SheLoves Magazine

Wellness Wednesday: The One Decision I Regret Most

“I wanted to forget that I’d ever felt that momentary joy preceding the horrifying loss of my one and only pregnancy.”

By Tara Rodden Robinson |Twitter: @tararodden 

When I went to church this past Sunday, I grew a little tense. It was Mother’s Day and I usually avoid any public observances that include motherhood. It’s not that I have a bad relationship with my mom—in fact, quite the opposite. It’s that Mother’s Day reminds me of an inescapable fact: I am not a mom.

Just the other day, I got treated to big dose of all the mom-ness that I am not privy to. I had been invited to a mid-week happy hour–a drinks with the girls evening. I arrived at the bar early so I could sit and sip my wine in peace for a while, just to enjoy the sensation of having nothing to do and nowhere to go.

When my friend arrived, another woman rose from a table across the room to intercept her. I knew this was going to happen—my friend had told me that she’d invited others to join us—and I knew that probably all these other women were going to be complete strangers to me. No big deal: I’m good at meeting new people. What I didn’t know was that all the women at the table had kids in the same Montessori school. Yep, it was a Mommy’s Night Out.

To be honest, my non-mommyness didn’t phase me. At least not at first. The conversation didn’t revolve entirely around kids. We talked about other topics, like one woman’s impending divorce and her soon-to-be-ex-husband’s complete meltdown. And when they learned that I am a productivity coach, the group became positively enraptured, asking me all sorts of questions about time management and such. But then the dreaded moment arrived.

“How old are your kids?”

I paused. Swallowed.

“I don’t have any kids,” I replied.

Cue the crickets.

“Oh!” she said, finally.

I didn’t realize how truly awkward that moment was until a few days later when I received—no lie—a handwritten letter of apology from the person who’d invited me.

Damn.

Looking Back

It’s not that I never wanted children. I was just very ambivalent for a long time. Plus I was waiting for the right time: the time when we had a stable income and health insurance. When we finally got around to trying, I was 38 years old. It took me three years to get pregnant. And in my eighth week, I miscarried.

It felt as if my heart had been ripped from my body. I spent weeks doubled over with grief. And when I wasn’t howling in pain, I was in my office, working as usual, trying to pretend that nothing had happened. I didn’t (and still don’t) understand the shame that came with the sadness. Why should I be ashamed of myself? I hadn’t done anything wrong. And yet for the longest time, I wanted to forget that I’d ever felt that momentary joy preceding the horrifying loss of my one and only pregnancy.

My aunt, one of my mom’s younger sisters, tried to comfort me. The little book she sent told me, “never doubt that you are a mother.” Of course, I know this is bull****. Mommies have actual children. For me, no child equalled not a mommy.

Do I sound bitter? I don’t mean to. There are many things about my life that I love. I have a lot of happiness, joy, abundance. There is only this one thing that is missing.

In Hindsight

I wish I could go back and talk to my still-ovulating younger self.

I’d tell her that there is never a right time to have a baby. I’d kick her butt and tell her to stop second-guessing her heart’s desire. And I would tell her to throw out her birth control pills and get herself pregnant.

When I look at my younger friends, the ones wrestling with the same ambivalence about being a mom, juggling the same timing issues and looking for that just-right moment, I want to take them by their shoulders and shake them until their teeth rattle. I want to yell, “When you’re fifty and menopausal and highly accomplished, the only thing that will matter to you is your family. Please, for goodness sake, have one!” If they didn’t call the cops first, would they get the message?

I wonder how my cocky twenty-something self would have reacted to such a visit.

I hope with all my heart I would have listened to me.

______________________________

Dear SheLoves readers, take a few moments to consider these questions:

• If I got a visit from my twenty years older self, what would she most want me to know?
• The heart’s desire I am second-guessing right now is …

______________________________

About Tara:

Tara Rodden Robinson is an author, coach, and educator. Known as The Productivity Maven, she blogs at tararobinson and tweets @tararodden. She lives in Corvallis, Oregon, with her husband and their two dogs. She is working on mastering complex yoga poses and searching for the perfect gluten-free bread recipe. When she’s not writing, coaching, or teaching, she’s out in the wilderness hiking and watching birds.

Making Memories: When Small Moments are Cradled in a Mother’s Big Love

“When we grace a shared moment with our undivided attention and love, we create heartprints that can be carried with us, always.”

By Stefanie Thomas | Twitter: @stefanie_nicole

When I was a kid, it was always a bit of a thrill when the Avon Lady paid our home a visit. I’d study the glossy pages of the catalogues she delivered, making note of which treasures my heart desired. Strawberry-scented lip gloss! Bath powder, complete with a fluffy pink powder puff. A necklace with a pendant of a pigtailed girl on a swing. (She’s tucked away in a drawer somewhere, but this cute girl still swings on.) I especially appreciated when seasonal items were featured. Poring over pictures of Christmas ornaments made me excited for the coming holiday.

