sitting in my home office, i'm patiently waiting for the telecom agent to write back to me.
i'm on a "chat hold".
from time to time,  the bottom of the chat screen reads Agent is typing.

i don't want a data plan on my phone...i'm strictly a talk and text gal, and agent sherwil is investigating and providing me with explanations. turns out the telecom giant changed my plan without my consent to a plan with a built-in data-provision.

hell no! those bastards!
thinking to lull me into using their data plan unknowingly and BAM...charge me extra fees to line their pockets...or worse, the thieves charge me the data-provisioning fee even though i don't use their data.

fuck you!

if i wanted the service, i can make my own decisions and choices thank you very much! i'm seething, but it's not agent sherwil's fault - and so i remain polite and mind my p's and q's, addressing him by name as often as i can. that's what a negotiator does right? try to make a connection to make the other person feel at ease? i accept the explanation he provides me and the reassurance that the data-provision is now blocked from my plan.

though a part of me wants to fight the $10 charge, it's really not worth my time and effort. my energies are needed elsewhere.

the emotions from this betrayal from my service provider is helping to keep me distracted from other thoughts and feelings. i want to ride this out a little longer...a mix of vindication and consumer righteousness. i found purpose and achieved it. (yeah!)

but it's all classic avoidance though from having to face the real issue at heart. earlier today, on the car ride home, i let the feelings of unworthiness, jealousy and disappointment wash over me. car rides and tears...there is something about driving alone in the car that often triggers me, and i don't know why. perhaps because being in a car alone i ironically feel safe enough to permit myself to be vulnerable, despite the potential risk of being in an accident if simple tears should turn into blinding tears and gasping sobs. 

and lets not forget, the odd looks i would get from the other drivers...cuz as humans, we're drawn to staring at things we have difficulty processing. i know i would be curious as hell and wondering from inside my car..."why she crying? what's got her down?" and for the rest of the car ride home, i'd be directing a whole hollywood storyboard and netflix production in my mind. yes ma'am...i am the showrunner of my imagination. but i digress...

it's mother's day this weekend. but i'm not a mother. i have never been a mother. i have no dependents. so on such a weekend...women like me, what are we to do? how are we to be celebrated? especially those of us who have been trying without success. where's our hallmark consideration? and how do we voice it...voice our pain of not being able to celebrate being a non-mother and still acknowledge our desire for motherhood and to love as mother's love their family.

in recent years, on social media, i've seen more and more posts acknowledging how mother's day is not easy for all women, but it hasn't gone mainstream enough. and certainly, businesses and consumer economic drivers are clueless in their role in propagating the standard messages. my own mother isn't aware of my own struggles and desires for motherhood - her longstanding position being that should i become a single mother, it would be a problem. i've long accepted her disapproval on my choices to go it alone - but neither have i shared with her my attempts at trying to get pregnant over the past year. i'll be celebrating mother's day with her, all the while, working on holding it together - because either the day i do become pregnant, or the day i stop trying - only then, would i consider letting her in on everything i've done or tried to do to become a mother.

so to the women out there without children of their own...i wish you a happy non-mother's day and may you still be celebrated and acknowledged for being a strong female presence within your family circle.

he reminds me of james franco.
his picture has been in the newspaper for the past month.
but james franco he is not.

i met him about five years ago - deepak - not james franco. he was part of the group celebrating the birthday boy and i was a tag along.  he was very charismatic and charming with an easy smile. he had beautiful dark curly hair, hidden under a grey beanie and though it was late and we were inside, he wore these large sunglasses. deepak had his own style and he seemed at ease and comfortable with his surroundings.

he asked what i did and i explained the events i produced. he confessed that he and his cousin had taken to "ice climbing" the large ice sculptures of a boat my event had created one year. the event producer in me was shocked and angry, but i silently admired his guts and sense of adventure. the night went on with amusing stories of his wild adventures as well as some serious discussions about life.

this was the only night i encountered deepak, but he left a strong impression - he had a vibe and presence about him that endeared him to others. he was so full of energy and easily drew in and connected with people, i thought to myself, "he reminds me of a younger james franco". and with each passsing winter, i would often wondering if i would run into him again, perhaps late at night climbing another ice sculpture.


a month ago, the news reported of having found a body. i would have dismissed this as another tragic story of a drug addict and moved on, but the young man's name triggered my memory rolodex. it was deepak. it was his tragic story i was reading.

on learning of his struggles with mental illness and addictions, it jarred with my initial impression of deepak - the happy, smiling and charming young man at the bar. i grieve for this deepak, but having struggled silently with my own depressions and anxiety, i have compassion and empathy for the other deepak i never knew and his sufferings.

