Prisoner Of The Key

There is this place that exists in all of us. We don’t go looking for it and it’s not somewhere we seek to retreat to. It’s a space within us that is not often talked about; much like cultural tales that are usually shared among the elders only. Within this space lies a history of certain experiences and the emotional and physical pain that left their nasty scars. And much like those tales shared amongst the elders, it is vehemently protected … by us.

We keep this space under such strict lock and key that ending up there is by no means anything we ever plan for. And when we do, getting out can feel utterly hopeless, because within this space exists our own personal hell that we have equally come to fear and yet find inexplicable comfort in. And if we are not careful, we can slip into a dangerous dalliance of tip-toeing on both sides of this space; going back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.

This space holds nothing but the deepest and darkest of our pain. It’s all pain and echos bouncing off the cold stone walls and sliding in between the bars feeding off of us . How the hell we ever get there seems no longer relevant because once we are, begins a cruel game of captivity versus freedom and we make the rules, abide bide the rules, break the rules, abide by the rules … and on it goes. This space, this CELL, feeds and confirms every loathing, hateful and demeaning thought we’ve ever had about ourselves, born of the words from those we loved, trusted and whom we gave away too many pieces of ourselves too. This cell, filled with all this pain and all these echos should send us savagely trying clawing our way out … but we don’t.

Instead we sit in all of that because it’s what we know best. It’s what is the most familiar to us. It sends a searing, penetrating pain through our veins, but we find comfort in it because it is what we have come to know and understand better than most. Somehow it has won the battle, at least this time, over self-respect and self-worth. Something brought us back here … again.

But clasped very tightly in our hand is a key. The very key that unlocks the cell door opening to that space on the other side where we can breathe again and where we find our voice. There are no echos on this side. If we take that key and let ourselves out … DAMN that air feels incredible, the grass under our feet is like a chenille mat, rays of sunlight caressing our skin is euphoric; the world has color and sound and it is glorious!

But then gradually, others find their way to us, standing on our patch of eden. Some extend a hand in friendly greeting, others share a kind smile or “have a nice day” with us. Eventually there will be an invitation to be a part of something, join a conversation, or to meet up and get to know one another better.

The cell starts calling us. This outside world is everything and more than we dreamed of and told ourselves we want, and it feels so DAMN GOOD, but that is the problem. Feeing good and deserving of feeling good is not our familiar. We are not allowed to feel good, we are not allowed to have good, we are not allowed to join good or talk to good or have coffee with good. Because we are bad. We are broken, we are dirty, we are vile, unlovable creatures and we do not deserve good. We have been told this so many times by the people who we not only trust to always tell us the truth, but by the people who actually really do love us. Right? It is their perception that what we have come to trust and believe … but it is the one we work so hard at every day to heal from, and re-learn that we are NOT any of those things we’ve been told.

We can hear the cell … the echos are calling us back. The pain has grown vines like tentacles, that have wrapped themselves around our ankles and wrists, tugging us back to our prison. Yet, we have the key clenched tightly in our fist. We have the key to lock the cell door permanently and stay in our sunny patch of eden, take our chances that the world is kind, forgiving, accepting and filled with love. We can take our chances that if we allow ourselves to make a home here in eden, we will find connections that are good for us and that fill us up. We can take our chances that our purpose is not lost and we have so much to give and offer. We can take our chances in believing that we deserve good and it that it won’t be taken away.

The cell is calling … maybe we go back, maybe we stay put and take our chances.

What I know is this … sitting in that cell and holding the key I have the power to set myself free at any moment. What I know is that while this cell exists within in me, it is NOT ME. Like history, it is there to remind me of how far I’ve come and what more I am capable of. It is there to remind me that I am more than someone else’s perception of me or vicious verbal attacks. It is there to remind me that NO ONE is keeping me anywhere unless I give them permission to. It is there to remind me that these echos are powerless, unless I choose to give them power. It is there to remind me that I can stand up and use my own voice to overpower the echos and speak my truth. It is there to remind me that I have a destiny to fulfill.

It is there to remind me that at any given moment I have the power to SET MYSELF FREE and waiting on the other side is a really beautiful world where I belong. Where you belong.

It starts with giving yourself permission to no longer be a prisoner of the key.

A Love Affair with Alzheimer’s

 

While I have a couple minutes … there’s a lot I want to say & I will likely forget something or someone, so I apologize in advance.

First of all Alzheimer’s really freaking sucks! However it is not all bad either. Even in the shit-storm of losing my Dad as I’ve always known him, I have the absolutely wonderful privilege of being able to journey back in time with him to when he was a very young boy growing up on the farm in Beauvallon, AB. Hearing stories that I never knew have given me so many nights of laughter instead of sitting in anger and heartbreak … Thank You Dad 💜

To all my friends and family … THANK YOU SO MUCH for all your calls, texts, and visits to not only check in on my Dad, but to check in on me as well. Those late night coffee runs and trips down memory lane have been a saving grace. Your visits have meant the world to my Dad too because once again, I’m hearing stories of my Dad’s impact in many of your lives that I had NO idea of … Thank You 💚

To Fill You Up

Filling you up depleted me.