Mother’s Day was another occasion that seemed to be a big deal in the land of Avon. When I spotted this little plate in the catalogue, I knew I had to get it for my mom:

A Mother’s Beauty

What strikes me as funny today is (A) what does “Love is a Song for Mother” even mean? and (B) that I would have had to go through my mom to order the plate, so she couldn’t have been too surprised when she unwrapped it on Mother’s Day. But the beautiful thing about my mom is that she always seemed surprised, reacting as if whatever I’d given her was the best gift she could have received. Yes, even those fake red roses whose polyester petals we’d doused in Babe perfume (or was it Charlie?). You’d have thought we had given her the world.

To start from the beginning, my mom was an adorable baby:

Right? When she first learned to speak, she couldn’t pronounce her own name – Faye – so she called herself “Little Pay.” This, combined with the fact that, as a child, she tied a rope to a piece of wood and dragged it through the forest as her pet alligator, is, to me, heartbreakingly cute and only makes me love her more.

I remember my mom coming to my school when I was a kid and my classmates saying, “That’s your mom? She’s so pretty!” I felt proud that my mom was lovely on the outside, but what made me even more proud was how lovely she was on the inside.

Fond Memories

When kids at school got picked on, my mom encouraged us to reach out to them with kindness. She could often be heard reminding us, “If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all.” While some kids on the playground were echoing narrow-minded or racist beliefs, my mom taught my sisters and me to be loving and inclusive. I am so grateful she never tolerated prejudice or hatred.

Ours was the mom who let us blow through straws into a mixing bowl full of milk to make bubbles. When my friend’s mom arrived to find us at the kitchen table in all our bubble-blowing glory, she scoffed at what a waste of milk it was and asked my mom, “How could you let them do this?!” (This woman was a little on the stern side–she made her kids wear slippers in the house at all times–and to this day, if I get a whiff of Estée Lauder’s Youth Dew perfume, I am immediately reminded of her.)

Not all of our friends came from happy homes, but my parents created an environment in which others felt safe, comfortable and taken care of. Our friends knew they were welcome at our house, that they would be allowed to stay for dinner, play loudly and make a mess. More than once we took in friends, teens who had it so rough at home that they lived with us for a while. I am so glad our house was that house.

My mom is patient, gentle, wise and loving. She inspires me with her spiritual practice and offers reminders of God when I need it most. My mom has blessed my life in countless ways, but as I give thanks for her today, I’m remembering some sweet simple moments we shared when I was about five years old.

Just Mom and Me

Our home was usually busy with activity, but once in a while I’d get my mom all to myself. It didn’t matter what we did, getting one-on-one time with her was a treat. I have fond memories of sitting on the bathroom counter, watching mom apply the face mask she’d made from whipped egg whites. Then it would be my turn. We’d let our masks dry and then carefully peel them off, marvelling at how smooth and clean our skin felt. Mom had her hands full raising three little girls, so I don’t imagine she got much time to pamper herself. Having a few minutes to give herself an inexpensive, homemade facial might have been my mom’s attempt at squeezing in some overdue self-care, but for me, it was memory-making material.

It felt special.

Another experience I often recall took place one winter’s day when mom and I had the house to ourselves. We munched on popcorn and sang along to Barbra Streisand’s Greatest Hits Volume 2 as we watched snowflakes fall outside. And then we cleaned out the fireplace. My mom folded over the top few inches of a brown grocery bag, and together we used the wrought-iron broom and shovel to carefully fill the bag with delicate black ashes. It was the most menial and mundane of tasks, probably something my mom was happy to cross off of her never-ending To Do List, but several decades later, I still fondly remember how special it felt to take on this job together on that quiet, snowy afternoon.

Once, when I was unable to sleep because I was sick with the flu, my mom scooped me up in my favourite pink blanket and together we retreated to the family room couch. She fixed me a little snack, and together in the early morning darkness, we watched The Flintstones. I was sick and I could have been miserable, but something about having my mom’s undivided care for me, being up together when everyone else was sleeping, made it feel all better. I still have that pink blanket, and my mom is still there with TLC when I need it.

How Love is Felt

Years ago on The Oprah Winfrey Show, author Toni Morrison raised the question, “When your child walks into the room, does your face light up?” More than parents’ words, it’s the love children can see that makes them feel special. For me, it wasn’t just sharing these experiences with my mom that propelled me to deposit them in my Good Memories Bank. What made these simple moments special was that my mom’s face did light up. I could feel that she was as delighted to be in my company as I was to be in hers.

Life can get busy, and perhaps at times we feel the pressure of having to divide ourselves among many people and demands. Writing this post reminded me that it’s not always the big events and gestures that have the most impact.

A sliver of a day devoted to homemade facials, or cleaning out the fireplace, or even cuddling through the flu can become a treasured memory.

- When we’re present with the ones we’re with, when our faces reflect the love we feel, the ordinary can become extraordinary.

- When we grace a shared moment with our undivided attention and love, we create heartprints that can be carried with us, always.

Happy Mother’s Day, to my own beautiful mom and to my beautiful SheLoves sisters–whether you are a mom or long to be one, whether you’re celebrating your mom today or missing and remembering her.

Thank you for making the world go ’round.

This one goes out to YOU!

_________________________________

My dear SheLoves friends, I’d love to hear your thoughts:

• What are your favourite mother memories?

