Transitioning from dreams to reality

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A love letter to my body: prompted by Sheloves magazine

In Uncategorized on July 14, 2012 at 4:16 pm

I know it has been a while since writing on here and can’t promise it will happen again in the near future, but a dear friend posted a challenge on Shelovesmagazine that I just couldn’t resist. Well, maybe not a challenge, more like a healthy nudge. So here I am writing a love letter to my body. So timely since these last couple of months have been a season of transition on the body-love level. So, here’s my letter:

Dear Body,

I have typed and re-typed this letter about five times because I just don’t know where to start. I want to apologize a million times over while equally praising and thanking you for patiently absorbing past abuse. You weren’t created to be destroyed, yet you persevered through years of sabotage and are proving to be stronger than ever. I guess that’s how the line goes though isn’t it: what doesn’t kill us makes us stronger? But, of course you know that because I tried to kill you countless times and each time you developed a new skill to thwart my attempts. And to think I was so angry when you proved strong…

Looking back, I crumble with despair at how focused I was on empty expectations. We both know I based our relationship on your weight, body fat, and ability to thrive off minimal amounts of sleep and fuel. All for what? So that you could match some unattainable requirement set by some person who I don’t know in some city where I have no desire to live. I definitely didn’t have my priorities in order.

I want to kneel down and beg that you forgive me, and actually, I think we need to take a moment to acknowledge everything I put you through, so yes, that is exactly what I will do right now. . . .

How is it that you have already forgiven me? How is it that we sit here in harmony, able to work as a team; and that you patiently listen as I still sometimes seek other’s opinions before knowing that you are everything and more. I promise I will work on that. I love you, and not because of what you look like (although, I’ve gotta say that you, my dear, are stunning). I promise I will also work on saying that and letting it stick. I love you because of what and Who you represent, and for your capacity to so graciously engage with my many demands. More specifically:

Brain – Thank-you for continually impressing me with your capacity to learn and think and imagine. And seriously, thanks so much for always knowing what to say for my academic papers!

Eyes – You have a way of showing me the world that is indescribable. I am sorry that Soul sometimes gets in the way of you showing me an accurate picture of Body. Work in progress.

Ears – Do you know the impact you have on Body’s ability to function? The way you help Brain hear university lectures, or Legs stay on tempo to music when we dance: impact.

Nose – Mmm. From safety to tasty, your function helps me enjoy nourishment and stay alert.

Arms and Legs – You are definitely separate, but I put you together because you are such a team! I know we are running more now and I can’t thank you enough for powering through the miles even when Brain tries to make you stop!

Feet – You support this machine. What else need I say? It’s fun putting nail polish on you too.

Body, I know we have had some rough times, but I also know we are in this together. I love that you are mine. When God dreamed us into existence, He placed YOU and ME together for a purpose.

Me and you and you and me,

no matter how they toss the dice it has to be… (The Turtles)

So honoured and blessed and excited to be doing life with you.

Much love always and forever,

Tash xo




On: Sheloves withdrawal & choosing not to jump ship

In Uncategorized on September 23, 2011 at 9:03 pm

For the past year I have had the honour of writing for Shelovesmagazine. Although I wrote a wednesday wellness piece, I found that writing was a way for me to stay focused on personal health. No matter what was going on during my week, my learning was always honed in (usually very late on Tuesday nights) and I was reminded to consider the priorities of my moment.

Well, it has been less than two weeks since taking a step back from Sheloves and I am noticing a need to sit with my computer and debrief recent experiences. 23 days since I moved to a new town, started a new job and entered graduate school. Also 23 days since my social life was overtaken by paper writing and Disney princesses.

Currently living in a house with 10 teenaged, professional-division ballerinas, I have been dubbed Mama Bear and am the go-to woman for most of their Calgary motherly needs. Yes, my e-mail and phone number have been given to their teachers, doctors and extra-curricular planners. Yes, I have so far experienced a 911 call, trip to Children’s Hospital, enough flu symptoms to last a life time, and the joys of reminding myself to be patient in regards to their less than professional dish-washing skills. But the key to this experience is that I am reminded of my commitment to “house mother” them to the best of my abilities…. even on the days where all of my abilities seem to have vanished.

