Month: February 2021

Dear Christine at 15…

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I found my very first diary. The cover is graced with two white doves etched with gold tipped wings hovering over an ocean lit by moonlight. With each turn of the aged pastel pages, a sweet scent lingers which lives in the recesses of a forgotten room in my brain. On the inside cover was my best attempt at handwriting my name along with the year 1989. I received this diary for Christmas. On New Years I chronicled my adventures in babysitting. I made $25 for a 7 hour shift. I vaguely remember the parents getting home at 3 a.m. and trying their best to steady themselves on drunk ankles. ha!

I chronicled little and big moments from 13 to 18 years old. Some days my handwriting was scrambled and scrawled, and other days it was intentional with pretty cursive. The margins were filled with doodles and drawings. Hearts followed by broken hearts.

As I read some of my more life altering entries, I felt compassion, sadness, and a deep feeling of empathy as I knew how my story would unfold.

In those 5 years of teenage dairy entries, I wrote about friends passing away, moving (running) to a boarding school, my Grandfather’s death, being used and cheated on, feeling like an outsider in social circles (I drew a photo of my body with arrows to the areas I hated), smoking/drinking/sneaking out, my parent’s separation/divorce, and the hardest to read: being raped.

The journal entry for the rape started and ended with this sentence…

“I hate myself”.

The entries after were a spiralling of self, full of confusion and a complete lack of self-worth. My writing was full of shame and blame and wanting it all to end.

Thirty years later, I am a Mother to a teenage girl the same age. As I read the words of 15 year old me who was trying to articulate rape, I felt the love I have for my daughter. Within the recount, I remembered things I had pushed down. Among the hardest words to read were:

“I let a lot of people down.”

“I did a really dumb thing” (by putting myself in that position.)

“He started kissing me and pushed me to the ground.”

“He was around 20 years old.” (I must of wrote that understanding he was an adult and I was a teen)

“How am I going to tell Mom and Dad?”

“This is awful. I never meant for it to happen like this, my first time was supposed to be special and with someone I loved. He hardly even knew my name.”

“When I got back I threw up 3 times all over the road.” (I do not remember that)

“I hate myself.”

Signed Christine (at 15)

As a Mother, what would I want 15 year old me to know? That question spoke to me the entire time I read that diary. I almost felt like I was invading her privacy by reading it, like she was not me. What an odd feeling…

Dear Christine at 15: You are so very loved and worthy. You did nothing wrong, and I’m proud of you for sharing. You will never let me down, my love for you is never-ending and without conditions. Please allow those who love you to lift you up. When you speak aloud and share with those who are safe to do so, shame can’t abide in that same sacred space.

Now, in saying that, I’m not sure I would have been able to accept that love. I blamed myself, and stuffed that shame with food, partying, running away, outer silence/inner turmoil, alcohol, etc.

As was evident by an entry after, written by my childhood friend, I had a supportive loving network. I must have let my friend read my diary a few days after the rape. Side note: I forgot how much I trusted my childhood friends…enough to let them read something so intensely vulnerable. There were other entries from more friends in the years after. I think this is when I learned to share by writing.

This is my last page of the rape entry, followed by her letter to me…

When I read “Don’t ever cover up that picture again.” I had a memory flash of covering up my photo, blocking my face. I couldn’t look at my reflection. She poured her love and acceptance over me. She is still my friend today, we meet yearly for a family photo session. I forgot why I feel such a connection and kindred spirit with her (beyond the obvious fact she too is P.S. cool and I love her). When I closed my photography business in 2020, I felt it on my heart the importance to continue to document her life for her. I didn’t remember she wrote me this until I read it today. Thank you Merrilyn for the gift of your friendship and whole-hearted acceptance.

I’m still sorting through all of this, the healing thirty years later. I know I’m finally doing the work, this has been my gift of isolation within 2020 and 2021. I took another big step a few weeks ago and spoke about Shame on a podcast. I am nervous to hear my outside voice, but I’m proud of myself for pushing down the fear and doing it.

I was listening to a podcast from Brene Brown where she quantified how she knows its safe to share something traumatic in a public forum (like a podcast, blog, book, post, etc.), and it has stuck with me. This is not an exact quote, rather how I perceived her words…. If my healing is dependent on another’s response, then it’s not safe to share publicly. I will share with a person who’s earned that trust.