__________________________

About Stefanie:

Stefanie is a Registered Clinical Counsellor living in Vancouver, BC. She feels blessed to work in a helping profession and is grateful that her work requires her to show up not in a power suit but with listening ears and a compassionate heart. Stefanie enjoys spending time with family and friends and has never met a kid or baby she doesn’t like. She is a noticer and appreciator of birds (chickadees, herons, eagles) and many a beach rock has come home in her pocket. Stefanie is a lover of music, tv and movies, and she is gifted at absorbing and retaining useless pop culture trivia. She loves walking, fresh air, the smell of dirt, and anything of the salt and vinegar persuasion. She can often be found puttering.

Launching Global Mothers: Finding My Purpose in Another’s Dream

” … what began as an invitation to orchestrate my dad’s dream, has turned into an opportunity to shape my own.”

By Katie Mogan Graham

I spent the first twenty odd years of my life thinking I was meant to be an artist. It didn’t really matter what kind, just someone who spent her days making things beautiful (and being allowed to make her living quarters messy as she did so). I loved to draw and design costumes as a child. This was followed by a brief love affair with pottery and then a longer relationship with photography in high school. At university I decided to major in Art History (aka studying other people who made the world beautiful) and I worked at a gallery until I graduated.

The heady, idealistic phase of believing my papers actually made an impact on the world around me, ended abruptly as I entered “the workforce.” Braced with my best imitation of an “office outfit,” I spent three years trying to add beauty to my cubicle-d surroundings (and sometimes their inhabitants). I organized events, decorated lunchrooms, styled photo shoots, made elaborate presents for my colleagues’ birthdays, but still felt that my nine-to-five beautification project fell short of what I could really do, if given the opportunity. Convinced that I could do more, I ended up leaving my steady salary to start my own business dedicated solely to my love of fashion, events and beauty.

I called myself “the urban stylist” and spent my days cruising stores on Robson Street in Vancouver for the latest trends. I spent nights attending fashion shows. I enjoyed the freedom to plan my days however I liked, and particularly loved writing for local fashion publications. Still, as the months progressed, I sensed something wasn’t quite right. It could be that I had recently met a really nice plaid-wearing guy from a small town “Up North,” or maybe the massive pile of credit card bills were finally starting to take their toll. There are probably many reasons why this latest incarnation of my artistic dream didn’t work out, but the deciding factor was being asked to help someone else live theirs.

A Dream

In 2010, my dad asked me to help him a launch an organization that had been his dream for over twenty years. He had the vision and the means to support it, but he wanted someone with an arts background to get it off the ground. The idea was to create market access for impoverished artisans around the world. We would partner with development organizations to ensure wages were fair and profits were split between the artisans and community development projects. In addition to increased demand for their products, we would also provide the artisans with design ideas to appeal to North American consumers. I would be in charge of designing and choosing the products and creating our brand, an artistic challenge too enticing to turn down.

In the last two years, what began as an invitation to orchestrate my dad’s dream, has turned into an opportunity to shape my own. It’s not what I ever would have envisioned for my life, and yet it satisfies my desire to create and find beauty. I don’t make things, but I help people make them, and somehow that is much more satisfying. The women may not step off the pages of Vogue, but they are far more beautiful than any model I have met.

So yes, I could do more–support more charities, volunteer for more events, tithe more, give more time. I could also spend less on lattes, watch fewer reruns on Netflix, gossip less, whine less. I could do these things, but I’ve decided that my purpose, what I was truly made to do is to take what I love and use it to connect with others. I can’t delete my past, so I intend to let it continue shaping my future.

 Launch

Tomorrow, Saturday May 12th, we (Global Mothers) are celebrating the last two years of research and preparation by throwing a big party!

The timing is actually quite perfect as it is both Mother’s Day weekend and World Fair Trade Day–basically our organization in a nutshell. We are inviting everyone to come and join us as we share information about our artisans, their products and the work that the NGOs are doing in their communities. There will be live music, interactive drum workshops, songs and stories for kids provided by Vancouver mom/songwriter Sheree Plett, a whole kids zone with face painting, crafts and a photo booth, as well as multiple screenings of our short film, “Buy Good”. Everyone who attends can enter our draw to win Global Mothers products, as well as munch on delicious food prepared by the amazing ladies who run The Banqueting Table. We’d love to share Global Mothers Day with you, so drop by on Saturday, May 12th anytime from 12pm-4pm. Regent College: 5800 University Blvd. on the UBC Campus. You can check out our facebook page here or download our GM launch event poster here.

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About Katie:

I am that person who stays up late on Tuesday nights, watching kitten videos on Youtube. I am also the person who routinely eats milk duds and grape juice for dinner while watching said videos–information I don’t typically share with anyone. I am the happy newly wed wife of one lovely Northern BC fellow, who loves me despite my “endearing” quirks. When I am not tearing-up at the sight of kittens yawning in their sleep, I manage a non-profit, called Global Mothers. It takes me places I never thought I would go, introduces me to women I am honoured to have met, and challenges me to be more of who I was made to be.

Mercy: The Flowering of a Girl

“She came into the home with her arms crossed, defiantly gloomy, intimidatingly unfriendly.”

By Musu Taylor-Lewis | Twitter: @mercycanada

Have you ever watched a flower bloom? No, really watched a rosebud as it slowly opens up to reveal the majesty of its creation?

