Meet Chelsea: She Talks About Her Past Eating Disorder, Walking Away From SoulCycle + What She Has Learned About Finding True Happiness

By @Chelsea.Schellenberg

Hey! My name is Chelsea. Usually this is where I’d say what my job or career titles me as, but right now I wouldn’t say I identify with any kind of “title” other than ME. I would say though that I’m a big dreamer and a motivated go-getter, who has been able to quickly manifest a whooole lot of goodness.

Have you ever dreamed something so big that it actually happened? 

This past year I’ve gone deep into learning more about why I am the way I am, and it’s been hard, scary, and rewarding. I moved back to Edmonton, AB, spent a summer scooping ice-cream, ventured into the jungle with 17 incredible women to become a Yoga Teacher, cried a lot, laughed a lot, and took the time to reconnect to who I am. I’ve committed to healing, slowing down, and trusting where I’m being guided to rather than chase what I think might make me “happy”. 

To give you more context into my journey, I had a short career as a Professional Indoor Cycling Instructor.

I had the incredible opportunity to reconnect to my passion for music, dance and movement, and live into a manifestation I had dreamt for years, which was to teach at SoulCycle. Growing up I was a dancer, so from the first time I took a spin class I was addicted to the feeling of my body moving with a group of people to the beat of the music and expressing myself through a different type of movement. Now, when you pair that with soulful messaging and the goal of “changing someones life”, it became a big aspiration of mine to be apart of the best of the best. 

To give you more of an idea of my past, I’m kind of known to change my mind and when I want to do something I usually follow it. I’ve lived a pretty interesting life because of this, and I’m sure my parents haven’t loved all of my decisions, but it’s really not about them (haha). With this dream to work for the top indoor cycling company in the world, I truthfully thought that it would give me all that I was missing in my life.

Sure enough, that wasn’t quite the case.

I was chasing what I thought would bring me happiness, but when I got to where I had dreamed of, I realized I was still the same person doing the same thing, only in a different city, at a different studio. It’s actually a similar story to the one of my eating disorder. It was an obsession that as soon as I hit that goal weight, I’d be happy.

I now know that I was never actually happy with myself and that’s why I continued to chase and chase and chase. It was never about my body; it was that I didn’t like myself. 

So, to be 100% honest I was expecting some kind of crazy shift to occur as soon as I stepped foot into that room full of 52 bikes, just like when I had stepped on the scale to see my weight. I thought I would feel fulfilled, complete, on top of the world, and like a new person - but for some reason I felt no different from who I was and what I was doing before. Yes, there was definitely more freedom, creativity, and a larger community, but I guess I was expecting some kind of crazy light to shine down on me, turning me into some unstoppable being with no fears and all the happiness possible.

As you probably guessed, that didn’t happen!

Now, don’t get me wrong. I was so incredibly grateful for the opportunity and found that I was pinching myself for first week as a SoulCycle instructor, but it still wasn’t what I had expected to feel.

It was a biiiiig wake up call! 

This feeling lead to one of the many lessons I learned during my time with SoulCycle. Nothing rang more true than it doesn’t matter where you are or what you’re doing, but what matters is your relationship with yourself and your ability to accept and love who you are.

I’m sure you’ve heard it before, but happiness truly lies within us, and we can’t “achieve” it through anything external. Yes - things, jobs, and people can bring us joy, but to actually feel whole and complete, it’s nothing external - at all. Your relationship to self is probably the MOST important relationship you will ever have - EVER.

Accepting who you are is one of the most freeing things you can do.

When you choose to accept it, you give yourself permission to take all power back in your life, own your true essence, and live into what you really want. The worry of what others think will begin to dissipate, you will find more joy in all of your relationships, and a sense of freedom will overtake the feeling of being stuck or unsatisfied with your life.

So, I did that.

I began to trust what felt right in my body and trust my inner knowing. I left what I thought was my dream career, with zero regrets and no real idea what I was going to do, but I knew I needed to figure out why anything I did wasn’t giving me the satisfaction I was craving, from no one but myself. 

Now, I get it. It’s easy to get caught up in titles, have the desire to look good, need the approval of family and friends, and chose something because it logically looks like the “right” move.

It’s also absolutely okay to have a goal for 5 years, and then change your mind.

Our lives aren’t linear.

