I'm a social media kind of girl. It's my equivalent of reading the paper.
Today, I was sitting on my front deck in the late morning sun, enjoying a cup of coffee and the wind rustling the leaves on my big birch tree. My media feeds this morning were filled with mentions of a man who was found dead by suicide.
He was the type of man who seemed to have it all - exciting career, world travel, family, material wealth... and yet, he had come to a point in his life where the sounds inside his head were so much louder than those on the outside, and he took his own life.
He is just another random stranger to me, familiar only because of his public image, and yet his death has dropped on me like an unimaginable weight.
In the last 2 years I have been very intimately acquainted with how varied mental illness can be.
Sometimes you can see it coming; the long, slow descent into a state where you are unable to effectively deal with your own well being. It's not pretty, but it is much easier to identify than the alternative.
Most recently, I had a taste of the brick-to-the-side-of-the-head variety of mental illness. Witnessing the decision by someone waking up one morning and making a conscious decision that being out of life was easier, or better, or something... than being in life.
The shock of this is indescribable. I've read so many comments by those close to "that guy" expressing shock and disbelief. So many feelings of guilt over not being able to see it coming, or not having known what was barrelling towards them.
Believe me, I know those feelings. Up close and personal. In my case, the ending was a less gruesome one, but still haunting. Most of the time the images and emotions stay nicely crammed into the back of my brain, but on days like today they slither out and slide around my throat in a death hold.
My guilt is huge. Hindsight is so unkind. Now, I am hyper-aware and push myself to the point of analyzing every word, every emotion, every tiny whisper of body language...
What this has taught me is that being entrusted with the care of another human being must also go hand in hand with taking equal care of oneself. Trying to shoulder the problems of all will inevitably result in crushing your own needs.
Take the time to focus entirely on yourself. Remind yourself of all the things that make you happy - from the light shining through the leaves of the tree as you sip your morning coffee, to the family and friends who, though sometimes infuriating and exhausting, are always the ones who support you unconditionally. It's challenging but crucial.
I will take that time. Tomorrow happens to be my birthday, and I will spend my day indulging myself and enjoying the people who remind me of all the things I love about life. If I see you tomorrow, don't be surprised if I throw myself at you and hug for just a little too long. I'm just healing.
Friday, June 8, 2018
Sunday, May 8, 2016
Mudder
I am beyond proud to say I am the mother of 3 amazing, annoying, beautiful, hilarious, frustrating, fabulous children. They push my buttons and push my limits daily. There have been days when I have wanted to box them all up and ship them to A Far Away Place, but I love them unconditionally.
I have another "family" too. My Rage family is an interesting one. These "children" are grown women. Some of them are older than I. Many of them have their own children. Regardless, my maternal instinct still kicks in when I see them on the football field. I am almost as proud of them as of my own children.
How I came to be lucky enough to have so much in my life is anyone's guess, but I am grateful. 💗
Friday, February 5, 2016
I'm a Bitch
No, really.
Let's talk language for a moment.
A bitch is a female dog. As much as some of you might not associate me with dogs (I've never been a dog person), the title of bitch couldn't be more fitting.
If you are among my circle of friends and loved ones, there is little I would not do for you. My primary drive in life is to support the people I love. Physical, emotional, financial... whatever is within my power, I will do to see that you are happy and successful. Sometimes this manifests itself as ridiculous gestures, with the end result often nothing more than a smile or a polite thank you from the recipient. To you this may seem fruitless and silly, but I assure you that what it gives me is exponentially greater than the effort involved.
If you've ever seen the look a dog gives her owner just for being present, you might begin to understand.
Go ahead. Call me a bitch. I'll wear that title like a crown.
Let's talk language for a moment.
A bitch is a female dog. As much as some of you might not associate me with dogs (I've never been a dog person), the title of bitch couldn't be more fitting.
If you are among my circle of friends and loved ones, there is little I would not do for you. My primary drive in life is to support the people I love. Physical, emotional, financial... whatever is within my power, I will do to see that you are happy and successful. Sometimes this manifests itself as ridiculous gestures, with the end result often nothing more than a smile or a polite thank you from the recipient. To you this may seem fruitless and silly, but I assure you that what it gives me is exponentially greater than the effort involved.
If you've ever seen the look a dog gives her owner just for being present, you might begin to understand.
Go ahead. Call me a bitch. I'll wear that title like a crown.
Saturday, October 3, 2015
Full circle
Just over 6 years ago, my first "real" post was about my hair. My long, dark, curly hair. I loved my hair. I grew it out after my second child was born. Now, 10 years and another child later, it's all gone. Like, ALL. GONE.
There is a fantastic organization called Kids Cancer Care that provides support to children dealing with cancer and their families. I first heard about them when my son decided to shave his head as part of an event at his school. The stories shared by some young cancer survivors about their lives and what Kids Cancer Care had done for them brought me to tears.
Years later, I decided to step up and take on the challenge myself. Initially I vowed that unless I reached my fundraising goal of $10,000. I wouldn't shave my head or cut my hair.