It’s incredible to see how much beauty is shut up into a rather small bud. Nothing of the vibrant colour is visible until the bud begins to open up; and yet all the beauty and all the radiant colour is already present within the bud. What that bud needs is the right conditions for it to blossom.

Over the last year at Mercy Ministries, I’ve had the incredible opportunity of watching a flower bloom: not a rose, not a lily, but one young woman who graduated from Mercy Ministries this week and is going out into the world with a colour and beauty that was not visible when she first arrived.

You had to be there … She came into the home with her arms crossed, defiantly gloomy, intimidatingly unfriendly. In my role, I mostly watch our residents from a distance and from that perspective, her manner made me wonder why she even bothered coming to Mercy Ministries, and whether she would stay. Residents come of their own free will and are free to go if they choose to.

But she stayed … and now, whenever I look at her, all I see is a flower in full bloom. She is friendly, straightforward, intelligent and thoughtful. Today she seems more shy than defiant, more curious than challenging and open to fellowship and friendship. I cannot describe just how much her whole demeanor has changed, in response to the word of God and the love of God’s people.

Watching her today reminds me of how the apostle Paul describes working with his friend Apollos to bring about change to people’s lives.

“I planted the seed in your hearts, and Apollos watered it, but it was God who made it grow. It’s not important who does the planting, or who does the watering. What’s important is that God makes the seed grow.”

I know for sure that God has done this remarkable work of blossoming in a young woman’s life. Mercy Ministries was the soil in which she was planted and God used different persons to bring her to full bloom: One person counseled and another planned. One person led worship and another gave. One person challenged and another was gentle. One person prayed and another raised money.

What is important is that this flower bloomed.

_____________________________

About Musu:

My life is lived out of the calling “to advance Christ-centred work.” I am currently Director of Marketing and Development at Mercy Ministries, working to get the word out about the life-transforming work that takes place here. Prior to my work at Mercy, I directed a Crisis Pregnancy Centre, studied Christianity and Culture at Regent College and co-led women’s programs at my local church. I have four great children and am married to Steven, a gift to me from the Creator.

Image credit: Girl in Garden, by Sean Carpenter

Wellness Wednesday: Finding My Resting Place, No Guilt Added

Taking time to rest may just be the most spiritual thing I do all week.

By Claire De Boer | Twitter: @Britchic19

Last weekend I attended a conference called LifeWomen at my home church here in Surrey, Canada. The concept of LifeWomen couldn’t have been more inspiring—this conference really did breathe life into me.

One of the speakers, Dr. Robi Sonderegger, is a clinical psychologist and humanitarian activist—an amazing speaker who has an innate ability to speak to the very heart of women and seemingly understand our deepest needs.

Dr. Robi said many profound things over the three-day conference, but the phrase that really took route in my brain was perhaps one of the most simplistic:

“Taking time to rest may just be the most spiritual thing you do all week.”

I never take rests.

To me my rest time is when I put my head on my pillow at night and close my eyes. Even then, my brain is often swimming with a multitude of thoughts.

God has been tapping me on my shoulder and telling me to rest for some time now. It’s therefore no surprise to me that this particular phrase from Dr. Robi is the one that sticks in my mind.

A Moment of Rest

I took a trip with my family earlier this spring down to Florida. Part of me didn’t even want to go because it meant leaving a heavy workload. At the same time, I relished the thought of an opportunity to unwind.

It ended up being one of the most relaxing two weeks I’ve ever had. It wasn’t until I found myself out of my usual environment that I realized how much I needed the break. I felt calm; I could breathe deeply again and enjoy the life around me. On this trip I promised myself that when I returned home, I would take more time to relax.

It didn’t last. The memories of my relaxing trip soon faded into the background and within a couple of weeks I was back to my old routine—soccer mum one minute, crazy writer the next.

Resting in Him

Dr. Robi’s words are taking me on a journey. On this journey I’m pondering why and how God needs me to rest. The answer is transparent: If I don’t take time to rest, when do I connect with Him? How can I let Him take center place in my life if I’m too busy to let God in?

God’s message is clear: we need rest in order to have strength when we are working.

“Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly.” –Matthew 11:28-29 The Message)

What good am I to my family, friends and work if I don’t rest? I become irritable, my mind often fogging over, and I go through the day in a state of heightened anxiety, which could eventually lead to illness. It’s quite clear why God requires me to rest.

But sometimes I’m a little like a petulant child, you see. I know what I need to do and why it’s good for me, but I keep running along in my own world, ignoring what’s best and just focusing on “getting things done.”

What would it be like if I spent a day focusing on NOT getting things done? What if I just rested in God for that day—took long walks on the beach, listened to music, wrote in my journal and prayed? It’s so easy! As a mother it would take a little logistical finagling, but it is do-able. So why don’t I ever do it?

Valuing my Time

As a child there was nothing I enjoyed more than singing or painting while listening to music. These things brought me peace, connection with myself and allowed my mind to rest. I valued this time to myself.

As I’ve grown older and added more tasks to my plate, including motherhood, taking care of a home and working, I’ve placed increasingly less value on my “alone time.” I like to accomplish tasks and feel anxious if I can’t.

