It has been a HOT MINUTE since I sat down to write a blog for our website... that being said, it was a craaaazy fall, and then without pause it was Christmas followed by the fastest roll over in to a new year I have ever experienced. In the midst of making sure my kids have clean clothes, nutritious meals and the three hundred other things I think I do in a day, I actually put my creative brain in to sleep mode for a bit.
And that's okay. Right? Right.
Lately, I've been seeing more and more posts on social media about taking an adult Time Out. Not because we've behaved poorly, or refused to eat the only vegetable we've loved eating for the previous 3 weeks and now completely detest, but because rest and pause are VITAL to our state of well-being. Turning inward to reflect on life is one of the tools we are encouraged to use in order to maintain a healthy balance of work, life, family and social responsibilities. But that being said, how DO we balance all of this?
I'm reminded of an excerpt from Dr. Seuss' ageless poem "Oh, The Places You'll Go" -
"So be sure when you step,
Step with care and great tact.
And remember that life's
A Great Balancing Act..."
So tell me - HOW DO WE BALANCE ALL OF THIS?
I am fairly certain that I have personally tried about 9,000 ways to balance all the pieces of my life. And 8,995 times I've completely failed. I wish I could remember what I did those five times that it did actually work... I can say that I do remember a distinct feeling of calm and order; everything in my home had a place and was returned to that place when it was finished being used. My floors were spotless, and the carpets always had those freshly vacuumed track lines that I associate with these particularly positive times. The children thrived in their organized environment, and it seemed like there was nothing the Universe could throw at us that we couldn't dodge.
But then somewhere along the way, the floors became filthy, things began to pile up on any available surface, and the energy in my home shifted to one of chaos, disorder and anxiety.
I'm not alone in this place I'm currently sitting. That's a fact. At any given time, as I am surveying the vast piles of stuff all over my house, I am not the only one who is suddenly overcome with selective vision, no longer seeing the mess, and walking away from the daily operational structure of my life. I'm not the only one who screams in to a pillow midway through the day because I can't locate something. I'm not the only one who feels utterly exhausted at the mere thought of going to the grocery store to pick up ingredients for a healthy dinner for my kids, instead abandoning the notion of a well-balanced diet for that of the drive-thru or pizza delivery.
So why do I feel so alone? What is it that makes me feel like I am the only person facing the daily grind and never winning? That is so far from the truth. Yet is it my truth? I struggle with the concept of asking for help - have always struggled with the concept of asking for help. I worry that it will make me seem weak and incapable of being the strong, independent woman that I know is buried beneath the layers of guilt, inadequate feelings and perceived failure. But if I've covered that strong, independent woman up, why should I be worried that the world will actually see that she's hiding in there? The outward image I am projecting certainly presents me as a successful mother of two, holding down a house and contract work... but scratch the surface, and all of the bullshit will come flying right out - will probably smack everyone in the face, and the jig will be up. I'm a fraud. I've got nothing together, and I'm sinking deeper and deeper in to an abyss I have created for myself.
As I've hinted at on the show a few times, I began a daily dose of anti-depressants in September 2018. After two visits with a psychiatrist, it was clear to her that the medication I had been taking was no longer addressing the mental health issues I presented with. So I agreed to a change in pills, hoping it would suddenly swing the axe the other way, thus freeing me from the ropes I had bound myself tightly with. It was an AWFUL transition. Instead of seeing a positive shift, I was more consumed by thoughts of self-loathing and suicide than I had been during the three years prior - the years I had been on a different medication. I could barely get out of bed in the morning to drive my daughter to school, let alone take the time to stoke my creative flame. I cried every day, feeling a heaviness in my chest, and I considered all the ways I could end my life without my children having to find me. I saw my psychiatrist, and told her the medication wasn't doing what I thought it should - and she prescribed an increased dosage, telling me we wouldn't stop going up until I started feeling like myself again. But then I worried that I would be so drugged that I wouldn't know when I in fact did start feeling like myself again, or if I ever would. It's tough to distinguish between the authentic self, and the self that is found through the use of heavy anti-depressants. How would I even KNOW when I was myself again?
From 2014 to 2018, I was in one state of crisis after another. My mother almost died from a blood infection, and shortly after she was released from the hospital with a good bill of health, my Dad had a heart attack. Throw in my liver failing and admission in to the same hospital where my mother was on life-support in the ICU, followed by the catastrophic fall I had at work in February of 2015, and you've got pure chaos. The storm had settled in, and it was all I could do to hold on for dear life. I spent the better part of 2015 in a hospital bed in my living room, my right leg immobilized by a blue splint that made getting around a work-out of its own. I ended my marriage in early 2016, asking my husband for a separation after 12 years. I lost my job shortly after, and struggled to find full-time employment for the remainder of the spring and summer. I was lucky to have a few contracts thrown my way in the fall, and I was kept busy with theatre things until January 2017.
Then I was sexually assaulted on a "work" trip that month. I didn't remember it at first, but over the next few months, while continuing to work with the man who did it, it started to come back to me - and the emails and texts he sent me confirmed my fear that he had in fact done it. I didn't tell anyone for the first few weeks, terrified that speaking up would throw my life in to further chaos - which, when I look back on it now, was hardly an issue, considering the ever-present black cloud that had taken up residence just above my head. I spiralled in to a darkness, the likes of which I had never known, and trying to remain present and functional, "showing up" for everyday life, was so painful. So painful. My grip was loosening more and more every day, and it was more than I could handle.