We are human beings constantly evolving and adapting, so for us to see things as a “waste of time” or question if something was meant to be - stop questioning and worrying.

It was meant to be because it happened - and if you chose to step into trust rather than questioning it, I guarantee it will lead to something better than you could have imagined.

It’s not easy, and it’s an every day practice. 

It’s an incredible feat to try something new and allow yourself to expand from your comfort zone, so acknowledge yourself when you do. It’s great to have some discipline and structure, but even better to find freedom within that. It’s good to slow down from the fast paced lives we live, allow time for rest, and celebrate the small wins. It’s important to listen to what you’re resisting and even better to ask WHY you’re resisting it, because it often leads to lessons, learnings, and opportunities to grow. Lastly, it’s VITAL to listen to our bodies because they have way more intelligence than we give them credit for. Touch base with your beautiful body, everyday and allow yourself to live into what feels right. I guarantee that’s exactly what’s meant for you, you just have to trust. 

Above all else, get to know who you are. Love on yourself like no one else - cherish the moments of sweet solitude - stop comparing yourself to everyone else - challenge and push yourself - and of course, be gentle.

I’m not saying I’m perfect in ANY way, but my journey has been. I’m proud of myself for going after a dream and I’m proud of myself for walking away from it when I knew it wasn’t right anymore. I’m the most proud though, of where I am with who I am and the awareness I’ve cultivated in choosing to see what I used to resist.

Meet Shelby- She Shares Thoughts on Dance (Her First Love) + Body Acceptance- and How She Continues To Embrace Who She Is- All in the Spotlight

By @ShelbyBain

My name is Shelby Bain and I’m an actor and dancer in the Toronto area.

My journey into the arts began when I was four and my mother enrolled me in dance and gymnastics. Like most children, I was full of energy and curiosity; I couldn’t stop moving. My boundless energy was overwhelming for my parents, and enrolling me into every dance class, gymnastics class, and any sport available was their way of harnessing that endless energy.

After my very first chaines, dance had me hooked.

I was in love and at the age of 4, I was a competitive dancer. The first time I stepped out onto the stage, I knew that performing was my calling. I became addicted to the rush of being in front of an audience and the joy and thrill of dancing.

Dance has always remained constant in my life. It is my first love. Not only does it allow me to move my body in ways most people can’t, but dance makes me feel extraordinary. There really only is one word to describe dance: Magical. It encourages me to stay healthy and take care of my body. At a young age, I learned my body is an instrument. I needed to learn quickly how to take care of my own instrument in order to produce music with my feet; dance.

However, my relationship with dance hasn’t always been smooth sailing. “Competitive dance” can be exactly that; competitive. Sometimes it was the unhealthy kind- the kind where people are torn down instead of built up and where too much emphasis is placed on the outcome and not the process.

Towards the end of my competitive dance career, I seemed to have lost the reason as to why I even danced in the first place. I was dancing for the validation of my coaches, team/peers, parents, and for the awards and titles and trophies.

In order to escape the mental battle with dance, I needed to let go of the pressures of the competitive world and remember why I danced.

Dance is my oxygen. I wouldn’t be able to live without it.

I had to start dancing for me again, not for anyone else, not for a trophy or validation.

As soon as I accepted this, every performance was electric.

I stopped competitive dancing when I started high school. I landed a role on a Family Channel show called “The Next Step”. This show is a mock reality show that follows an elite group of dancers on their way to competitions. So… I didn’t quite escape the competitive dance but this time it was make believe for the cameras.

This show has been such a special experience. It has brought me around the world. I have been able to dance on tour with the show in many different countries in front of thousands of fans, on stage, doing what I love most. I can’t even begin to explain the feelings I had when I was half way across the world, performing with some of my cast mates.

That being said, it was difficult for me to fully indulge in these experiences as I struggled with my own insecurities. Starting the show at the age of 14, my body changed over the next 5 years of filming. My body transformed from a flat chested boxy looking pre-teen, to a curvy woman’s body. It was very difficult to watch my body change over the past 5 years- and some of the fans were not forgiving of me hitting puberty either. Some of the comments on social media directed at me regarding my body changes were not always kind.

I let the social media beauty standard get in my head, and I lost confidence completely.

I stopped training because I hated my body.

I hated the way it looked in a leotard.

