling because of harmful and hurtful ideas being so accepted and supported. Please believe me when I say that was just a taste of it. I was surprised, encouraged and entirely heartened by the words and well wishes I received. I felt more love after I posted the blog than I did before it was published.  Now, I can also hear the gaping silences from some who I thought were in my corner.

When we sit by and let things happen without standing up, we are doing the same as if we are supporting the cause. When people I haven't spoken to in a decade piped in and said, hey, I support you and I support LGBTQ+ people in the province, those people, that day, were not silent bystanders. Really, that's all it takes sometimes. When you use your voice to show a person that you support them, that has ripple effects. You have no idea how far those words go. When we stay silent, when we don't say a word, when we sit back and say my silence has no effect, we show that we do not care enough to stand up. A society that does not care enough to stand up is one that becomes overtaken. It is one that sits back and becomes suppressed, beholden to the powers that be, and essentially gives permission to those in power to abuse them.

I have been abused, and I will never give permission to another living soul to do that to me again. I do not give permission to a government to quash my rights as a woman or as LGBTQ+.  I will not go gentle into that good night. I will not suffer in silence when a group of powerful bigots smile their charming smiles and convince the masses that they don't have dark motives. I will not.

But silence gives them permission. Silence is laying down in submission. Silence is an action, though it seems like it is nothing. Lack of action speaks loudly. Silence gives them permission.

I used to call myself a pacifist. I am assuredly not. I see a world that is swinging right into disaster. I see a country, a nation, a people divided. I see sinister motives and disgusting corruption put forth as cool heads and clever minds. I will not sit back and be quiet about it.

I don't ask anyone to take up a standard and march to some apocalyptic battle. I don't ask capitalists to swing left and sympathize with my bleeding socialist heart. I don't ask people to betray their own beliefs. I believe in freedom above all.

I do ask that you don't sit back and watch as people's dangerous rhetoric wages war on constitutional rights. I do ask that you don't sit back and listen to that same rhetoric which spreads hate and bigotry. I do ask, that if you love me, you support me back, when I feel the need to reach out.

I don't reach out when I am hurting very often. I am strong and powerful and I can shoulder just about anything. So, when I do reach out, you should know, you must know, I need actual, tangible help and support. I don't need you to hang a damn rainbow flag above your doorway, but what I do need is for my supporters to stand the fuck up and stop looking the other way when I, or others like me, ask for help. You don't have to repost my blogs, comment on my social media, or even text me to show your support. You don't have to do a thing, but you can. You can do so much by not being a bystander. Don't think I'm angry if you didn't reach out. I'm certainly not. But maybe I will reach out to those who spoke up, who piped up, who showed me they support me when I needed it.

If we all speak up, our message is amplified. I don't care if we disagree on a great many things, if you support true freedom and equal rights, we can stand unified in that.

I won't sit down today. I don't feel safe, and I won't sit and allow others to also feel unsafe. Silence will not be heard from me. Not today. Certainly not tomorrow. Silence will not be my legacy.

What it's Like to be Gay in Alberta

"You don't have to watch any TV for any length of time today where you don't see on the TV programs, them trying to tell you that homosexuality and homosexual love is good love.  Heck, there are people out there, I could take you, I could take you to places on the website I'm sure where you could find out that there's, where pedophilia is love." Mark Smith, UCP Education Critic, Candidate for Drayton Valley, Alberta.

Do you ever have moments that cut right to the heart?  This was a moment for me.  I am gay.  I am Albertan.  I am also the victim of abuse perpetrated by a pedophile who saw my 10 year old body as something to be desired.  To put these two things, the love I have for and receive from my fiance, and the perverted sexual gratification my abuser relished in when I was a child, in the same disparaging sentence, is, to say the least, hurtful.

No, hurtful is not the word I am looking for.  Devastating.  No, not strong enough yet.  Mind-blowing. No, that's not harsh enough.

Truth is, there isn't a word for how this feels.  It is more akin to the sound you make when you're sucker punched in the gut.  That's what those comments feel like.

I respect personal freedoms and the fundamental beliefs behind democracy, like free speech. I respect freedom of religion.  Heck, I devoutly followed a religion for the first 25 years of my life.  I saw the good that came along with that.  I also, unfortunately, saw the closed-mindedness too.  I followed the church without being discerning enough to understand the real impact these kinds of beliefs had on others.  And then, I woke up and saw the world around me.  I saw people, and then, I saw myself.

Let me tell you what it's like to be gay in Alberta.

This is what it's like.  I turn on the radio and hear an MLA, and elected member of public office, say that I am a perversion.  I hear the words coming out of his actual mouth.

This is what it's like to be gay in Alberta.  I am afraid when I have to come out to people, day after day, in my regular life.  Simple, unassuming questions like, "What does your husband do?" or "Oh your partner works at --, that's so cool.  What's his job?"  Do you know that that feels like?  Do you know how it cuts, little by little?  It's like little, stinging papercuts, and when you have too many, they're the only thing you can think about.

This is what it's like to be gay in Alberta.  My future wife and I feel uncomfortable holding hands in public for fear of the reaction we will receive.  Our paper cuts hurt enough, so we don't want the sucker punches that will follow.  When I drive around my neighbourhood and see signs on lawns that support the people who hate me, I feel like I don't belong in my own home.  I feel afraid of my neighbours.  I feel afraid of my own community.  It hurts my heart that my children will grow up with children whose parents think I am no different than a pedophile.  How do I protect my children from this kind of thinking?

This is what it's like to be gay in Alberta.  I am never quite sure if people accept me or if they condemn me, but I read forced smiles more closely, and I am forced to have discretion in who I tell or don't tell that I am marrying a woman.  I get that butterfly, sick to my stomach feeling any time I am faced with the situation where I have to decide to speak about my partner using the correct female pronoun, or to use something more gender neutral in the spirit of self-preservation.

At this moment in time, I feel as though my human rights are in question.  Not only are the rights of LGBTQ+ going to be called into question, but my rights as a woman to choose what happens to my own body come up as well.  Maybe people will say it would never happen.  Maybe people don't believe that my hard earned rights could be repealed.  Whether they can be or not, people who think I shouldn't be allowed to have complete and total rights over my own body, will be emboldened and speak their beliefs loudly.  Those are much more than papercuts.

World events right now are proving that a leader who leans toward racist, sexist and homophobic views enable the others who share those sympathies to be louder, angrier, and eventually, more powerful.

This is what it's like to be gay in Alberta.