My focus, my energy, my heart, my soul.  I willingly gave up all that made me who I was.  Every spare part, every tiny space and every speck of light I gave up to you, to fill you up with all of that.  And it depleted me.  You feasted on it and depleted me.  And as I became depleted, as I grew tired and weary, you began to resent me; you told me I was weak, soft, pathetic.  When I reached out for a small piece from you, for some hope, for some kindness . . . you snarled and hissed at me from behind dark angry eyes.  You found only faults in the shell of what was left of me.

Soft Female

All things considered she was lucky and yes, she was strong.  But dammit she was tired of being strong.  She was tired of being a survivor.  She was just tired.  Right now and for a while she wanted to be soft, she wanted to be feminine, she wanted to be vulnerable and she wanted all of that to be okay with even one someone.  She wanted to be scooped up and held.  Just that.  Held.  She didn’t need anything fixed.  Would someone just hold her and let her be this way for as long as she needed . . . please?

A Christmas Letter

It happens every year . . . Christmas.  And among all the excitement & “sparkly-sugar dusted” dreams of little ones everywhere something truly magical happens. Kindness, forgiveness, joy, compassion, charity, LOVE.  It is truly wonderful how just a few short weeks of every year can turn even the stoniest of hearts to toasted marshmallow.

And in it all I’m somewhat conflicted.

Expiry Date

She wonder’s if some people have an expiry date.  Like food.  Even when the food is not spoiled and is still edible, it is considered “no longer consumable” by a certain date and promptly thrown away.  Disposed of.  It still has value and it would not harm nor make sick anyone who did choose to eat it, but there it sits in the trash, left to spoil with the rest of the throw-aways.  Is this the case with people too?  Is it possible that we have an expiry date and when no longer needed, when no longer useful, when no longer cared for or about . . . to be tossed away?  It sure feels like it sometimes.

Sincerely, Just A Bitch

So much has happened.  So many sacrifices made.  Pain.  Heartache.  Loss.  And yet in all of it so much joy & so much to celebrate; so much to be grateful & thankful for.  She is beyond grateful indeed.  It is not now, nor was it ever a contest.  Nonsense!  Each of them doing what they needed to do, what they believed they had to do & all that they were willing to do to have what they wanted.  A life together.  A life of growing old together.  Their life.  Their memories to look back on.  Their story.  Their story of “Us.”

My “People” Apology

Life had, still does, brought the very best of people her way.  Some have been with her for a lifetime, some showed up much later in her journey but are still with her & she hopes always will be.  Some came & went . . . they were meant to be a part of each other’s journey for a brief time only & then carry on; sometimes it goes like that.  Some she’s reconnected with after years of being absent because life can get busy & take us in different directions for a while.  And some . . . well some she’s lost.  She’s not sure why or what happened but she thinks to herself, “I guess sometimes it can go like that too.”  Whether they are with her now or not, there is one unquestionable common denominator . . . she loves them all still & in a heartbeat she is & would be there for them.  It just goes like that too.

Subtle, Grande Impact

Is this ever going to stop?  She stands at the window watching the billions upon billions of tiny white flakes delicately fall from an indigo night sky.  They just keep coming.  And how is it that something so small, something so seemingly unthreatening, could accumulate so quickly & with such volume that it has the ability to deliver an impact capable of stopping life in it’s tracks?  Literally.  There was no other movement & there were no other sounds from the outside world.  Outside her window the world was deafeningly silent & if it wasn’t for one solitary street light flickering & reflecting a luminous glow off the silhouettes of the neighbouring houses, she could have almost believed that there was nothing & no one else out there.  It’s insane . . . it’s also beautiful . . . but it is really quite insane she thinks to herself, as she stands there watching . . . hypnotized by the silent invasion.

Sticks, Stones & . . . Tequila

When did she start liking tequila?  She was never really much of a drinker & for years it was red wine that she would enjoy a glass of the odd evening.  But tequila?  She chuckles to herself as she thinks “you’re such a badass!”  HA!  Once upon a time she would have worn that label with arrogant pride.  She wanted to be BADASS!  Or rather she wanted to be seen as such.  To be believed as such.  She wanted to be tough & with an impenetrable outer shell that deflected everything unpleasant & everything that stung.  Well, more accurately she wanted an outer exterior that completely neutralized the hurtful words, actions & all the lies.  To don a sincere “fuck you” attitude, making her emotional granite so those things wouldn’t hurt  . . yeah she wanted to be that kind of badass.  Truth is she’s just not wired that way.  She feels everything.  She feels everything too much & right now she’s feeling the tequila, all 5 sips.  It’s a little like truth serum but for her memories & they are validating that she definitely was never & is not now, a badass.