Yet, somehow, I managed to hold on. It was literally by the skin of my teeth, but I did it. The winds howled, the rain battered, and the strikes of lightning were sudden and terrifying. I collapsed in to myself so many times, deflated, defeated and totally destroyed. I cried - oh, did I cry. I cried until my body was so dehydrated that I could barely stand up. As an added response, my body began to shake constantly. From pain, from anger, from sadness, even from the gentle touches of a sliver of happiness. I couldn't - and still can't - control when it will come on.
In late spring of 2018, I cold-contacted a local photographer who had taken some stunning photos of a dear friend of mine. Little did I know at the time, but Lorna Dancey (www.lornadanceyphotography.com) would become the lifeline I so desperately needed. She is the creator and photographer behind a mental health exhibit called "State of Mind", and the first time I met her, I knew it wasn't just the warm spring sun that was melting the ice I had surrounded myself with. I found myself sitting across the table from a beautiful blue-eyed, blonde-haired angel in human form. I immediately felt safe with her - something I had forgotten I could feel - and over the course of the next few months, she would change my life in ways she might never know. We laughed, we joked, we almost cried together a few times. But through it all, she slowly blew wind back in to my sails. She took photos of me - even one in which I was topless - and despite all the times I was told I was too fat and ugly, I allowed her to put that photo all over social media. Yay for Big Girls! YAY!
Kate and I have talked about how many years we sat together and discussed all the creative projects we wanted to undertake. Ultimately, it ended up being 13 years before we took the leap for ourselves and started our podcast. It must also be pointed out that we participated together in a number of projects in the theatre community in Edmonton - but only once was that project something I initiated. We had a lot of fun - we laughed, we cried (well, I cried), and on more than one occasion, we judged ourselves far more harshly than was necessary. The point of making art is to express one's self and one's creativity by any means available. The problem is, we tend to pick apart what we have created, discarding just about everything we think is not perfect. But art is NEVER perfect. It can appear so from the outside, but to the artist, it will never, ever be perfect. You just get to a point where you recognize your inner critic has said enough, and you say FUCK IT. I'm going ahead with this, and to hell with what the rest of the world thinks. And I think that's where Kate and I finally arrived at - we started planning our show, collecting ideas, research, resources, and compiling them in to a format that definitely passes as a podcast.
Kate has been a constant source of support for me - even when she didn't realize it. As much trouble as I have asking for help, I have greater trouble turning to people for emotional support during the rough patches. It's that ever-present fear again, the thought that I could potentially be piling more shit on to a plate that is already overflowing that makes it hard for me to accept. But even during those moments when I was contemplating ending my entire existence, there was always this little, tiny piece of me that realized THIS IS SOMETHING WE CAN TALK ABOUT ON THE SHOW! It's not to exploit it, or rack up the sympathy votes. Not at all. It's a way for me to personally reach out by talking about my own struggles, hopefully connecting with someone - anyone - who is sitting in a similarly sinking boat. Kate said to me the other day, "Perhaps I'm wearing a life jacket and I can help you float." BE STILL MY HEART. This woman GETS ME. This woman knows what I am speaking about, and intimately understands where I am coming from.
Winters in Alberta are long. The sun is still below the horizon when you wake up, and it is setting long before you put the stove on for your evening meal. And that's hard - it's harder when you struggle with mental illness, I think, and the nights can close in on you in a way that forces you to reflect on your life. There are pieces of mine that I would rather just forget about, toss behind me and never look back at. Those are the parts that sit in darkness, taking on forms you can't quite make out, leaving you feeling afraid of the shadows and what lurks within them. Yet... these are the times when it's the most possible to see that flame - no matter how small - and the times we can shift the shadows in to something to work with and to grow from.
Lately, I've been taking more and more time to turn inward. I am getting better about addressing the "Shadow Self", and learning to work with what I find there. It really IS about shifting the focus, which in turn shifts the energy, which further in turn can shift the outlook. I try not to apologize as much for those times when I don't want to be around people, and don't want to leave the safety of my home. I sit, ever more in quiet contemplation, and shuffle the puzzle pieces of the life I see before me, rather than the life I once thought I was meant to lead. I don't have a crystal ball, and I can't predict the future - none of us can, really - but I can gaze in to the unknown before me, and plan my move forward. What was once a dark mass in the shadows was revealed to me to be the armour I had forgotten I once wore - so I take it out most days and give it a little polish - my Grandma would be so proud! I am starting to see the tiny flames come in to view - love, creativity, hope - and they reflect in an ever-growing circle of light on my armour. I now take more time to just BE. To just sit and exist, in whatever mental state I am in, and allow the natural process of those feelings to surround me, coming to high tide, before flowing away. I am not afraid to breathe in these times - not afraid to fill my lungs almost to popping, knowing that they will help me float through the shit times, carrying me in to better times, and to better places.
And so, I balance. I balance against the rising and falling of life, and I balance against the to-ing and fro-ing of being alive. I no longer label these waves as 'work', 'home', etc. I now collectively understand them to be my life, and there's no use in fighting against it. It's time to work WITH it, to LIVE it, to BE it. I can steady myself for the tough times, and be free in my form in the better times - and all the while, I will continue to balance... some days while holding on to Kate's life jacket.
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