As time passed, and my amazing friends and family stepped up and donated in my name, I realized that there was no way I could disappoint them.
On October 3, 2015 I sat on a stage in the middle of a mall, surrounded by strangers and friends. My kids watched and helped as two wonderful men from the Calgary Stampeders gently clipped off my 13 inch long ponytails, and then proceeded to shave me bald.
As I sit at home now and reflect on what happened today, my heart is bursting and my eyes are full of tears. The amount of love and support from my family and friends has been overwhelming. I don't think it will sink in completely for several days.
What I can tell you for certain is that you are capable of so much more than you ever imagine when you have support from your loved ones.
Be that support for someone. You have no idea what a difference you will make.
Friday, June 12, 2015
Cleaning out the closet.
I'm a hoarder.
Over the past few years I've managed to amass a great deal of "memorabilia" - everything from photos to tickets and passes, buttons, and various odds and ends that most people would shake their heads at.
I've heard numerous times that de-cluttering is good for the soul. One should sort through the "stuff" and ask a simple question - "Does this make me happy or bring me joy?" Anything failing to meet this criteria should be disposed of.
This, however, is not where the problem lies.
My collection of souvenirs make me ridiculously happy every time I see it. Every item has a clear, heartwarming memory attached to it. I can connect them all to the people and places that fill my heart.
So what's the issue?
It seems I have difficulty with hoarding people, too.
Ever the optimist, I hang on to people who may not actually be making me happy or bringing joy into my life. It's a struggle for me to accept that as much as I may wish to, I can't will someone to be a meaningful part of my life.
I think I may need to de-clutter my head.
Over the past few years I've managed to amass a great deal of "memorabilia" - everything from photos to tickets and passes, buttons, and various odds and ends that most people would shake their heads at.
I've heard numerous times that de-cluttering is good for the soul. One should sort through the "stuff" and ask a simple question - "Does this make me happy or bring me joy?" Anything failing to meet this criteria should be disposed of.
This, however, is not where the problem lies.
My collection of souvenirs make me ridiculously happy every time I see it. Every item has a clear, heartwarming memory attached to it. I can connect them all to the people and places that fill my heart.
So what's the issue?
It seems I have difficulty with hoarding people, too.
Ever the optimist, I hang on to people who may not actually be making me happy or bringing joy into my life. It's a struggle for me to accept that as much as I may wish to, I can't will someone to be a meaningful part of my life.
I think I may need to de-clutter my head.
Monday, August 11, 2014
Tears of a clown
We all know someone like it - the goofy one ; the one who's always making jokes, doing everything possible to cheer people up. It's so cliché but so many don't see what's right in front of them.
The person you'd least expect to harbour a dark place inside is probably that clown in your life.
Don't take that happiness for granted. That person - the one who seems to have it all together - is probably the one most in need of a small affirmation, some quiet words spoken randomly and thoughtfully. Be generous with your kindness. You have no idea what impact it might make.
The person you'd least expect to harbour a dark place inside is probably that clown in your life.
Don't take that happiness for granted. That person - the one who seems to have it all together - is probably the one most in need of a small affirmation, some quiet words spoken randomly and thoughtfully. Be generous with your kindness. You have no idea what impact it might make.
Thursday, February 27, 2014
Missing
In French, one doesn't say "I miss you", but rather "tu me manques" - you are missing from me, as though the person in mind is a real, physical part of you that is missing.
I understand this. I have pieces of myself all over - some miles away, some close enough to touch, but all of them missing from me in some way. They drift in and out of my life in strange and irregular ways, but never fully leave me. Some of them leave a much larger empty space than others, even if physically they are not that far removed.
No matter how difficult it is to locate each missing piece and try, however briefly, to tuck it back into its place, it is worth the effort for the reward that comes.
My fear is that some of them have no idea their absence is felt at all. I hope to show each of them how they fit into my life before they are missing from me for good.
I understand this. I have pieces of myself all over - some miles away, some close enough to touch, but all of them missing from me in some way. They drift in and out of my life in strange and irregular ways, but never fully leave me. Some of them leave a much larger empty space than others, even if physically they are not that far removed.
No matter how difficult it is to locate each missing piece and try, however briefly, to tuck it back into its place, it is worth the effort for the reward that comes.
My fear is that some of them have no idea their absence is felt at all. I hope to show each of them how they fit into my life before they are missing from me for good.
Wednesday, January 22, 2014
Super Newfie!!
I've never been one to make New Year's resolutions - I don't need a page on a calendar to tell me when I should challenge myself or make changes in my life. I'm pretty stubborn that way.
Last year a friend of mine took part in a fund raising event that left me gobsmacked and jealous - she rappelled down the side of a 30 storey building in the Calgary Easter Seals Drop Zone. I've decided that this is a challenge I wish to conquer.
The event itself takes place on September 4, 2014 so I have quite some time to think about what I will be doing. In the mean time, I must raise at least $1500 if I am to be allowed to take part.