I hated how big my thighs looked.

But in reality, my thighs are what help me dance.

They are the reason I can jump, turn, tumble, and split.

I felt stuck and knew that the only way to help me feel better about this was to dance, even if it meant putting on the leotard that I hated the way I looked in.

Dance has been and always will be my escape. Even if I am unhappy with the way I look, I can use dance as a tool to help me feel more comfortable in my own skin. If the show has taught me anything, it’s that I should never stop dancing. I have recently taken my dance training even further and feel more incredible and confident than ever.

I love my body, and I thank dance for that.

Free Write Exercise- Writing as Release

If this is your first time stumbling into the blog- Welcome!

I’m Cayla, the Founder of The Move to Heal Project- and it is no secret I love to write. I often turn to writing when I have emotions whirling around inside me that I can’t seem to name. Once I attached those emotions to story, I am often able to get a little more clarity.

I am sharing this free write with you. Its mostly a nod to how I felt in my early 20s when I was experiencing a tremendous amount of trauma but did not have words or a full narrative to describe what was happening. I internalized a lot and it began to affect me medically and increase my need for control.

I would encourage you to try your own free write today- for 30 minutes- and see what it produces.

Just put your pen to paper and WRITE!

Tag us: @MoveToHealProject+ @CaylaMeredith

Scroll down for my story

***************************************************

Every morning in quarantine I awake to the sounds of streetcars honking, construction workers yelling, fresh air littered with nostalgia and stagnant energy as if the entire world is waking up along with me, moving to the kitchen for a hot cup of coffee. 

Today is no different and as the coffee brews, the aroma pulls me back to memory.

San Diego, 2003.

I recall a small hotel room with sliding glass doors that open to the sound of big waves crashing- a sound my Mother often tells me, she is soothed by. When we were little she used to take her beach chair and place it directly in the water so she could feel the waves wash over her feet, then out, wash over her feet, then out. The ocean is rhythmic and certain in these moments, like a beating heart, and I think that’s why she likes it- it feels safe.

We fly in the night before but today she doesn’t notice the jet lag and leans over, whispering excitedly to tell me she is going for a walk along the beach with her hot coffee. For a split second I grasp at the simplistic nature of this statement and long for a moment where I am not focused on feeling sick and tired but, like a tidal wave, that longing leaves me and I drift back into deep exhaustion.

From here, things get spotty. There are entire days that I don’t remember. 

Is that how memory works? Or is that a coping mechanism?

I’m not sure.

There are days I don’t remember but the vivid, constant, protagonist in this San Diego story is how little I eat. I’m whispy and absorb nothing and when we drive, I often recline my seat because I’m too tired to sit up.

One day we cross the bridge in the afternoon sun to Tijuana and share chips and guac and a margarita on a patio. By ‘share’ I mean that I eat one chip, maybe two.

“Whatever you do, don’t touch any ice” someone warns us, and so the margarita is delicious but lukewarm and the thick salt slips quickly down the glass and into the drink where it floats like a carefree child in the ocean.

We leave lunch and wander into a tequila shop, and all the bottles have worms and I’m equal parts grossed out and intrigued.

The bottles are lined up like those bottle toss games at the fair and as the Mexican radio mingles into the reverberation of Mom laughing I think about an earthquake and how quickly everything would shatter. I think about the loss of profit for this kind Mexican man and then I wonder about his own family and what he did this morning, wonder if he too drank coffee or a watery margarita. I also wonder what it would be like to die completely submerged in tequila, like the worms, and I imagine it can’t be half bad.

We get caught in traffic on a crowded bus on the bridge back over to San Diego. The cars aren’t idling anymore- they’re turned off- but the exhaust lingers, and paired with the humidity it’s a thick wool scarf around my mouth. There are people walking in and out of the lines of traffic selling blankets, water and food. The bus is soft shades of brown and yellow and it’s exactly like those movie scenes when a light is flickering in a seedy room and someone gets questioned. The sunset, however, is a contrast of stretched canvas: purple and pink and a little orange, as if God or Universe keeps going back with their paintbrush, carefully musing,

“I’m not done yet”.

The bus is so dirty but the sky is so vibrant and we are strangers taking it in together and it’s moments of humanity exactly like this that I’m always searching for. I engage in conversation with a man who is a body builder and out of all the things he says, he tells me how much he loves his fiance, and it feels so pure and real and innocent, like a soft breeze before a tsunami.