Have you ever felt complete peace stepping into a situation and owned it, but then compared it to other opportunities and wished you could trade it in ASAP? This past week has been that exact situation where, I thought I was completely content with my job, but then began comparing it to other opportunities and yearned for a chance to switch things up. To get even more real: I became overwhelmed with the amount of time being a mother takes and researched other job postings online. What did I find? Postings for jobs that require I work half the time, yet pay more than my full-time parenting position. And I got frustrated. Heck, I even had a couple of my friends convinced that my applying for a different job was “part of the plan”.

And then I got convicted.

Remember that awesome parable about workers in a vineyard being frustrated with receiving the same pay as others who had worked less time? Yeah, that one in Matthew 20: 1-16. Well, last night an internal whisper pointed out that I am being one of those whiny workers. I knew exactly what I was getting myself into when I accepted this position; I knew that the pay is less and the responsibility more. However, I also knew the job was mine from the moment I glanced at the posting. Not in a cocky way, but in a way where I saw a light shining down this path and felt a nudge to walk within it. Unfortunately, this past week I disregarded the perfection and highlighted the flaws. Worst. Choice. Ever.

So what happened that caused me to freak out? A combination of: (trust me, I have noticed the pattern of these repeat offenders when it has come to triggers) lack of sleep, lack of exercise, lack of homework, lack of fellowship with people over the age of 15, too much negative self-talk, and a multitude of new experiences that need to be debriefed with my Creator.

What am I going to do about this minor shake? Go back to my 3 P’s and focus on #2: PLANNING. Like the corny old saying says: He who fails to plan, plans to fail. I am aware of the cause for my distress and recognize it would be beneficial to: sleep more, exercise more, do my homework sooner, invest in relationships with people my age (who live closer than a skype date away), speak a little nicer to myself, and share my experience with the Lord before I crash.

It’s ironic that one of my biggest triggers is the hardest issue to change: spend more time in relationships with people my age who live closer than a skype date away. Sigh. Snowball into: admit that I am not super woman and need tangible relationships; ask my boss about my promised weekend off; put down roots in Calgary and develop new relationships despite my fear of needing to say good-bye too soon; remind myself that gaining a new friend does not mean less space for old ones.

If this were a therapy session, around now would be the time where I asked the client how they hoped to take a step towards developing some tangible friendships (assuming this was their priority goal). My response: I will pick one acquaintance to reach out to this week and maybe ask if they are interested in going for lunch or coffee. I will also choose not to feel defeated if they are busy or not interested and, if needed, I will ask someone else.

I felt the need to post this beautiful portrait that one of my girls created on our Chores board. Notice any resemblance between me and the “Mom”?? 🙂

Removing the blindfold

In Uncategorized on February 13, 2011 at 2:36 pm

As many of you know, I have re-located my life 15 hours north of comfortable. This move was technically for work, but I am quickly learning that my new “dream job” was bate to remove me from my over-functioning environment. When packing I was aware of the weight requirements put on luggage, and in the hopes of fitting in one more pair of jeans (which I later learned was pointless as jeans aren’t part of the dress code at work), I removed my journal and planted it on the shelf at my parents house. I have been regretting that decision ever since and have yet to find an appropriate replacement while my journal takes its own little sabbatical.

So, for the time being, this shall be my canvas. The place where I plop the colours of experience and blend the shades until they produce a masterpiece. My prayer is that I don’t waste a minute. I have recently learned how easy it is to fill the “gaps” of life with aimless fluff, producing nothing more than regrets and the learned acceptance of impartiality. I am writing this week’s Sheloves column on “gaps” and I look forward to hearing your thoughts in response.

But back to now. This very moment. Sitting cross-legged on my under-stuffed dorm room computer chair, trying to ignore my stomach’s anger from filling it with chocolate and coffee due to an aimless moment during an earlier “gap”. This week was supposed to be the time when I hit the ground running, embracing the goals set with the counsellor I hired as an aspect of “self-care”. Unfortunately, the counsellor was fired before being fully hired and I neglected to find a moment to pray or journal about tomorrow. Tomorrow has come and gone about seven times and I find myself lost, blindfolded, and stumbling through unknown foliage, grasping at the branches in the hopes that one will talk.