(This is the part of the infomercial where the inspirational music kicks in, and you imagine me heroically gliding down a rope on the side of a 300 foot building, hair billowing in the breeze...)
(It will likely be more like me tumbling clumbsily down a wall, screaming at the top of my lungs...)
In either case... wouldn't you love to see that? I am not above begging for your support. Easter Seals Alberta provides a great deal of support for Albertans with disabilities. It's a great organization which could use your financial support, no matter how small the amount.
Please consider making a donation on my sponsorship page and help make a Newfie fly!!
Last year a friend of mine took part in a fund raising event that left me gobsmacked and jealous - she rappelled down the side of a 30 storey building in the Calgary Easter Seals Drop Zone. I've decided that this is a challenge I wish to conquer.
The event itself takes place on September 4, 2014 so I have quite some time to think about what I will be doing. In the mean time, I must raise at least $1500 if I am to be allowed to take part.
(This is the part of the infomercial where the inspirational music kicks in, and you imagine me heroically gliding down a rope on the side of a 300 foot building, hair billowing in the breeze...)
(It will likely be more like me tumbling clumbsily down a wall, screaming at the top of my lungs...)
In either case... wouldn't you love to see that? I am not above begging for your support. Easter Seals Alberta provides a great deal of support for Albertans with disabilities. It's a great organization which could use your financial support, no matter how small the amount.
Please consider making a donation on my sponsorship page and help make a Newfie fly!!
Saturday, August 31, 2013
Sometimes It's Just Easier To Be The Asshole.
Have you ever been in a place where you feel no matter which direction you turn, you'll run into something, or find a dead end?
Sometimes that place is more philosophical than physical. Less a meeting of minds than a butting of heads. Whatever the explanation, there is no fighting past the perception. After all, perception is reality.
Something as benign as a single word can explode into a million shards of accusation and intolerance. There is no bomb squad for this type of incendiary device. The mere mention causes such chaos and uproar that evasion is the only logical strategy. Like a mine field; so much easier avoided entirely than any attempt at navigation, no matter how careful. Regardless how meticulously planned the route, it takes but a mere shiver in the wrong direction to loose the inevitable fulmination of judgement and disapproval.
The path of least resistance is the sane choice. Smile and wave, boys.
Sometimes that place is more philosophical than physical. Less a meeting of minds than a butting of heads. Whatever the explanation, there is no fighting past the perception. After all, perception is reality.
Something as benign as a single word can explode into a million shards of accusation and intolerance. There is no bomb squad for this type of incendiary device. The mere mention causes such chaos and uproar that evasion is the only logical strategy. Like a mine field; so much easier avoided entirely than any attempt at navigation, no matter how careful. Regardless how meticulously planned the route, it takes but a mere shiver in the wrong direction to loose the inevitable fulmination of judgement and disapproval.
The path of least resistance is the sane choice. Smile and wave, boys.
Sunday, August 18, 2013
I am SPARTAN!!
I hate running. Not just dislike, but actually *hate* it. So of course, the natural course of events for a running-hater like me is to enter a mud obstacle race. Naturally.
I have been lucky enough in my life to belong to the most amazing group of women - the Calgary Rage. 4 of my Rage family members and I spent our morning slogging our way through five kilometers of hills, dust, mud, dragging cinder blocks, climbing walls, crawling under barbed wire and jumping over fire.
It may have been the most fun I've had so far in my life. And yes, there was running (or old lady shuffling as I more accurately describe my gait...)
Every obstacle was a mental and physical test. We climbed, crawled, grunted and swore our way through, helping each other (and total strangers!) conquer each challenge, or sweat out the 30 burpees penalty.
My proudest moment (besides actually finishing the race!) was scaling the 8 foot wall on the first try. THE FIRST TRY. Yes. I am extremely proud of that.
I couldn't have done any of this without my teammates. Esther, Amanda, Ferne and Whitney stuck with me through the whole ordeal. We hoisted each other over walls and cheered each other up and down hills with sandbags on our shoulders. We shared burpees to get each other through. And in the end, we finished together. As a team.
I might even do it again.
I have been lucky enough in my life to belong to the most amazing group of women - the Calgary Rage. 4 of my Rage family members and I spent our morning slogging our way through five kilometers of hills, dust, mud, dragging cinder blocks, climbing walls, crawling under barbed wire and jumping over fire.
It may have been the most fun I've had so far in my life. And yes, there was running (or old lady shuffling as I more accurately describe my gait...)
Every obstacle was a mental and physical test. We climbed, crawled, grunted and swore our way through, helping each other (and total strangers!) conquer each challenge, or sweat out the 30 burpees penalty.
My proudest moment (besides actually finishing the race!) was scaling the 8 foot wall on the first try. THE FIRST TRY. Yes. I am extremely proud of that.
I couldn't have done any of this without my teammates. Esther, Amanda, Ferne and Whitney stuck with me through the whole ordeal. We hoisted each other over walls and cheered each other up and down hills with sandbags on our shoulders. We shared burpees to get each other through. And in the end, we finished together. As a team.