Laying Aside Guilt

Until I really pondered the concept of rest and why I don’t make time for it in my life, I had no idea guilt was a factor.

When I rest, I feel guilty.

When I think of the times I’ve made the decision to put my feet up on the couch and read for half an hour, I have been unable to shake the thought that I could and should be doing something more useful.

It’s as though I feel I have to fill every second of my life doing something that will have some kind of productive outcome. But the irony is that without rest, everything else I do becomes unproductive. I can’t give all of myself to anything if I’m discounting my own needs.

What would my life look like if I took the time to really rest—self-condemnation aside—every day?

________________________

My dear SheLoves friends, I’d love to hear your thoughts:

• Do you take time to rest? If not, why?
• Does resting bring you closer to God?
• How could you incorporate a few minutes of rest into your daily life?

__________________________

About Claire:

Born and raised in the UK, Claire De Boer is the SheLoves Wellness Editor. She is a creative writer, woman of God, mother and wife. She is currently working on her first women’s fiction novel and a collection of short stories.

Claire is also a graduate of The Writer’s Studio at Simon Fraser University and currently mentors in the Southbank creative writing program at the university.

You Are Capable of Greatness

“I know there is a Da Vinci in Rwanda and an Einstein in Mozambique waiting to burst free.”

By Desiree Adaway | Twitter: @desireeadaway
________________________________

“You are capable of greatness.”

I have heard my grandma say it a million times: God does not create junk. When I was a child, those words fill me with such warmth. Especially when I was feeling shame for having told a white lie or feeling vulnerable during my ugly teen age years when I found myself lacking in almost every way.

I would hear her voice: You are capable of greatness.

The truth is, we all are capable of greatness. There’s a power in you, in all of us that can do for us that which we cannot do for ourself. THAT spirit lives in you. It is in you but not of YOU.

You are great and you know it. YOU know it. God does not create junk. We act like we do not know, but we do know.

We are capable of greatness.

We KNOW that voice deep within us the one that some days we have a hard time connecting to or hearing clearly. The voice that has guided us so far through valleys of despair and mountain tops of triumph–and always will. We act like we do not know.

Today I want you to own that you do know. You have known all along.

Rest in the knowing and in the anointing of your power.

Think of how much talent has been wasted among women and oppressed people throughout history because social conditions made it impossible for some rise and shine–for some to hear that voice.

I know there is a Da Vinci in Rwanda and an Einstein in Mozambique waiting to burst free. What would our communities be like if we allowed everyone to rise and shine. If we allowed everyone to shine, be beautiful, noble and true.

If we owned the wisdom deep within us.

I wake up every day and ask myself how can I be the woman that God would have me be today?Something and Someone lives within me who is powerful beyond measure. How can I tap into that Source, that sanctuary so I can believe in MY greatness and live and act from that place. The power that was in Moses when he parted the Red Sea lives within you.

So, do not doubt your ability to liberate and free others; to liberate and free yourself.

You are capable of greatness. My granny and my God told me so.

________________________________

About Desiree:

Desiree is a consultant, strategist, coach, speaker, storyteller and explorer.  She uses her superpowers–her voice, sense of adventure and belief in the transformative power of community–to help organizations design programs that create unrestricted revenue, volunteers and advocates.

You can find out more about her at www.desireeadaway.com, or follow her on Twitter at @desireeadaway

The Sound of One Girl Crying

“Ramona says the sadness inside is unbearable. Her childhood made her afraid of white people.”

By Kisa MacDonald | Twitter: @kisamac

 You know what it’s like, when a little girl cries. She sobs uncontrollably.

Tears overflow. Cheeks get soaked. Shoulders get all scrunched up. Her little gasps for air get bigger and bigger. But eventually, she starts breathing again. She remembers that somebody loves her. Tears stop. Life goes on.

Red-cheeked with fear, this one little girl asked quietly for her mother. Tears began to fall down her cheeks. Her teacher responded quickly. The little girl could not stop crying.  In a fit of anger, the teacher suddenly kicked her. She fell backwards, down a flight of stairs, and died.

Her mother came back to the school. The teacher told her: “We do not know where your daughter went; she ran away.”

Nobody knows where she is buried.

Sacred Story

Ramona tells me this story: a complete stranger, waiting to be picked up from the ferry arrivals lounge. She tells me that she saw the little girl fall, and die.  She was always terrified to cry in school, after that.

The dusky waves come into Departure Bay. While we wait, Ramona tells me a few more stories. It is hard to realize how this happened. Here. On the gorgeous island that always feels like home to me. Her words linger in the atmosphere, dancing between us like lights.

Ramona says the sadness inside is unbearable. Her childhood made her afraid of white people. Her voice shakes. She tells me of more rapes and beatings. I watch her, reflecting the pain and reality of it. She asks how healing is possible.

She wants her spirit to be free.

I feel a deep sense of awe at the tenacity of her life. Her courage outshines the sun.

Truth and Reconciliation

I know that her story is true. I have researched and wept over many stories just like hers. I have seen the black and white photographs. I have heard similar words, from different voices. Ramona told me her story, simply because it needed to be told. But her story echoes the stories of others. The Canadian Truth and Reconciliation Commission is providing a unique opportunity to speak and hear the truth about the experiences of aboriginal children in residential schools, and to seek healing.