The great news is that I just took the blindfold off. I think sometimes we stumble around, forgetting about our two hands that are capable of untying the light shielding material. I have found myself in a pause/breath/moment where all is still and the decisions I make bare heavily on tomorrow. I feel like it will take more than one decision to embrace this season, but I will start with one because that will surely lead to the next.

Today’s decision involves this blog and my priorities. I have decided to give myself permission to be real. I’m in a weird place where the life I used to dream of has been handed to me, but I am not the person I had imagined in this life. Sure, my hair and style have changed to that of a “professional counsellor” (whatever that means), but everything else still needs to grow up. Once again, I am faced with the reminder that I will never officially arrive. I will be growing and running and learning until I take my last breath. I am ok with that. I love learning and growing, but I am currently lacking discipline and know my “learning, growing, running” season will bare more fruit when the track comes back into focus.

So here I am, pausing before turning the lens back into focus. I will rest in this pause a little longer, slightly afraid of what reality will tell.

A Line of Crisis

In Uncategorized on May 10, 2010 at 9:07 am

Pain. I hear it in your voice as you try to explain the situation through sobs. You can’t go on. Life is overwhelming. You feel alone.

“I understand,” I think to myself wishing I could explain just how closely your situation matches my past.

Your voice raises in exasperation as you recount the thoughts that pop into your mind. You think that there must be a demon in your brain because you have never had such intense, racing ploys.

The ambulance dispatch explains why she wants to send the police, “to ensure you are safe,” she coes. I can hear the fear in your voice as you start telling me that your mom can’t find out. She is in the other room, but mustn’t know that you are struggling.

“What would the worst case scenario be if she did find out?” I ask, trying to help you see the reality of her love.

You don’t care about how much she wants you to get help; you only worry about her stress levels. Her arthritis dictates much of her life and you can’t bear adding to the strain.

I want to tell you that it will be ok, but I really don’t know. You are craving to jump off a bridge and I am grabbing for the right words while dispatch listens as I try to assess your risk. You called 911 because you were alone, afraid of the invalidation that threatens to intoxicate your soul. You have tried to change and have read all of the literature. You are an intelligent girl filled with potential.

If you only knew. There is freedom. There is a Quiet that can silence the demon within. He is here right now as we speak. He is calling your name – the name that He chose for you before the foundation of the world.

What if you never find out?

The police show up at your door and the ambulance dispatch confirms that you are safe. What is safety? The police will do another risk assessment then either leave you alone, or take you to the hospital. Your mom found out and you are blaming yourself for causing her more strife while she is blaming herself for not noticing your grief.

If you only knew how loved you are. But you may never know. What if no one tells you? What if the demon within is so loud that you can’t hear the Whisper?

You hang up the phone and dispatch makes a comment, “Good job. I don’t know if it’s your training or if you just have a knack for this kind of thing, but I have screened a lot of these calls and you were by far the best.”

“Thanks,” I reply.

We hang up our lines and I lean back in my chair. I laugh harder than I have laughed in my life. Tears roll down my cheeks and I allow my emotions to come out through giggles. It’s not funny. It’s devastating. What if no one ever tells you about your destiny?

Seven hours later I am sitting in bed. All other calls so easily forgotten, but not yours. It was different from the moment dispatch connected our lines. You are 24 – the same age as me. You said the anti-depressants were making you crazy, but you don’t know what was different about today. The thoughts in your head reeling like a cracked record. We will forever be strangers yet I was the facilitator of your rawest moment.

What if no one ever tells you there is freedom? I can remember nights like yours. Before an overdose. After an overdose. While driving over a bridge. I know what it’s like to fear for your life because of internal forces. You were right, there is a demon placing thoughts in your head. I wish I had told you there is a way to make it stop.

I will never communicate with you again. Did you go to the hospital? Did you refuse help and walk to the bridge? What if no one ever tells you how precious you are? There is urgency. You need to know. I’m sorry I stuck to protocol. I’m sorry I followed my training and asked all of the questions. The questions were good. The assessment was quality, but I left out the important stuff.