I might even do it again.
Sunday, July 7, 2013
From Helmet & Cleats to Bikini & Boots
Another birthday has come and gone, and I can confidently say that I have earned every one of my 43 years and wear them proudly. I'll never be this young again, and I'm taking advantage of every opportunity for adventure that comes my way.
As Fall 2012 crept into Spring 2013, I found myself spending more and more time training and conditioning for my return to play with the Calgary Rage. Taylor and the guys at King Football chased and cheered me on to a season of firsts - not the least of which were my first season running with no knee brace, and my first interception!
Football, both the sport and the women with whom I play it, has made me courageous in ways I could never imagine. The fact that I am willing to drag my sorry ass out to 6 hours of practice a week during the season surprises no one more than me, but I love what it does for me! I'm stronger, both physically and mentally. I think nothing of running at another player with the sole purpose of knocking her on her ass. My courage hasn't ended there, though.
This past weekend I took part in a fundraiser for Special Olympics. So, what's the big deal, you might ask? This was no ordinary fundraiser. Bikini Espy required its participants to show up downtown on a Saturday morning, wearing nothing but a bikini and cowboy boots. Yes, you read that right. I got up at the crack of stupid and joined 99 other women out on a city street in a bikini. In exchange for my $100 registration, and the funds generously donated to Special Olympics by my friends, I got to hang out with some of the craziest women around. There were all shapes, sizes and ages of women there. Each of us danced, clapped and yahoo'd our morning away while we waited to be styled in custom western gear by the fantastic staff at Espy Experience.
I showed up that morning in my bikini and boots, shivering and giggling with the other women in line. I expected to leave with my custom outfit and maybe a few extra little items. What I really got was a strengthened confidence in myself, and a new appreciation for how much fun life can be if you really let it. Peel off a layer or two, figuratively speaking, and find out what's really under there - you might be a lot more fun than you remember!
Special thanks to Mike Bailey for the photos, and Cara Fullerton & Camilla Di Giuseppe for the celebrity shot ;)
As Fall 2012 crept into Spring 2013, I found myself spending more and more time training and conditioning for my return to play with the Calgary Rage. Taylor and the guys at King Football chased and cheered me on to a season of firsts - not the least of which were my first season running with no knee brace, and my first interception!
Football, both the sport and the women with whom I play it, has made me courageous in ways I could never imagine. The fact that I am willing to drag my sorry ass out to 6 hours of practice a week during the season surprises no one more than me, but I love what it does for me! I'm stronger, both physically and mentally. I think nothing of running at another player with the sole purpose of knocking her on her ass. My courage hasn't ended there, though.
This past weekend I took part in a fundraiser for Special Olympics. So, what's the big deal, you might ask? This was no ordinary fundraiser. Bikini Espy required its participants to show up downtown on a Saturday morning, wearing nothing but a bikini and cowboy boots. Yes, you read that right. I got up at the crack of stupid and joined 99 other women out on a city street in a bikini. In exchange for my $100 registration, and the funds generously donated to Special Olympics by my friends, I got to hang out with some of the craziest women around. There were all shapes, sizes and ages of women there. Each of us danced, clapped and yahoo'd our morning away while we waited to be styled in custom western gear by the fantastic staff at Espy Experience.
I showed up that morning in my bikini and boots, shivering and giggling with the other women in line. I expected to leave with my custom outfit and maybe a few extra little items. What I really got was a strengthened confidence in myself, and a new appreciation for how much fun life can be if you really let it. Peel off a layer or two, figuratively speaking, and find out what's really under there - you might be a lot more fun than you remember!
Special thanks to Mike Bailey for the photos, and Cara Fullerton & Camilla Di Giuseppe for the celebrity shot ;)
Friday, February 15, 2013
Boundaries
What is it about something that draws you back to it time and again, even when you know it's in your best interest to walk away? The rational part of your brain rhymes off myriad reasons to keep moving forward, but the prehistoric, instinctual, lizard part of your brain pushes you back until you're tip toeing the line between sanity & mania. There's something exhilarating about bumping up against the edge of propriety, all the while looking over your shoulder just to be sure no one's watching. Or maybe you're checking in the hopes that someone is watching, and will give you that sly wink and shuffle along as though nothing happened. How do you push the envelope?
Monday, December 24, 2012
Places of Worship
There are so many ways people choose to share a common set of beliefs; church being likely the most obvious among them. It seems that lately I have found myself in the company of quite a few friends who are either aetheist or agnostic; that is, either they believe there is no god, or they think there may be a god or gods, but they don't believe in him/her/them.
Regardless of which camp I fall into, I've learned a great deal from having such a diverse group of friends. People are passionate about their beliefs and will argue and defend them tirelessly to any detractors.
The most amazing discovery I have made is this - I love the debate. I enjoy a well thought out argument and relish the chance to match wits with anyone who sees it as a healthy intellectual exercise, and not a personal attack. I don't expect to change anyone's mind; nor do I think anyone will sway my beliefs one way or another. What I love is hearing people passionately defend their belief systems and showing me their rationale for believing what they do. What I find annoying is those who follow on blind faith alone.