at this point, i'm torn. i want to honour deepak's memory...the young man so full of life and adventure...but my only memory of him is of that one night at the bar celebrating his friend - the birthday boy. i didn't know it at the time, but that night set in motion a series of poor choices on my part that would later engulf me in regret, shame and guilt. if we were to play the six degrees of separation game, the only connection between deepak and i is the birthday boy...the birthday boy would eventually become my rapist.

i don't want to remember deepak this way, not linked to my feelings and memories of my rapist.

i want to honour deepak's spirit, and his desire to live as he would have wanted to - at peace and happy. so, in february, on a clear night, next to the large ice sculpture, i'll create a candle holder with coloured ice blocks, light a little candle and imagine him climbing upwards and being free. this is how i want to remember and honour deepak.

I want pho.

I've been craving it all day. It's my friend's fault. She posted an article where the best pho restaurants are located in the city and every since then, my appetite just hasn't been satisfied.

But it's late and most of the restaurants have likely shut down for the night, the workers antsy to close and escape the heat of the kitchen. There's a heatwave, with the kind of humidity that squeezes all the energy out of you. That's how I feel, sitting here on my couch in the dark - there's no air conditioner, no fan, no breeze. But I want pho. I look down at my little westie. He's panting, moving between the small area of tiled floor in front of the fireplace to his cool mat - anywhere but the carpeted floor that is retaining heat.

I contemplate going to bed, but I'm so agitated. Between wiping the beads of sweat from between my boobs and trying to calm the pho cravings, I sense the inner frustration growing. Anxiety isn't far behind. Sleep, i should sleep...but the thought of sleep only amplifies my anxiety - flashbacks of my dreams coming back to me. So I focus back on my pho cravings, because you know, that's what emotional eaters do.

I look down at my westie once more and grab my keys. "Shall we go for a car ride?"

He does the adorable westie head tilt in acknowledgement. I head for the stairs and he follows. Outside, he sniffs the air, which is only slightly cooler than inside my house. He settles himself on the concrete stoop, enjoying the feel of the coolness on his underbelly. But he's picked up on my energies and he quietly surveys the parking area, fully alert to strike out at any creature who dares to step out from behind the shadows. I love that he has my back, but tonight, I'm in no mood to stay still - I need to keep moving. I'm fully aware of my own state of alertness and I give a little tug on his leash, trying to out maneuver my anxieties.  "Let's go, this way - car ride!"

The car ride is an excuse - it gets me out of the house and it's a means of distraction from sleep. Bonus points - the car also has air conditioning. I feel my eyes growing bigger and unblinking - I know I need to work fast and ground myself. Going into a manic state while driving is always one of my fears - I don't want to hurt my dog who's with me, nor anyone else. I begin to refocus. Heading to Chinatown, I scope out the restaurants, but with so many of them with similar names, I can't recall the name or the location of the exact restaurant with the best pho. I don't want to be eating a so-so pho - my taste buds are discerning and in my mind, I already know what flavours I want to taste. Plus, I've also gotten comfortable with the air conditioning and have no desire to step out of this piece of heaven.

It's too bad nobody has a drive-thru pho restaurant, I think to myself. It's one of my pet peeves going to those late-night restaurants, walking in and patrons looking at you but not looking at you, trying to guess your back story. I'm guilty, I know I do it too. I'm feeling less optimistic that I'm going to satisfy my pho cravings, but the midnight drive through the city is providing me with ample distractions. The streets are still alive - there's more than a dozen people waiting for the bus, a couple chatting and laughing on a bench, taxis and uber drivers picking up and dropping off patrons, two people on their motorized wheelchairs racing down the sidewalk. What brought them out? Where are they heading? Are they avoiding sleep too?

Now and then, at a red light, my little furry companion pops his head up from the seat to see if it's a street he recognizes or if we're near the dog park. As I press the gas, I holler, "Here we go!" He quietly settles and lulls himself to sleep to the motion of the car.

The gas gauge dips and I run through my mental catalog, trying to remember which gas station is still open past midnight on a long weekend. I'm in a mild state of hyper-vigilance, but I also don't want to push my luck - driving tired is no different than driving drunk. I recall my recent close calls when I almost caused two car accidents in the span of an hour because I was overly tired. I decide to head home, stopping in to fill up on gas and as a compromise, I pick up a burger and poutine at a drive-thru, with the promise to make myself a noodle soup the next day - a faux pho.