You are loved. You are chosen. You are precious. You were created to live an abundant life. I’m so sorry I never told you.

More Beautiful than a Starry Night

In Uncategorized on April 15, 2010 at 10:29 pm

“Oh my gosh!” I think to myself as I rush out the door of my Thursday night women’s group. I am not ‘oh my goshing’ over the wander of the inspiring women I just spent three hours conversing with. No, I am ‘oh my goshing’ because I just spent three hours conversing with wonderful women while I should have been learning about Rothman’s model of locality development for my Community Development final that is less than 11 hours away. Despite the fact that it is late, I am tired, and need to be at home preparing for an exam that could potentially determine my future (always thinking about grad school), I decide to saunter up the street and gaze at the stars while reflecting on my time in group.

Tonight the sky is especially clear which makes the moment of intentional self-care easy. My eyes look to the dark blue canvas and have trouble deciding where to focus while my heart expands with anticipatory joy. “Wow, wow, wow, wow, wow!” I whisper. Thoughts develop as quickly as sparks flying off a roaring fire. The stars are beautiful and I feel like a child with a brand new box of gel pens – you know the ones with 50 colours – because I want to look at every single one, getting excited about the next before I open the first!

Standing in the middle of the quiet, familiar street, I am lost. The beauty of twinkling stars promises safety. It doesn’t matter if life is overwhelming or I don’t remember the definition of the word I have already forgotten that will be on tomorrow’s exam. The stars are so BEAUTIFUL! “What a perfect ending to an amazing night,” I smile. The topic in group tonight was beauty and the two questions that captivated my mind were:

1) What does beauty mean to me?

2) What about myself do I find beautiful?

My answers were full of life as I dove into the reality of my existence. God saved me! He brought me out of the pit and planted Truth within my heart. I have a passion burning that drives every choice, belief, action, and motive. Sometimes it is hard to contain my excitement; 60% of the time that I am awake I feel as though my entity is shaking with expectancy. There is Truth that needs to be communicated, lives that need to be set free, and hearts that need to be released to the One who created the ability to surrender!! Honoured and humbled by my position, I dream about the next moment of destiny’s embrace.

A star falls through the sky and I am reminded that beauty of this world is expected to be tangible. Dreams and passions can’t be measured, nor can people feel the bright colours of Power surging through my veins. Taking a deep breath, I try to ignore the lie that victoriously dictated my life for 20 years. “You are a fat disgrace and should hide before one more person has to look at you.” Standing in the middle of a deserted street, I choose to focus on the stars. Lies are lies and I understand the strength in replacing them with the Truth. Mechanically choosing the predetermined Truth, I whisper in desperation, “I am fearfully and wonderfully made and am the apple of my Creator’s eye. I choose to believe that the One who set me free has made me free and I will NOT be dictated by the powers of darkness.”

Satisfied with victory over my moment of weakness, I intentionally look back at the stars. An umbrella of tangible beauty. “Wow,” I am in awe that God created these beautiful fireballs to brighten my night. Walking to my car, I hear a whisper in my spirit, “the stars are amazing, but they aren’t beautiful enough for me to be in relationship with.”

I was created more beautiful than a starry night?!

Forgetting my vow to ignore the importance of feeling tangibly validated, a tear rolls down my cheek.

That Place

In Uncategorized on April 4, 2010 at 2:27 pm

So have you ever walked to that place? You know, where it seems like you are about to cross the line into unspokenness, but haven’t quite committed? I think I just reached it and can only smile. So many times before I have paused momentarily before jumping into the realm of behaviours……not just any behaviours….issue behaviours. This time is different though because I know that giving in “just this once” is never how it seems. “Just this once” turns into “just today” which turns into hopeless devotion to a sin that only brings destruction. Cutting, purging, restricting, bingeing ~ just thinking of these things makes me shiver.

It seems ironic that I have resisted and stood firm against old temptations for so long and now they are hitting harder than ever. Maybe it’s because I allowed myself to take that step. You know, the one that is harmless at the time because it is so miniscule, but 15 miniscule steps later end up taking you just a little further than anticipated. I did take that step, I maybe even took 3, but I haven’t passed the thresh hold yet.