The past year has taught me something very interesting about myself. While I am not a "church goer" in the traditional sense, I am far from lacking fellowship. My ever-growing circle of friends is more supportive and fulfilling than I could ever imagine an "organized" group to be. They are my family as much or more than any blood relative could ever be.
2012 has given me so much, and I hope I have, in return, given back at least a little. Find your people, whomever they are. Enjoy each other, and allow those around you the same freedom, in whatever form that takes.
Regardless of which camp I fall into, I've learned a great deal from having such a diverse group of friends. People are passionate about their beliefs and will argue and defend them tirelessly to any detractors.
The most amazing discovery I have made is this - I love the debate. I enjoy a well thought out argument and relish the chance to match wits with anyone who sees it as a healthy intellectual exercise, and not a personal attack. I don't expect to change anyone's mind; nor do I think anyone will sway my beliefs one way or another. What I love is hearing people passionately defend their belief systems and showing me their rationale for believing what they do. What I find annoying is those who follow on blind faith alone.
The past year has taught me something very interesting about myself. While I am not a "church goer" in the traditional sense, I am far from lacking fellowship. My ever-growing circle of friends is more supportive and fulfilling than I could ever imagine an "organized" group to be. They are my family as much or more than any blood relative could ever be.
2012 has given me so much, and I hope I have, in return, given back at least a little. Find your people, whomever they are. Enjoy each other, and allow those around you the same freedom, in whatever form that takes.
Tuesday, June 26, 2012
Absentee
I realize I've been pretty quiet here of late. Life is a busy thing. Marriage, kids, friends, work... all kinds of things to soak up one's time and energy. I've been so busy doing, I've had no time to sit back, think, and write.
Last weekend was the close of another chapter for me. Season 2 of my foray into women's tackle football ended with a less than satisfying record of wins and losses, but a definite feeling of personal accomplishment. After an extremely gratifying round of off season training with the amazing guys at King Football, I finally felt like less of a couch potato and more like (dare I say it?) an athlete. Now I know that some of you reading this are likely rolling on the floor in fits of laughter at the thought of me calling myself the "a" word, and to you I say hear me out.
I have never been athletic. I was the uncoordinated, bookish one. I've always enjoyed watching sports, but never felt confident or competent enough to play. I spent the first 41 years of my life that way. I was always a little envious of people who could jump into a sport and manage to pull off a relatively decent level of performance with seemingly little effort. Last year I finally took the plunge and started playing football.
It hasn't been easy; my body protested loudly. Four decades of inactivity will do that. And to add insult to injury were the naysayers and cynics. "You're too old." "You have a husband and kids; you shouldn't be wasting your time on football when you should be spending time with your family." "Women's football is a joke." "Your knees hurt? Maybe you should quit. Your body is trying to tell you something." "Have you lost your mind? Are you having a midlife crisis?"
Not one of these people ever asked me how I feel when I play. Or what it's done for my mental and physical well being. It's been a fight to try to rationalize with people why I'm doing this, but after handing in my equipment for another year, I've discovered that it doesn't matter. I love this game. As corny and cliche as it sounds, there's a whole other me when I put on that gear and get on the field. There's no way I can explain that to anyone outside my head, but when I talk to other women who do what I do, it's like a shared secret. We belong to an exclusive group of people who do what they love in spite of, and sometimes because of what their families and friends might think.
If you're one of those people who have tried to give me three hundred and two reasons why I have no business playing tackle football (and you know who you are), I say this - you can take your patronizing "girl power" platitudes, condescending comments and attempted guilt trips and stick 'em wherever it pleases you. What pleases me is football, and I'm going to play.
Last weekend was the close of another chapter for me. Season 2 of my foray into women's tackle football ended with a less than satisfying record of wins and losses, but a definite feeling of personal accomplishment. After an extremely gratifying round of off season training with the amazing guys at King Football, I finally felt like less of a couch potato and more like (dare I say it?) an athlete. Now I know that some of you reading this are likely rolling on the floor in fits of laughter at the thought of me calling myself the "a" word, and to you I say hear me out.
I have never been athletic. I was the uncoordinated, bookish one. I've always enjoyed watching sports, but never felt confident or competent enough to play. I spent the first 41 years of my life that way. I was always a little envious of people who could jump into a sport and manage to pull off a relatively decent level of performance with seemingly little effort. Last year I finally took the plunge and started playing football.
It hasn't been easy; my body protested loudly. Four decades of inactivity will do that. And to add insult to injury were the naysayers and cynics. "You're too old." "You have a husband and kids; you shouldn't be wasting your time on football when you should be spending time with your family." "Women's football is a joke." "Your knees hurt? Maybe you should quit. Your body is trying to tell you something." "Have you lost your mind? Are you having a midlife crisis?"