Dusk comes, and it’s time to go. I lean forward and tell her how her words have touched me, deeply. I will not forget them.  I tell her it is time for her healing, and that her words have meant a lot to me.

When I look at her, the deep-setting sadness in her eyes hits me like a wave. Tears begin to stream down her face.

I cannot stop them from falling.

__________________________________

About Kisa:

Kisa completed her law degree earlier this year and is currently finishing her articling year at a non-profit that focuses on law reform, legal research and outreach. She grew up on Vancouver Island but has lived all over: North America, Southeast Asia and Europe. In this next season of life, she hopes to see creative community and access to justice established in Vancouver.

Let Us Be Women Who Love

[Archives]

Join us online today by watching LifeWomen conference here live. Last night, we read out the SheLoves Manifesto together in a room with about 400 women. Talk about a Roar! We thought it would be a good idea to repost our Manifesto again today.

[Download LET US BE WOMEN WHO LOVE as a PDF version.]

By Idelette McVicker | Twitter: @idelette

Let us be women who Love.

Let us be women willing to lay down our sword words, our sharp looks, our ignorant silence and towering stance and fill the earth now with extravagant Love.

Let us be women who Love.

Let us be women who make room.

Let us be women who open our arms and invite others into an honest, spacious, glorious embrace.

Let us be women who carry each other.

Let us be women who give from what we have.

Let us be women who leap to do the difficult things, the unexpected things and the necessary things.

Let us be women who live for Peace.

Let us be women who breathe Hope.

Let us be women who create beauty.

Let us be women who Love.

Let us be a sanctuary where God may dwell.

Let us be a garden for tender souls.

Let us be a table where others may feast on the goodness of God.

Let us be a womb for Life to grow.

Let us be women who Love.

Let us rise to the questions of our time.

Let us speak to the injustices in our world.

Let us move the mountains of fear and intimidation.

Let us shout down the walls that separate and divide.

Let us fill the earth with the fragrance of Love.

Let us be women who Love.

Let us listen for those who have been silenced.

Let us honour those who have been devalued.

Let us say, Enough! with abuse, abandonment, diminishing and hiding.

Let us not rest until every person is free and equal.

Let us be women who Love.

Let us be women who are savvy, smart and wise.

Let us be women who shine with the light of God in us.

Let us be women who take courage and sing the song in our hearts.

Let us be women who say, Yes to the beautiful, unique purpose seeded in our souls.

Let us be women who call out the song in another’s heart.

Let us be women who teach our children to do the same.

Let us be women who Love.

Let us be women who Love, in spite of fear.

Let us be women who Love, in spite of our stories.

Let us be women who Love loudly, beautifully, Divinely.

Let us be women who Love.

______________________________________

About Idelette:

I like soggy cereal and I would like to go to every spot on the map of the earth to meet our world’s women.

I dream of a world where no women or girls are for sale. I dream of a world where women and men are partners in doing the work that brings down a new Heaven on earth.

My word for the year is “Roar,” but I have learned it’s not about my voice rising as much as it is about our collective voices rising in unison to bring down walls of injustice.

I have three children and this place–right here, called shelovesmagazine.com–is my fourth baby. I am African, although my skin colour doesn’t tell you that story. I am also a little bit Chinese, because my heart lives there amongst the tall skyscrapers of Taipei and the mountains of Chiufen. Give me sweet chai and I think I’m in heaven. I live in Vancouver, Canada and I pledged my heart to Scott 11 years ago.

I believe in kindness and calling out the song in each other’s hearts. I also believe that Love covers–my gaps, my mistakes and the distances between us. I blog at idelette.com and tweet@idelette.

Wellness Wednesday: Five Stages Through Thin

The Discourse of Thin: In the U.S. alone, up to 24 million people of all ages and genders suffer from an eating disorder.

By Natasha Files | Twitter: @natashafiles

Today I want to acknowledge every woman, sister and friend who struggles to be healthy and whole. It’s easy to read, write and talk about a healthy lifestyle, but much harder to genuinely walk it out.

While God desires to empower us as women, so often the world taunts is to conform to unrealistic standards.

I know the devastation that comes from impractical expectations for my own weight and shape and I write this post in desperation, asking that we rally together and stand up for what we believe to be true.

Facing the Mirror

It’s a common struggle—our desire to be beautiful. But eating disorders is a trap that affects more than 500, 000 Canadians. Up to 24 million people of all ages and genders suffer from an eating disorder (anorexia, bulimia and binge eating disorder) in the U.S.

According to the American Journal of Psychiatry, eating disorders have the highest mortality rate of any mental illness. It blows my mind that one of the leading causes of death among a group of individuals could be so heavily fueled by the discourse of thin.

While I am grateful I have recovered from an eating disorder, I have also witnessed every possible other disordered outcome, including death. I have seen how staying silent in fear of perhaps saying the wrong thing can lead to destruction. So, if you or someone you know is struggling with an eating disorder, I beg you to speak up.

Is It An Eating Disorder?

- To do a simple online quiz to detect signs of an eating disorder, click here: psychcentral.com/eatingquiz

- If you or someone you know is struggling, I encourage you to seek professional support. I have listed links to provincial and international resources at the bottom of this post.

