There’s been a persistent dialogue running like a broken record in my head over the last couple of weeks.
Psst. Hey you.
You’ve been kinda lazy lately, eh? (P.S. my inside voice is so very Canadiana.)
When was the last time you worked out?
You’ve been doing a lot of Netflix marathons on the couch lately. (I have been but they’ve BEEN SO GOOD.)
when it’s over. and you have nothing for or against the person. and they are free to fly from your body and your memory. that’s breathing. ~ nayyirah waheed
I made you something. And it’s almost ready to share.
I’ve been finding it difficult to return to my laptop every week and squeeze out a post over the last couple of months. Partly because I’ve been working on something that had to split me in half before I could possibly put myself back together again but mostly because I needed the space to heal.
As you may know, on April 16, 2017 (the date is permanently etched in my DNA) my father passed away. We didn’t have the ideal father/daughter relationship. And we definitely weren’t close. Nevertheless, our connection (or lack thereof) shaped me into the person I am today.
Something shifted in me as he was dying.
Everything changed when he passed.
As I began to reflect on things from a distanced perspective, I began to see the different ways that my relationship with him had influenced my actions, choices, and opinion of myself in this world. I began to see how much of who I am today is the result of our blemished bond and that this imperfection is part of what makes me complicated, sensitive, strong, compassionate, and independent – all at the same time. And I wouldn’t change a thing.
I’d like to abandon the way we throw terms like “daddy issues” and “mommy issues” around as a way to debase each other. I mean really. Who doesn’t have “issues” because of someone, or something, or other?
I’d like to eliminate any judgement we have about how we’ve been affected by our past
embrace that at times we’re fractured, desolate, vulnerable, and raw
– often painfully so –
and that at those times
it’s not about what happened to us or who did what
how we choose to move beyond it all.
And so. I hermited. I tucked myself into a safe space to create and when I was ready, and the time was right, the words began to flow. There was no stopping the process as long as I let what needed to be said move through me. As long as I stepped out of my own way and stopped judging myself for what I was feeling. And as long as I realized that this process was distinctly my own – necessary, heartbreaking, and beautiful.
And I want to share my art with you.
Over the next week, I’ll be finalizing my first book: a self-published poetic narrative that moves through reflections on love, death, and healing.
I’m hoping you feel something.
I’m hoping we see a bit of ourselves in each other.
I’m hoping we connect…
…not necessarily through identical experiences – but through a common resonance with what it means to be human. What it means to love. What it means to fall apart. And what it means to heal.
Stay tuned. I’ll let you know when it’s ready to order. And as always, send you mad love for every precious minute you devote to supporting me, my words, and my art.
Because as much as I may think I write for myself – I write for you.