Not one of these people ever asked me how I feel when I play. Or what it's done for my mental and physical well being. It's been a fight to try to rationalize with people why I'm doing this, but after handing in my equipment for another year, I've discovered that it doesn't matter. I love this game. As corny and cliche as it sounds, there's a whole other me when I put on that gear and get on the field. There's no way I can explain that to anyone outside my head, but when I talk to other women who do what I do, it's like a shared secret. We belong to an exclusive group of people who do what they love in spite of, and sometimes because of what their families and friends might think.
If you're one of those people who have tried to give me three hundred and two reasons why I have no business playing tackle football (and you know who you are), I say this - you can take your patronizing "girl power" platitudes, condescending comments and attempted guilt trips and stick 'em wherever it pleases you. What pleases me is football, and I'm going to play.
Saturday, April 7, 2012
Passion
It's an odd word, passion. Makes me think in two different directions which aren't really that different at all.
There's the romantic, lusty kind of passion that you always hope to find with a significant other, and then there's the pit-of-the-stomach, keeps-you-up-at-night, invades-every-part-of-your-life kind.
Some of us are lucky enough to get both.
There's the romantic, lusty kind of passion that you always hope to find with a significant other, and then there's the pit-of-the-stomach, keeps-you-up-at-night, invades-every-part-of-your-life kind.
Some of us are lucky enough to get both.
Thursday, January 26, 2012
The Human Garbage Can
A strange thing happened when I had kids. I turned into a human garbage can. It probably has roots back as far as my own childhood - sitting at the table and being told to eat everything on my plate, "because there are starving children in Africa". Heaven forbid I left a mouthful of food on my plate - it just wasn't done. And on those rare occasions when I did manage to escape without stuffing myself, nothing was ever wasted. My mother was always there to clean up the scraps.
Funny how we, as parents, are loathe to scrape food off a plate into the garbage can, yet we think little of cramming it down our own throats. I was thinking about that very thing as I loaded the supper dishes into the dishwasher last night. What I was doing every time I ate that last piece of whatever, rather than throw it out, was treating myself like a garbage dump. I wasn't hungry; I didn't need to eat any more, so why was I still putting things in my mouth?? Am I not important enough that I can say no to someone else's leftovers?
The answer is yes. I am important enough. I will no longer eat that "last bite of" whatever it is. I don't need it. I've actually found myself putting food in my mouth and then spitting it out - old habits are hard to break, but I'm on this one. My dreams for 2012 are big, but my ass will not be!!
Funny how we, as parents, are loathe to scrape food off a plate into the garbage can, yet we think little of cramming it down our own throats. I was thinking about that very thing as I loaded the supper dishes into the dishwasher last night. What I was doing every time I ate that last piece of whatever, rather than throw it out, was treating myself like a garbage dump. I wasn't hungry; I didn't need to eat any more, so why was I still putting things in my mouth?? Am I not important enough that I can say no to someone else's leftovers?
The answer is yes. I am important enough. I will no longer eat that "last bite of" whatever it is. I don't need it. I've actually found myself putting food in my mouth and then spitting it out - old habits are hard to break, but I'm on this one. My dreams for 2012 are big, but my ass will not be!!
Sunday, September 18, 2011
It's Not You, It's Me.
Usually this is where I go to make funny; to write about something that I'm excited about or has made me proud. I don't have that today. This is me looking for a place to offload all the mental garbage I've been carting around for some time now.
I'm usually quick to brag about what I've written - I love to hear the comments from friends (and strangers) when I've evoked a laugh or made someone think. I'm an attention whore like that. This, though, is something else. My personal illusion is that the people who usually read my writing will be surprised by what I have to say; but it may be just that - an illusion.
There's something wrong with me. I like to think that I've been hiding it pretty well for a while now, but if you venture into my house, my secret would probably be quickly revealed. I'm drowning. It's becoming more and more obvious to me that whatever it is that I think I need in my life has nothing to do with other people. It's what's going on in my head.
I have a husband who loves and provides for me. I have 3 amazing kids. I have a safe home and food on my table. And yet, I don't feel "happy". What's worse is that when I try to figure out what's "missing", all I find is a huge cloud of guilt. How dare I want for anything? I'm living the dream, right? I'm a "kept woman"... I should be thrilled that I'm not living on the street, scrabbling to feed myself. Or that my kids are not clinging to life in a hospital somewhere, or worse...
I keep telling myself that I don't deserve to be as miserable as I feel. So I slap on my fake smile and climb back on the hamster wheel. Yeah, that's me - the funny one; the girl who likes to make jokes and laugh harder at them herself than does anyone else. Every day I trudge along, hoping that no one looks too closely and notices that I'm just a little off...
I joke to people that I'm nuts. Crackers. A head case. Humour is my favourite defence mechanism. The sad thing is, it's no longer a joke to me. I've come to the realization that there really is something going on that I need to address. The history is there. It's a ghost that's been haunting me for several years now, and it's time I opened that dark closet and took a really good look at what's inside.
A friend of mine recently reminded me that I'm intelligent, well educated and capable of making change in my life, and that if I were to argue otherwise, I don't want it enough. I hate it when he's right.