I am at that place. You know, the one where it seems like you are about to cross the line into unspokenness, but haven’t quite committed.

I am at that place. In the moment I have to separate myself because the emotions are just too strong; they claw into my soul and try to drag me into the lie of quick release. As I take a step back and realize what is happening I reach my hands up as far as possible. My feet may be in the place, but the rest of my body refuses to accept the path of fact. Grabbing onto the only One I know, I dig my fingernails into the hem of His garments. I can’t let go. The temptations are too strong, but I can’t give in, I can’t! I don’t know if the weight of expectation or fear of failure is heavier, but something is pulling me down. I claw at the fabric, but can’t find a firm grasp! As my fingers give way to air, I expect to fall completely to that place. I guess it is like all those other times. I strive and fall, reach and lose, try and fail.

I hold my breath and expect the worst, but I’m not falling! Instead of sinking into a stance of defeat, I feel myself being lifted higher. Into His arms; the only place of true security that I know. Until I let go, He could not pull me higher. Holding onto His garments and refusing to let go while trying to control my journey meant that I was stuck, unable to move in either direction. He was drawing me nearer while I was trying to find a way to stay hanging.

Looking into His heart I am brought back to the Truth. It’s not about expectations or striving. He set me free to live in freedom!! I am not in freedom to set an example or prove a point, He set me free to be me. My Freedom can only shine through genuine transparency.

I may have been at that place, but I took a step back. Those tiny shuffles that led to the depths of dispair are as easily reversed as my willingness to see it happen. I saw the thresh hold, but I didn’t want to cross. What’s the point? I know how the story goes and I am sick of it having the same ending. The ending has been different for a while and I like the shape it is taking. Instead of a jagged iron gate, the path leads to an open area. The space is empty, not a lonely empty, but an expectant thrill. He’s letting me choose the words and paint the pictures to my story. It’s mine. Because of Him I can choose to have it go in any direction. Because of Him I know the safety of anticipation.

I am at that place. You know the one where there is complete peace and trust because Faithfulness has proven true? The place where no matter how far facts drag you, the Truth will prevail. I am at that place……do you know the One?

The Decision

In Uncategorized on April 2, 2010 at 10:16 am
July 2, 1985
“There is no freaking way this is happening again,” I whisper under my breath as fear builds in my heart. According to the calculations, my period was supposed to have come over 2 weeks ago. The first few days I figured it was just late; being a serious athlete sometimes causes my body to do funky things, but I have never been this off. I stand, determined not to cry because then I would be accepting the unlikely. Walking to my bedroom I know where my emergency test is hidden. I root through my underwear drawer and find it – the potential determinant of my future (and my parents acceptance).
I drink a ton of water to fill my bladder and sit on the bathroom counter waiting. It seems like eternity before I have to pee and in the long span of 15 minutes I try to find a positive emotion within myself, but can only find dread drenched in defiance. When I feel ready (and my body finally cooperates) I open the test and squat over the toilet. “Please God, if you exist, make the test be negative,” I whisper while feeling the warm spray of urine against my right hand. I stand, not bothering to pull up my pants as I stare at the white test in my slightly wet hand. A thin blue line.

If it wasn’t for my past experience with pregnancy tests I would choose not to believe the little blue stripe, but I know within me that the test is correct. I am pregnant. Destiny, tragedy, or plain stupidity, whatever the cause, I have a microscopic person growing on the inside of me.

Memories mixed with emotions overtake my entity – I don’t know if I am in a nightmare repeat of three years earlier, or going insane. Maybe that is it, maybe I am just stuck inside a nasty daydream; I try telling myself this until my phone rings and I am snapped back to the present. Standing half naked, in the middle of my bathroom, holding a positive pregnancy test while listening to my phone ring, I realize how sickly real the situation is.
Out of natural reaction I run to answer my phone. “Hello?!” I half accuse, half whine. No reply except a click. That’s great, just peachy, I am in crisis and the first person I speak to decides to abandon me. I am not sure if I want people to be close or as far away as possible; I can’t completely comprehend my emotions.