I also promise myself to stop avoiding sleep and to face whatever the subconscious keeps bringing out in my dreams. None of it makes sense - the scenarios and visions only make me uncomfortable, lost, and anxious. As I sit in the dark eating my burger and poutine, I try to make sense of my dreams - I'm walking through the sequences as a player within a play. The scenario are relatively the same each night - only the setting, location and players are different. Each night, I'm invited to bed by either strangers or by people I know - always male and each time, I find myself lying next to them. Nothing ever happens beyond lying next to them, but as I lie there I'm filled with anxiety, confusion, insecurity, and suspicious of their motives. I feel vulnerable, but oddly, I don't feel helpless.

The food is keeping my anxiety at bay and I continue to push on through my reflections. During a recent out-of-town work trip, an incident made me question, "when should one step up when a break-up goes bad?" Couples have the right to work things out with other people minding their own business. But where does social responsibility fit in? In particular, when it appears the break-up is escalating towards violence? The commotion I overheard in the room next to me was enough to make me fear for the woman, especially with his outbursts of "Baby, it was an accident!" and "Please baby, I can't go back to jail!" I don't trust this man, I don't appreciate his manipulations or having to endure listening to their outbursts.

That was a week ago. As I sip my cola, I wonder if she has managed to rid herself of that man. I relive the memories with various "what-if" scenarios floating by. I want to regress within myself, but I know the truth won't leave me alone until I figure things out for myself. I open myself to curiosity and begin to question the various interpretation and it dawns on me - I have invited the couple's dysfunctional relationship and energies within me. My heart is sympathetic and compassionate for the other woman, but their relationship is not my problem and I can't make choices for her or allow myself to expend my anxieties for her. I make a conscious decision to disengage. I make a mental note to continue to follow this feeling of agitation. It's not the most comfortable state to be in, but I sense there is more to be uncovered - certainly as it relates to intimacy, sex, relationships, trust and living life sans fear.

from the poem "Love after Love"

a facebook friend request...
a short email note...
i'm hanging suspended in this emotional limbo...

but to understand my state a little, rewind the film reel...

Timeline - Jan 2015
sitting on a futon in my friend's apartment, i sat listening to her talk about the man she wanted to be with, but couldn't, the back and forth reasons, emotional outbursts, the justifications, the back story of how it came to be and not to be. classic break up emotions to which i assured her, the feelings are normal and that it was okay to grieve the end of a relationship. i also shared my own experience and views that when one breaks up with someone, you can't instantly go from boyfriend/girlfriend to become "just friends".  our minds may try to convince us of it, but our irrational emotions don't follow the same logic. my friend bemoaned how she couldn't stop texting her ex and how she hoped he wouldn't text her back.  and i listened to her recite their text exchange, i asked her if she realized that she was the one instigating the ongoing exchange, fueling the drama, and did she realize it?

for those of us who have been emotionally and psychologically bruised and abused, not being able to control a situation is something hard to accept. what started as a means to protect ourselves emotionally has become our worst self-sabotaging tool. to give oneself the space and time to heal, one must sometimes sever ties after a break-up, to gain that perspective, and to be able to let go of the emotional baggage. when enough time has a passed and the tangent connections of the past reconnect, then yes, perhaps the "friends" zone is possible.

Timeline - Feb 2015
my past reached out to reconnect. a simple message.

"I won't lie.  I do miss my Winterlude sushi. Hope you're well."

i don't know how many times i re-read that phrase, the past guilt and shame washing over me. there was also a hint of excitement. but i was now having to practice what i preached.  had enough time passed for my past and i to return and be friends again? was my self-respect, pride and self-worth intact? how many steps backward would i be taking if i did reconnect with my past?

my situation with him is one of my greatest regrets and shame.

Timeline - March 2011
we were friends and industry peers. we would text, write, talk...with jokes that often bordered on the naughty. st-patty's day, i crossed that friendship line and drove to his house. as i drove, my mind tried to reason with desire. i wanted a lasting and authentic relationship - and to do that, i knew i would have to be honest with him - no matter the consequences. but when he kissed me, i was lost and my intention to disclose my STD status before having sex with him didn't happen as i had planned.  poor timing and judgement on my part - i told him while having sex (note: condoms were used). not my proudest moment.

his reaction was, well, understandable. i stood in the room silent. utterly ashamed. and in the midst of the chaos and his tirade, he asked me a question "Why won't you love me?" i couldn't answer him. afterwards, i would write him an apology, but what we had was over and there really wasn't anything that i could do to fix things. we ended all contact. and for that, i am grateful. although at times, i feel i took the coward route by running away from the situation.