If you know me, you might understand that this is likely the most frightening thing I've done in my life. Admitting I'm wrong is not something I do often. I'm seriously wrong now though; regardless of what I've been trying to fool myself (and you) into believing, I am not "fine". I will be, though, because I'm tired of hiding.
I'm usually quick to brag about what I've written - I love to hear the comments from friends (and strangers) when I've evoked a laugh or made someone think. I'm an attention whore like that. This, though, is something else. My personal illusion is that the people who usually read my writing will be surprised by what I have to say; but it may be just that - an illusion.
There's something wrong with me. I like to think that I've been hiding it pretty well for a while now, but if you venture into my house, my secret would probably be quickly revealed. I'm drowning. It's becoming more and more obvious to me that whatever it is that I think I need in my life has nothing to do with other people. It's what's going on in my head.
I have a husband who loves and provides for me. I have 3 amazing kids. I have a safe home and food on my table. And yet, I don't feel "happy". What's worse is that when I try to figure out what's "missing", all I find is a huge cloud of guilt. How dare I want for anything? I'm living the dream, right? I'm a "kept woman"... I should be thrilled that I'm not living on the street, scrabbling to feed myself. Or that my kids are not clinging to life in a hospital somewhere, or worse...
I keep telling myself that I don't deserve to be as miserable as I feel. So I slap on my fake smile and climb back on the hamster wheel. Yeah, that's me - the funny one; the girl who likes to make jokes and laugh harder at them herself than does anyone else. Every day I trudge along, hoping that no one looks too closely and notices that I'm just a little off...
I joke to people that I'm nuts. Crackers. A head case. Humour is my favourite defence mechanism. The sad thing is, it's no longer a joke to me. I've come to the realization that there really is something going on that I need to address. The history is there. It's a ghost that's been haunting me for several years now, and it's time I opened that dark closet and took a really good look at what's inside.
A friend of mine recently reminded me that I'm intelligent, well educated and capable of making change in my life, and that if I were to argue otherwise, I don't want it enough. I hate it when he's right.
If you know me, you might understand that this is likely the most frightening thing I've done in my life. Admitting I'm wrong is not something I do often. I'm seriously wrong now though; regardless of what I've been trying to fool myself (and you) into believing, I am not "fine". I will be, though, because I'm tired of hiding.
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
It just gets better all the time.
It's been 2 short months since I played my first tackle football game. I had no idea what I as getting myself into; nor did I have any way of knowing how playing would change me. I've met some of the most amazing women. Our team ranges in age from 18 to 56 years old. Yes, FIFTY SIX. We are moms, professionals, students and every size and shape you can imagine. We are dedicated, crazy and passionate. We are the RAGE family. I can't explain to you how it feels to share that bond with these women who, before this spring, were total strangers to me.
As if all that wasn't enough, I've gotten more from playing this game than all the friendship and mental strength.
I can fit into clothes that I wore when I was twenty. Oh, hell yes. And for the first time since I was a teenager, I am proud to say I can rock that bikini. I never thought I would be comfortable enough with my shape to say that, but playing football has given me the fitness and the confidence to show off proudly.
This weekend I will head to Edmonton with my RAGE family to play in the Western Conference final. Regardless of what the scoreboard says at the end of the game, this season has been a giant win for me. Football IS for women. GO RAGE!
As if all that wasn't enough, I've gotten more from playing this game than all the friendship and mental strength.
I can fit into clothes that I wore when I was twenty. Oh, hell yes. And for the first time since I was a teenager, I am proud to say I can rock that bikini. I never thought I would be comfortable enough with my shape to say that, but playing football has given me the fitness and the confidence to show off proudly.
This weekend I will head to Edmonton with my RAGE family to play in the Western Conference final. Regardless of what the scoreboard says at the end of the game, this season has been a giant win for me. Football IS for women. GO RAGE!
Sunday, March 27, 2011
Football is for....GIRLS! WTF!!
Those who know me, know what a huge fan I am of the CFL, and more specifically, the Calgary Stampeders. This spring I decided to push myself to a new level of football love. I joined a women's tackle football (WTF!) team.
The Calgary Rage of the Western Women's Canadian Football League (WWCFL) took me into their fold in February of this year. I started out going to classroom sessions to learn the basics of offense and defense, and more of the detailed intricacies of offensive plays and defensive formations.
By March, we'd moved on to indoor training. Tackling drills, proper stances, and oh my lord the running. Forward, backward, side shuffling... you name it, we ran it.
April arrived and we hit the outdoor field. Drills, running plays, and of course, running. And more running.
At the beginning of May, the team went on a weekend road trip to Saskatoon for a "football jamboree" - 4 mini games against other budding female footballers. I was unable to play due to a muscle tear I sustained at a practice, but I did my best from the sidelines to encourage my teammates and learn as much as I could.
Finally, on May 14, I played my first game as a member of the Calgary Rage. It was a win over the Lethbridge Steel (28-14) and although I didn't perform as well as I could have, it was the most exciting thing I'd done for a long time. Until yesterday.