This also happened three years ago. I was dating Gary and became pregnant. He broke up with me when he found out and I was left deciding what to do about the kid growing in me. I ended up having a little boy and putting him up for adoption, but the nine months prior were anything, but easy. I was only 19 and trying to pursue sports in university. After the pregnancy I quickly trained and snapped back in time for basketball season, but was left with an emotional hole in my heart. I don’t know if I can go through that again.
My phone rings again and I choose not to answer it, but when I hear my best friend’s voice through the answering machine, I pick up the receiver. “Hey Megs,” is all I can whisper through the tears that start again the minute I hear her voice.

“Oh no, what’s wrong?” she demands. That’s what I love about Megan, she has an unnatural ability to take control in even the worst situations and I know this is like any other.
“I, I’m” I can’t finish the sentence because I am overtaken with hyperventilated wails. She picked up on it though – we have only been best friends for two years, but Megan and I can finish each other’s sentences.
I hear her finish my broken phrase, “pregnant. I will be right over.” As she hangs up the phone without another word I slip onto the floor next to my nightstand; this is where she finds me when she walks in 20 minutes later, sobbing and curled in a ball. Without a word she sits next to me, the smell of Dolce and Gabana, Light Blue overtakes my senses and I feel a new calm. I am not sure what the next step is, nor what the upcoming year looks like, but I know that everything will somehow work out because my friend is next to me.

Two hours later I have showered, tried to digest a smoothie, and somewhat emotionally prepared myself for the trip to the doctor. I know that I am pregnant, but Megan wants to take me to get tested and make sure that everything is physically all right. Walking in to the doctors office triggers memories from three years ago, except the last time this happened I was alone, and today I have a friend by my side.

20 minutes after I have slouched into the worn, leather chair, my name is called. “Marie Peters,” a stout, middle aged, Asian woman calls. She smiles as I stand in response; the smile does nothing but deepen the pit in my already churning stomach. Megan stands and grabs my hand as I begin the walk to the examination room. It seems like my day has been sectioned off in time – 15 minutes to go pee, 20 minutes for Meg to come over, two hours to get ready, 20 more minutes to wait to be admitted at the doctor’s, and now more minutes for the doctor to enter the room. Although any other day I wouldn’t notice the time span, today is not like a normal day.

Megan thinks that I am shaking because I am afraid of having another child, but really I am reacting to the thought that keeps replaying in my mind: if you have an abortion this will all be over before anyone has to know it even began. I have heard of other woman getting abortions, but that was only in far off stories told by friends of a friend, not in my immediate life. We talked about them in sex education during high school, but that was four years ago and I never accepted abortion as a personal option. Until today.

Before my mind can twist any deeper into the thought of cancelling the process that has begun within me, the doctor walks in. Dr. Forester has been my doctor since I was five years old and she knows me well. I don’t see her often, but my parents keep her in the loop about the new occurrences in my life while I try to keep them out. She reads my chart and looks at me with obvious pain in her eyes. I glance at Megan and receive a nod of encouragement to speak.

Before I can say a word Dr. Forester takes the floor, “are you sure? Do you want me to do another test?”
“No, I know beyond a shadow of a doubt. My period was over 2 weeks late and I did a test. I just know,” I say without letting my eyes meet hers.
She sits down on her swivel stool and rolls right next to me. While taking my hand she leans in closely, “what’s your plan?” she asks with sincere care.

I slowly glance from her to Megan then back to her. I can’t think, it’s like the processor in my brain overheated and crashed. Trying to pull at any form of a word to respond, I realize that I don’t have a plan. I don’t know what to do and I don’t want to go through another pregnancy. I start to cry again, but this time I don’t hold back. What’s the point? The other person who helped me get into this predicament moved back to San Diego 3 weeks ago and I don’t see the reason in telling him what has become of our few days together. He is probably sitting on his yacht with a new love object, or locked up in his penthouse office going over reports while cursing his wasted time in Vancouver.

Thoughts begin to race through my mind as if a floodgate was just yanked open. Taking a deep breath I quickly stand to my feet. Glancing at Megs and Dr. Forester I make an announcement. “I got myself into this mess by being irresponsible; therefore I need to deal with the consequences of my actions. The way I see it I have two options: abortion or adoption. As much as I would absolutely love to choose the first, where is my right in deciding this little one’s future before it is even born?” My right hand is on my, still flat, stomach while I am waving my left hand as I speak. I may be a wreck, but I am always able to come to a definite conclusion to any problem when I remind myself that I am in control. Other people may be able to give me advice and support, but in the end I will only be left with one person – me.