Today, I’m in a position to talk about this more openly as my healing is not dependent on your response. I feel like this is something so many women carry within, the shame and blame, the feeling of unworthiness.

The idea that another woman may also be feeling this way guides my spirit to speak. To write about it. To be honest and transparent that I’m still working through it and I don’t have all the answers yet as to how I will reclaim this part of my spirit.

I want you to know…

You are worthy.

You are loved.

You are not broken. You are healing.

You are brave.

I am so sorry for what happened to you.

You did nothing wrong.

You have nothing to feel shameful about, sharing erodes shame.

As you speak and share…that shame will meld way to open a powerful space rooted in love and compassion. There is beauty in the breakdown. I’m so very proud of you no matter what stage of healing you are in. Vulnerability is incredibly courageous.

From my heart to yours,

Christine

The Radical Place Beyond Self-Acceptance

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I am reading a book called “The Body is Not an Apology: The Power of Radical Self-Love” by Sonya Renee Taylor and oh my have I been challenged to invite difference and understanding, not only within how I view my body, but EveryBODY. If you have a body, than this book is for you.

If you read my previous posts over the past decade, there is a theme of self-acceptance. Within Sonya’s powerful words, I’ve been challenged to reassess the ideal of self-acceptance, because there is a beautiful radical place beyond that…and that is self-love. How did I never understand or know about this place?

You see acceptance is not an actionable word. It’s passive. It just is. To accept something doesn’t invite freedom, power, or love. When I accept something, it’s usually because there is no other choice if I want to move forward. I accept begrudgingly. I accept that I am 43. I accept that I have cellulite in all the areas. I accept that there are lines and paths on my face which trace my memories and my stories of both pain and joy. The years of feeling have etched a map and I hope to have more laugh lines than frown lines.

But to LOVE myself as is? Radical Self-Love at that?

How would that change my life?

How would that change another’s life?

How would that change my view of others?

How would that change how I treat myself and others?

How would that change the way I Mother?

How could that change the world?

I am going to walk off this path of thought and go down a different trail (I promise it meets up eventually). I have been thinking about my Why as it relates to health and wellness. There is so much dark, ugly, and gross when it comes to the Fitness/Beauty/Diet industry. An industry built on selling the belief that you must change yourself. Insert some sarcasm…It is simply audacious to believe you could actually love yourself without the cream, the lashes, the nails, the outfit, or the shake you drink to shrink. You silly girl, drink the kool aide, you’ll feel and look better if you do.

Back in 2003 when I finally did the work (or I should say started the work) to sit in my shame, and to find ways to process it all without bingeing on food, my Why was To heal. The result was weight loss. I started fuelling my body with love-yoself-high-energy foods packed with vitamins and nutrients, moving for strength and mobility, and reading/writing/sharing to fulfill my spirit.

I struggled with the attention as it related to my physical appearance because it wasn’t about that. “You always had a pretty face” or “You look so good now” further impacted the message within that I was not worthy unless I took up less space. And to be worthy, I must fit into an ideal which was (and still is) impossible to even obtain much less maintain. Nor did I want that.

I love going to the gym, and getting lost in a workout. My ideal hour is spent lifting heavy things with music streaming in my ear holes. I prefer to work out solo, it’s a form of meditation for me. I lift to feel uplifted. It empowers me, makes me feel amazing, and boosts my mood every session. I do not lift to lift my ass; which is why it’s truly hard to search for different workouts online without the Why being attached to aesthetics.

This is also the reason I choose not to chat about diets as much as possible as it triggers something within that feels really uncomfortable and my shame voice lifts her little hand to take over my mind chatter. Most “diets” usually come with a magical promise of how much weight you can lose within a specific time frame (usually short term). There is no data or disclaimer attached about what it will do to your body long term. How much it will impact ALL parts of you: Body, Mind, and Spirit. How it will deplete your energy, your stamina, your esteem, your worth. How it will create an insatiable feeling of never enough. It will not tell you that no matter how much you diet, your image will always appear flawed and distorted as you analyze your reflection in the mirror. It will not support you, or love you…this new you. Because the WHY is to be something other than you are. The message: You are not enough without shrinking yourself.

So my friends, this is how I make decisions lately. I listen to my Whys. It helps me to sort the clutter. To make choices about what I read, who I listen to, what I eat, how I move my body, how I protect my daily peace.

My why is to heal.