May 21 found us in Edmonton for a match against the Edmonton Storm. The scoreboard said it was a loss, but I made my first real tackle as a football player and will never forget the feeling. It scares me a little to think that I am capable of running full speed toward another woman with the sole intention of knocking her on her ass. And knock her on her ass I did! She didn't see me coming, and I'm sure she had no idea what hit her. I have never felt such a rush. I understand now what my coaches were saying all this time about getting that rush of adrenaline. It's a day later, and thinking about it still gets my heart pumping harder.
When I started with the team, I was nervous about the hitting part of the game. I had no idea what to expect, physically or mentally. Now that I've had my first taste of real contact, I can honestly say I LOVE THIS GAME.
Apart from being in the best shape ever in my life, I've already benefitted so much from joining this team. Win or lose, the bonds I've made with my teammates and coaches are some of the deepest of my adult life. When you stand on that field with 11 other women who rely on each other to get a job done and protect each other, you become a family. That's a part of the game I could never have imagined.
I love my Rage family.
The Calgary Rage of the Western Women's Canadian Football League (WWCFL) took me into their fold in February of this year. I started out going to classroom sessions to learn the basics of offense and defense, and more of the detailed intricacies of offensive plays and defensive formations.
By March, we'd moved on to indoor training. Tackling drills, proper stances, and oh my lord the running. Forward, backward, side shuffling... you name it, we ran it.
April arrived and we hit the outdoor field. Drills, running plays, and of course, running. And more running.
At the beginning of May, the team went on a weekend road trip to Saskatoon for a "football jamboree" - 4 mini games against other budding female footballers. I was unable to play due to a muscle tear I sustained at a practice, but I did my best from the sidelines to encourage my teammates and learn as much as I could.
Finally, on May 14, I played my first game as a member of the Calgary Rage. It was a win over the Lethbridge Steel (28-14) and although I didn't perform as well as I could have, it was the most exciting thing I'd done for a long time. Until yesterday.
May 21 found us in Edmonton for a match against the Edmonton Storm. The scoreboard said it was a loss, but I made my first real tackle as a football player and will never forget the feeling. It scares me a little to think that I am capable of running full speed toward another woman with the sole intention of knocking her on her ass. And knock her on her ass I did! She didn't see me coming, and I'm sure she had no idea what hit her. I have never felt such a rush. I understand now what my coaches were saying all this time about getting that rush of adrenaline. It's a day later, and thinking about it still gets my heart pumping harder.
When I started with the team, I was nervous about the hitting part of the game. I had no idea what to expect, physically or mentally. Now that I've had my first taste of real contact, I can honestly say I LOVE THIS GAME.
Apart from being in the best shape ever in my life, I've already benefitted so much from joining this team. Win or lose, the bonds I've made with my teammates and coaches are some of the deepest of my adult life. When you stand on that field with 11 other women who rely on each other to get a job done and protect each other, you become a family. That's a part of the game I could never have imagined.
I love my Rage family.
Monday, November 1, 2010
When did I start to like this???
It's been an interesting, entertaining summer. I turned forty in June. Some interesting, entertaining people have come into my life from the strangest of places. What is most surprising to me though, is that something that started out as a way to get out of the house and have some time to myself has turned into a new hobby.
I've always hated exercise. Especially running. Something about it just rubbed me the wrong way. Maybe that rubbing was my thighs... but whatever the reason, I just didn't "get" why people would go out and just run - not to anything, or from anything... just ... running.
Since July, I've been racking up a few kilometres on my overpriced sneakers. It started as a stroll around my neighbourhood, without a real goal in mind. It used to take me about 30 minutes to do the three kilometre loop. When I began tracking my time, I found myself pushing to go faster and faster. It's become a game. I've cracked the 26 minute mark, and can actually run for 10 minutes without hacking up a lung.
It's now November, and I'm still interested. My father jokes that I've finally snapped my lazy bone - maybe he's right. Maybe it's the incentive of wanting to justify the newly purchased treadmill in my basement. Frankly, I don't care what it is. All I know is that this is the most I've done to take care of myself in a long time. And it feels really, really good.
I've always hated exercise. Especially running. Something about it just rubbed me the wrong way. Maybe that rubbing was my thighs... but whatever the reason, I just didn't "get" why people would go out and just run - not to anything, or from anything... just ... running.
Since July, I've been racking up a few kilometres on my overpriced sneakers. It started as a stroll around my neighbourhood, without a real goal in mind. It used to take me about 30 minutes to do the three kilometre loop. When I began tracking my time, I found myself pushing to go faster and faster. It's become a game. I've cracked the 26 minute mark, and can actually run for 10 minutes without hacking up a lung.
It's now November, and I'm still interested. My father jokes that I've finally snapped my lazy bone - maybe he's right. Maybe it's the incentive of wanting to justify the newly purchased treadmill in my basement. Frankly, I don't care what it is. All I know is that this is the most I've done to take care of myself in a long time. And it feels really, really good.
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