I am standing in a small, light green examination room, but the only things that my eyes are registering are the two women sitting in front of me. They both look stunned, or as though I just made some irrational proclamation. I can understand their surprise as I went from zero to 12 in less than 60 seconds on the emotional capability scale, but I have made a decision and am sticking with it. “Where to from here?” I ask Dr. Forester who is still staring at me, but now with a smile on her face.

After a few more minutes of conversing with my physician, Megan and I are walking back to the car. I feel as though I am inwardly shaking from the overwhelming realization of what is happening in my life, but I am determined to live, yet another pregnancy out. It will mean anger and disappointment from my parents, Profs at school questioning my ability to live a responsible life, and many other negative implications, but none of that matters. All that matters is that right now the little one and I are cohabitating in the same shell.
March 18, 1986

I can’t believe the time has flown by and I am about to give birth to my little girl. I guess I can’t really call her mine because the minute that she enters the world she will be taken away, but we still spent months together while she formed within me. I wish that I could keep her, but know that it isn’t realistic. My wish is that she knows how loved she is; if I could raise her as my own I would, but life happened and it isn’t a possibility. I am grateful that the social worker was able to place her in the same home as my previous child. She will be able to grow up with a biological brother (they had different fathers, but have me in common). I hope that he takes care of her and that they can stick together with their adoptive parents. I would really like to meet both of them one day, but also want to move on with my life. I guess I will wait and see what destiny holds.

A strong contraction yanks me out of my thought world. I can’t just sit here daydreaming about the future when there is most definitely a little girl trying to pop out of me. I carefully move to the phone as the pain strengthens. Dialing the numbers is a harder task than usual because I am trying not to double over from the pain.
“Megs, it’s time,” I breathe and sit down in pain.
“I will be right over,” says my best friend. She has been my support through these past 9 months and I am so grateful that she is in my life. She stood beside me when my parents yelled and even when I stubbornly wanted to run.
8 long hours later I have been taken to the hospital, felt contractions strong enough to shake my body to pieces, pushed until I almost passed out, become exhausted, and finally, seen the fruit of my labour. She is beautiful. 6 pounds 9 ounces of perfection that is taken out of the room instead of placed in my arms. 9 months of building a physical relationship within me and she is whisked away to the social worker on my case.

Megs holds my right hand while I dig the fingernails of my left into their palm. I can’t help but ask myself if this was the best decision? I just gave away my baby girl and even though statistically speaking there is no way I can offer her the best life, at least she would be with her mom.


In Uncategorized on March 13, 2010 at 7:57 am

Beginning. The word instills a fear deep within. Not an apprehension of the unknown, but an understanding of what lies ahead. Inspiration from God is never small; it drops into my heart and the minute I own it there is an explosion of anticipation. With anticipation comes joy, with joy excitement, with excitement planning, and with planning a still small voice. The voice whispers – tells me to stay excited, but to step back and out of the way as my imperfect flesh is seasoned at trying to control the uncontainable.

His plan is perfect and I pray my heartbeat can match His as the narrow path invites me forward. Beginning. It’s a new day; the memories of yesterday are nothing but brush strokes on the canvas of eternity. Vivid pinks and pastel oranges blend with dark shades of blue and brown to create a confusing parade that only my Maker understands. The abstract depicts the journey of a fanatical young woman who has opened every closed door – both good and bad. Experiences of pain and rejection are mirrored by grace and love; cradled in the entity of a Father who relentlessly fights for this undeserving child.

The trepidation an assumption of what will be; false starts define 24 years of sunshine that appear bright compared to the sporadic gusts of hell. Two limitless extremes toil for one destiny. Thoughts scream and beg to be owned. Disassociation plunges to the rescue promising retreat as the only option. And He whispers it again, “beginning.

The faintest lilt holds my attention. “Beginning. Not by your definition, but by Mine.