Timeline - 2013/2014
it has always bothered me how things ended that st. patty's day night. my whole behaviour and reactions, or lack there of, bothered me. that hole in my sidewalk was my solace for a long time - i stopped going out, i removed myself from the local music scene in fear of facing him. it wasn't until i was in counselling that i finally gained some perspective about what was bothering me...and it stems a lot in what was not voiced.

as a father, i respected him.
as a musician, i admired him and was proud of him.
but as a man, i loathed him.

his question then: why won't you love me?
my answer now: because when i am with you, you make me feel i'm only worth a pussy and a secret.

after a naughty text, phone calls or chats at the bar, he would end things with "just between you and me, right?" my stomach would knot. as i would replay those memories, i would later realize that whenever he would end our communication with those words, i would feel like i was 14 years old again with the family friend telling me that what he was doing to me wasn't true love but just a game, and to be kept as a secret.

i had shared this part of my past with him before. in hindsight, i don't know if he really remembers me telling him, but as my friend, i expected him to remember and put two and two together, be compassionate and considerate. but no, i was simply a secret to him too.

Present day
"well maybe sometime we can get in touch, catch up."
with the FB messages and emails, I was ready to run back, serve humble pie, and do anything to patch up our relationship. i won't lie...i also wanted the satisfaction to say all the things written above and sticking it to him.  but last night, a good friend of mine talked some sense into me.

her advice and wisdom: what will instigating a meeting up with him achieve? and what if he doesn't react the way you want him to? you already have your closure. you may WANT to tell him things, but you don't NEED to. there's a difference. don't set yourself up just for the sake of telling him things - you can't control the outcome, but if you do run into him again, just let it happen.

i'm happy he's reached out and i do hope that there is a way forward for the two of us...but i don't need to get on that roller coaster ride. my emotions and state of mind are standing on the same firm ground...and there is no plan to stray from my journey. just the simply awareness and to be able to practice what i preach is a reward in itself.

About 18 months ago, I submitted an application to adopt a rescue dog. At the time, I simply wanted a dog, and after researching different breeds, I finally chose the west highland white terrier. I felt my life needed a change, a little shake up - and what better way than to open my home to a dog in need.

Then I got a different kind of shake up - I was raped.  All thoughts and desire for a pet went out the door.

About a month after the rape, I received a call that there was a westie in need of a forever home. I was flooded with excitement, fear, anxiety, joy, happiness. I was also plagued with doubts. Was I doing the right thing? Will I make a good dog owner? Can I do it on my own?  Can I give him what he needs?

Hewey's first night - tired and a little overwhelmed

Before I went to pick up my dog, I spent a lot of time searching for a new dog name, finally choosing the name Hewey, the Scottish form of the old French Hugues, meaning heart, mind, spirit. The name felt right and it would come to represent what we are to each other, in particular as we both embarked on our respective healing processes.

As Hewey adjusted to his new environment and overcame his anxieties, I found my own courage to face my own past, my secrets, my fears and some hard truths. He has inspired my inner confidence, taught me to trust and be vulnerable, to value patience and the present, as well as showing me the meaning of unconditional love. He has provided me with security and stability during a time I was spiraling out of control.  He may have his independent and tenacious streak, but his affection and faithfulness has rescued me...and for that, I am truly grateful.

Hewey's 1 year adoptiversary

No profound secrets to reveal in this post. Just feeling reflective and wanting to explore.

Of late, I've been thinking back to one of my crisis sessions from a year ago. We did a simple exercise where my counsellor would start a sentence and I had to complete it with the first thought that came to mind. It was a verbal exercise so I don't have a record of my responses. I found the exercise difficult, drawing a blank or feeling blocked with the majority of the sentences.  Except for one.

"I see man as...a little boy."

That phrase stuck with me. On the bus ride home that day, I kept repeating the sentence over and over and over again. Why did I respond this way? I texted one of my friends and asked her to finish the phrase and she came up with "I see man as...a rock...something stable, protective and reliable."


My romantic self agreed...that's the way I wanted to answer...to be able to see man as something solid, someone I could lean into, and someone who will shield me. But my impulse was still to see man as a little boy:

• a little boy can't hurt me 
• a little boy is innocent
• a little boy is giving and kind
• a little boy is lovable
• a little boy is beautiful

A little boy...there is no risk of feeling vulnerable, intimidated, or humiliated. There is no risk of feeling powerless or paralyzed.  In a little boy, I see the hope and potential of an honourable and loving man who he will one day become.  With a little boy, I have no fear...oddly, I feel safe.  On the flip side, I see myself as a woman who is the nurturer, the protector, the provider, the mother.