Understanding Recovery

Before giving a how-to, I think it’s important to highlight one of the ways we understand recovery. In the early 1980s the psychologist James Prochaska identified some key steps to successful change. These “Stages of Change” are still widely used to explain change related to addictions and eating disorders. Although the stages are in a specific order, it’s not irregular for individuals to slide forwards and backwards before successfully stepping into the final stage of  ”Termination”:

Five Stages of Change

- Precontemplation: person refuses to acknowledge she has a problem

- Contemplation: person knows she has a problem, but is hesitant to change

- Preparation: person makes a commitment to change and identifies an action plan

- Action: person uses her action plan and stops destructive behaviours

- Maintenance: person continues using action plan and positive choices

- Termination: person finds new/healthy behaviours to be automatic and urges to use destructive behaviours have disappeared

Towards Freedom

With the understanding that Recovery is not a single event, but a journey walked out over time, here are five key points I have come to understand regarding the life of an individual who is struggling:

1. The eating disorder is NOT just about food. It could be about numerous things, including: self-soothing, avoidance (of memories, sexuality, fear, etc), control, self-concept, identity, safeguard against failure, preservation of the family unit, etc. To read Joanne Dolhanty’s in-depth article about this click here.
2. The eating disorder was NOT developed to gain attention. While some individuals may struggle with healthy attachment and relationships, self-starvation/bingeing is rooted in more than a desire to be noticed.
3. Telling an individual to “just eat” or forcing them to eat and gain weight will not solve the problem. A combination of spiritual, emotional, psychological and nutritional support can assist recovery.
4. An individual may refuse help. It’s a scary thing to think about, but it can happen, especially if an individual is precontemplative. If this happens, remain supportive, but also maintain personal boundaries to avoid burnout (think self-care!) If the individual refuses treatment, ask if she will at least see a doctor for medical monitoring. If she severely deteriorates, there are ways (under the Mental Health Act) to force re-nourishment. Phone her doctor or your local emergency room for further information.
5. Recovery IS possible. Recovery takes time and can be exhausting. When the individual finds it hard to hope, encourage her that you are holding hope for her. Be compassionate, ask how you can best support her, and believe that recovery is possible.

Unconditional Love

It’s OK if you don’t know what to do. Unless designated otherwise, the best role a support person can take on is as unconditional cheerleader. When I was struggling, I most appreciated my support people who were honest, had good personal boundaries and approached my situation without judgment

If you are the individual who is struggling, please know it’s never too late to recover. You aren’t a failure for being stuck; it’s just that whatever you are currently doing isn’t working for you. You deserve to be free and your situation isn’t the exception to this rule.

I am passionate about women joining together to fight against disempowerment. I would love to hear some of the ways you ensure the women in your world know they are beautiful and loved.

RESOURCES:

• British Columbia

Kelty Mental Health Resource Centre: BC’s eating disorder information and referral centre

www.keltymentalhealth.ca or call toll-free 1-800-665-1822

• Canada

National Eating Disorder Information Centre

National help, support, information on eating disorders and local referrals

www.nedic.ca or call toll-free 1-866-NEDIC-20 (1-866-633-4220)

• International

Mercy Ministries

Residential treatment for girls between the ages of 13-28 struggling with life-controlling issues, including eating disorders.

_______________________________

ALSO SEE: Eating Disorders: What if I say the Wrong Thing and Make Things Worse?

_______________________________

About Natasha:

Natasha Files is a clinical social worker specializing in mental health and eating disorders. She loves the ocean and mountains and will never say no to a shot of espresso. Natasha’s passion is to support women as they re-author their stories from oppression to freedom.

Reaching Through the Crowd for Holy: The Power of Tenacity

“Like a stranger in a crowd, she reached through life’s thick noise and laid finger on my skin, asking …”

By Idelette McVicker | Twitter: @idelette

vi. Reach: to move toward something in order to touch or grasp it

Girl gets on a bus and travels three days across the country to reach a place where she’s heard she may find Freedom.

Swiss girl ignores noise and naysayers, pushes through red tape and bureaucratic objections and gets on a plane for the country where she believes she’s meant to live.

Woman thinks doors have closed, but listens to the still, small voice in her heart and tries the one more thing. She pushes in, pushes through and the holy doors finally–finally!–swing open wide and welcome.

It would have been easy not to. Easy to give up. Easy to stop for a latte, instead. Not to push and reach and stretch and lean in to touch the skin of the Holy One.

The crowds were so thick.

It would have been fully understandable not to.

It would have been easy to stay right where she’s at.

But what would she have missed?

______________________________

My phone beeped with a Twitter text. Direct Message (Twitterspeak) on a Saturday night from a girl in another city who is both facebook and Twitter friend—enquiring if perhaps we could Skype sometime? Voice to voice. Heart to heart.

Like a stranger in a crowd, she reached through life’s thick noise and laid finger on my skin, asking for an hour of my attention.

I already had to postphone once, so this–her second ask–compels me to look at my calendar. The seven times 24-hours of the week brimming with the demands and joys of life.

Monday. Booking a birthday party for the seven-year-old. Buying invitation cards. Writing invitations. Driving kidlets to and from school. Back and forth. Back and forth.