My why is to weave all parts together Body, Mind, and Spirit.

My why is to find this beautiful place that is Radical Self-Love.

What is your why?

Will you walk with me to this new place?

It’s actually not a new place at all, it’s an old place we were born into. As kids we loved the shit out ourselves and others. I was googling words to describe such a place and my thesaurus recommended Utopia; however, the definition is a place of ideal perfection. This place is not perfection. I want to seek imperfections. I want to celebrate difference. I want to invite understanding. I want to know how others navigate life in their body. I “want” is an invitation to change. I will change as I explore and open my heart and mind.

I am just scratching the surface of learning (as I’m sure you can tell). I am truly grateful to Sonya Renee Taylor for articulating her thoughts into written word, which are now spinning and weaving pathways within my brain. Thank you Sonya.

Dive Deeper my friends…

Listen: Brené with Sonya Renee Taylor on “The Body is Not an Apology”

Explore and Read: The Body is Not an Apology Website (where you can purchase the book, and read further)

From my heart to yours,

Christine

Deprogramming Forced Politeness

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I was raised to be polite. To give more than I take. To look for the best in others. To help my neighbour. To turn the other cheek. To have stellar manners. Say please and thank you. To forgive. To love others.

While all of these traits have moulded my character and values; in talking with a friend this week, I realized one has done harm to my spirit.

Politeness or rather Forced Politeness

There is a difference between manners and politeness. I am a woman and a Canadian sooo double double polite.

Now that I’m prettttty seasoned at being 40 something, I have been working on my intuition as I ignored it for much of adult life. You know that feeling you get when something feels off, and you don’t know why.

I have delved deep into the Why’s lately.

Why did I believe I was without choices?

Why didn’t I say something?

Why didn’t I put up boundaries?

Why did I think it was better for me to be uncomfortable than the very person who caused it?

I’m going to throw out a couple of examples of how Forced Politeness has effected my life in a negative way.

Example number 1: At a professional work place, I asked an older man if I could help him, to which he replied with a wink: “You sure could, but I can’t say out loud how I’d like you to help me.” I ignored it, and remained professional. Later, as he was leaving, he said:”God has given you a beautiful body and I’ve enjoyed looking at it.”

I just stood there with my mouth open, stunned and shaking with anger inside. First of all, he was an elder and so my brain thought: “maybe he doesn’t know in this era you can’t say things like that, he’s a senior citizen.” Secondly, I was at work and professionalism is important to me. I didn’t trust the words that were about to escape my lips.

Example number 2: There was a man at my gym who repeatedly ignored physical boundaries, he stood too close, interrupted workouts to ask nonsensical questions, and continually scanned the room. When he was done his workout, he would sit on the ledge of the boot rack for many minutes/sometimes a full workout time. He just sat there, large and in charge looking at his phone with his legs dangling down blocking the boot cubicles. He would not leave or motion to move when he saw women approach looking for their boots. This in turn forced women to ask him to move so they could gather their shoes. He wouldn’t get down; rather he would move his leg just enough to get your boots out of the cubicle. Sometimes I would politely ask him to move. Other times I would just stare at the cubicle and then at him so he would move. He did this for the entire time I went to that gym. If he was in the gym; he disrupted my workout, my inner peace (the whole reason I was there).

Forced Politeness.

I am doing the work on Deprogramming that shit because boundaries and speaking up are necessary.

I will not teach my children to ignore their instincts when something feels off, uncomfortable, or wrong.

I will not force them to hug another hello or good bye if they do not want to.

I do not want my children to be in a situation where they feel unsafe or uncomfortable; but stay because they are worried about being impolite.

I talked to my daughter about it today. She agreed that forced politeness has caused her to silence her voice. I asked her why she would not speak up within these experiences, and very simply she told me she didn’t want to make another person feel uncomfortable. Ugh my heart

That is not OK. We would rather sit in the discomfort for the sake of another’s comfort; when their very actions do not show respect for our boundaries.

I don’t have the answers my friends…not yet anyway. But I’m writing about this today because I am going to change this. It’s important not only for my own peace and safety; but for my children’s too.

Please share with another and keep the conversation going if you too feel impacted by Forced Politeness. Share with those you feel safe to do so with.

And one day I hope my inner power will shine brightly enough that I feel confident to share with those who make me feel uncomfortable…even if my voice shakes.

From my heart to yours,

Christine