But I don't want a relationship with a little boy (I do want a boy, a child...but that's a future blog subject).  I want a relationship with a man...a rock, a mutual partner.  This skewed perception is one of my barriers that I need to overcome, and to be able to move beyond the distrust that I feel about myself and of men. I've challenged myself to not only spend more time with my male friends, but to openly communicate with them as well on how I feel about relationships, my past and what I'm going through.  As I do, I work through the feelings that arise. My male friends help me to look beyond the old negative set of impressions I have about myself and men. They are the same things my female friends have expressed to me, but in the current space I occupy, hearing it from my male friends means that much more.  It restores my faith that I thought lost - that not all men are assholes. I'm still working on setting the boundaries so that I don't improperly validate my sense of self. With each step, I also work on being honest with myself - I acknowledge my feelings and I work on sharing and being transparent about how I feel.

These days, the form of a little boy is transforming, and the outline of man is becoming clearer.  I'd like to think it's a work in progress...

As I'd mentioned before, I really did believe that I could handle all the curve balls with a healthy dash of Xena and Oprah - mimicking strong women in control of their lives, successes and destiny. In my youth, I never sought help (although in hindsight I remember a campus doctor asking me if I wanted to speak with a counselor after I had described a date rape incident. I brushed her comment aside. I now wish she had been more insistent that I speak with someone).

Part naivety, part ignorance, I never read anything on the subject of rape, abuse, victimization or how one really heals from such traumatic experiences. It was definitely not discussed openly among friends and family. Instead I smiled through the pain, laughed when I was numb and lived for everyone but myself. When I was feeling low, I had friends tell me I was a Phenomenal Woman and I would read Maya Angelou's poem trying to convince myself I was.

I projected to the world an image of a woman in control of her life, but shame and guilt were like the devils sitting on my shoulders. I was terrified that the world would see through the smoke screen. There's a whole industry now helping those in search of happiness and finding their way to a more fulfilling life. I have a handful of friends and colleagues who have become certified life coaches or leadership consultants. One day, one of them offered me a free consultation and I thought to myself, "What have I got to lose?" 

The Wheel of Life, The Coaches Training Institute

I was given some homework to complete before our meeting - the Wheel of Life assessment. The Wheel covers eight areas:

• Physical Environment
• Career
• Family & Friends
• Significant Other/Romance
• Fun & Recreation
• Health
• Money
• Personal Growth

Rating myself in each of these categories with an honest perspective was hard. How I see and feel about myself is different from how I want the world to see me. My ratings ranged between 6 and 10...all except for one area of my life. After I completed the wheel, I sat back and looked at the flow - for the most part, it looked stable. Except there was a blip. Glaring from the page, I faced my shame.

Secret Reveal #3: Significant Other/Romance rating - 1 (lowest score).

My life coach asked me why I had rated Romance with such a low score. But I evaded his questions and talked in circles - I wasn't comfortable sharing my secrets with him.

When it came to romantic relationships, I was in denial and never confronted or acknowledged my past, which created a warped sense of what I wanted in a relationship and what part I played in a relationship:

• "What's the point?" - my attitude when it came to dating, relationships and sex, creating the destructive cycle where I would find myself with someone unsuitable further chipping away at my self-respect and self-worth.
• "I could rescue him! Then comes need, then comes love!" - my approach as I tried to validate my worth in a relationship, but I would still remain hopelessly distant as I didn't believe love was possible.
• "He must be powerful and heroic like Christopher Reeve's Superman/Clark Kent; honourable, just and good like Gregory Peck as Atticus Finch; boyish, devoted and loyal like Anne Shirley's Gilbert Blythe; funny and good father like TV Dads Dan Connors, Tim Taylor, or Steven Keaton; he must also appreciate the arts; and bonus points if he plays hockey!" - my impossible dream man living on a pedestal, can't possibly exist but I would keep looking and comparing.
• "I'm too busy" - I would keep myself busy with work and an active social life to prove that nothing was missing in my life.

I've always put ME last on the priority list - artists/causes, work, friends and family came first - so I never really dealt with my past experiences with abusive and manipulative men, nor the impact it had on me as a woman, both body and spirit. So many barriers - clearly irrational - but fully ingrained in my beliefs about myself.

I didn't continue my sessions with my life coach - he's an executive leadership coach - not quite the coaching I needed to help with my healing process, but he was gracious and respectful when I informed him I needed to seek help elsewhere. But I'm happy - the Wheel of Life assessment achieved its purpose - I was ready to do anything to raise the score in my romantic life. I was ready to tackle my past.