Same Monday–pushing through the details of booking a three-city trip to Africa. Arrangements and travel plans and emails and phone calls.

Tuesday. Mom, far away, going in for surgery. Calling South Africa on the other side of our day to be “with,” somehow.

Wednesday. One meeting in the morning. Two meetings out in the evening.

Thursday. Hosting ten bookclub darlings at my home with papaya salsa and shiraz and connecting over written words.

All week: Spiritual mom fighting her own fight, a little closer.

And through this life-that-is-a whole-lotta-life, I also make dinner and school lunches and pour Rice Crispies into three blue porcelain bowls and squeeze in a hug for husband on his way to work.

But she asked. And there was something in the asking, the persisting—the reaching through the crowd—that crystallized into an appointment on my calendar.

Friday. 11am.

Speak to the Bones

When Friday morning came, my four-year-old had a playdate. The house fell quiet and I opened my pink Message–time feeling so much like the most delicious luxury–to a favourite passage in Ezekiel. The 37^th chapter.

“Breath of Life,” the heading. About dry bones: a picture of death, finality, impossibility. A story of God and prophet, standing side by side and the Divine directing the human to speak Life to the already-past-hope emptiness.

And as prophet spoke, the bones started to rattle and stretch and move and come together. Until prophet-man saw that the bones had no breath in them and he’s instructed this time: “Prophesy to the breath.”

I opened my exercise book with the blue cover. Black pen moved to curve out sentences of scripture … a quiet practice to calm the rush within and let Spirit speak. Copying, like ancient scribe. I slow down and watch my pen move, writing these holy words on such ordinary paper.

Then it’s time. We Skype and in I hear about a past threaded with both filling hunger and denying hunger.

Moments of decision I know so very well in my own bones: whether I would choose good for my body because I have a body worthy of good things. Or whether I would give in to the inner battle, that wanting to deny deny deny self.

I have heard those words shouting from within: You are not worthy of a good feeding. You are not worthy of the nutrition and the time and the effort of feeding your body of what is good.

I have fought that voice over many feedings—including hasty Mommy days when I would chop veggies for the kids, but would neglect to set a plate for me. Who has time to sit and eat when you’re serving and feeding hungry mouths?

We talked about Jairus’ daughter and she shared how different it was to sit with this story in a room of women who struggled with denying self of good food. And how Jesus specifically instructed those around the awakened daughter to feed her.

“ … he told them to give her something to eat.” –Mark 5:43

With the words from a holy hungry Friday post one week earlier still echoing powerfully in my spirit, I finally asked: May I pray for you?

Yes, please, she said.

We prayed and invocation streamed from lips and heart.

Speak to the Hunger, I heard.

And I thought about Jairus’ daughter and girls everywhere who need to rise up and eat, eat, eat and so I prayed more, all the while doing my best to listen from Above  …  Praying:

That she would eat from the goodness of God

and the feast of friendship

Eat eat eat

from the gift of community.

Eat from a table of purpose and know what she is to do in this world.

Eat from unconditional Love.

Eat, girl, from Value. Even swallow Worth whole, if you like.

Eat from Heaven and be nourished, satisfied, full …

Amen.

Talitha Koum

I dolloped it out in words as best I could from a heart so hungry for more girls to awaken and rise and eat and get well.

The words flowed strong and when I looked up, she was wiping tears.

What gift, I thought. For me as much as her. What gift that we could meet and she could find nourishment in these prayer words. What gift that I could find such inspiration in her faith–this woman-girl reaching through the crowd, asking for what she needed. 

That holy holy holy moment on a Friday morning reminded me:

- What power in this faith-stretched Asking for what we need.

- What power in sharing stories and bending hearts together before Heaven.

- What power, so readily available when we are willing to sink our teeth into the knowing-that-we-know and push through the crowd to find Holy right there at the end of our reach.

______________________________________

My dear SheLoves friends:

• I would love to hear a story of when your tenacity led to a Holy touch.
• What do you need or want to push through the crowd for in this season? Today?
• Who or what represents the crowd keeping you from where you want to go?
• O, so many days I need to eat from patience. Some days I need to eat from forgiveness. Today I need to eat from quiet confidence. What do you need to eat from today?
• Any other comments or thoughts?

_________________________________

About Idelette:
I like soggy cereal and I would like to go to every spot on the map of the earth to meet our world’s women.

I dream of a world where no women or girls are for sale. I dream of a world where women and men are partners in doing the work that brings down a new Heaven on earth.

My word for the year is “Roar,” but I have learned it’s not about my voice rising as much as it is about our collective voices rising in unison to bring down walls of injustice.

I have three children and this place–right here, called shelovesmagazine.com–is my fourth baby. I am African, although my skin colour doesn’t tell you that story. I am also a little bit Chinese, because my heart lives there amongst the tall skyscrapers of Taipei and the mountains of Chiufen. Give me sweet chai and I think I’m in heaven. I live in Vancouver, Canada and I pledged my heart to Scott 11 years ago.

I believe in kindness and calling out the song in each other’s hearts. I also believe that Love covers–my gaps, my mistakes and the distances between us. I blog at idelette.com and tweet@idelette.