Now-I don’t know when the sickness completely sets in- on the bus or after- but the feeling begins in the center of my body and intensifies as the hours pass and all of a sudden I black out and I am not on the bus anymore, I am back in our hotel room. This new hotel room door opens right out to where the pool is. It’s surrounded by tall palm trees and looks exactly like a California postcard that says WISH YOU WERE HERE.

My Mom is controlled and calm- or may be pretending- and she leaves me alone in the hotel room with the lamp on next to my bed, insistent on getting food because I haven’t ingested anything since the chip, and since the chip- I’m not sure. It’s been a few days, probably. Eating food feels dangerous, like handling harsh chemicals with no face mask or gloves, like swallowing even a tiny amount will wound me.

Mom is gone for what feels like hours, and as she is gone I begin to land in my body for the first time in a long time, and over the course of the next few moments I am introduced to a new sensation: Panic.

My friend in highschool had this overweight cat named Mog and the cat would scratch her so much she didn’t even notice the scratches anymore, and this is exactly how I would describe my relationship with Fear. Panic is new though- we don’t have a relationship yet- and it decides to introduce itself to me here like an intrusive, arrogant guest at a social gathering- hastily and without consideration.

The panic tag-teams the pain and both feel sharp and excruciating and extend into every crevice of my body like heat from a glowing radiator. The pain comes in pulses, then leaves, in pulses, then leaves like the waves washing over Moms feet and every time it recedes I feverishly plead to God to never feel it again.

It’s a cycle of disappointment that my brain will become accustomed to not just for a few hours, but for the next several years of my life.

How did I get here?

Into this much pain, I mean.

Everything I feel in my spirit is beginning to manifest in my body. I feel exposed because my secrets are starting to surface and I’m disappointed in the way my own body can’t keep my demons hidden. Shame is my cloak and it keeps me warm at night the more weight I lose.

I stare up at the stucco ceiling and feel like a feather tucked away under blankets and sheets.

Mom went to get yogurt but what I actually need is brand new skin, a new cloak, kind secrets, a new life.

I think about the way housekeepers tuck the sheets in hotels and remember how my Mom eagerly explains to me that she learned how to tuck sheets like this in nursing school and whenever I return home my dreams feel safe and protected by this fabric fortress she creates.

I stare up at the stucco ceiling and wonder if I’ll die here, alone, panicked, but safely tucked with the California palm trees in view.

WISH YOU WERE HERE.

It feels like a mockery now.

I am a feather tucked away under blankets and sheets and the next pain pulse, like shock paddles, springs me out of bed to my knees. I crawl into the washroom and everything feels like a sharp tilt at sea. I grab onto the silver handicap bar and hold it for balance and think about that earthquake again, and if it were to happen right now I would truly be fucked.

I wonder if I’ll die here.

I’m too numb to have feelings around this statement but woke enough to realize the severity of what is happening. But my evening drink is denial on the rocks and today it tastes better than tequila, it’s the only thing I swallow now.

So here in San Diego, all I can do is wait; in this sliver of lamp light shining into the shadows of the washroom, away from the sheet tucks and waves and palm trees and Mexico and Mom. 

All I can do is Wait.

Nightmares, Mental Health + COVID

Via Founder @CaylaMeredith

*Trigger warning

I have had a few nightmares since we have been asked to stay home and to self-isolate- but last night took the cake. I had nightmare after nightmare- probably 6 or 7 in succession. They were TERRIBLE! They were the kind of nightmares that were so bad you don’t want to close your eyes again. All of them involved a loss of control and all of them involved catastrophes; a car flying off a cliff into water, a hostage situation, gasoline and fire- the list goes on.

I’ve already read several articles that said insomnia has increased, as well as unusual sleep patterns, weird dreams and nightmares.

Via an article on cnbc- behavioural researcher Christina Pierpaoli Parker says this may be the “WHY”:

We do most of our dreaming during a stage of sleep called “rapid eye movement.” This is when the brain grows more active and revs up the amygdala and hippocampus (regions of the brain that deal with emotions and memories).

In this time of heightened fear and distress, the brain has even more emotional demands to process. And because our brain likes order, the frontal lobes attempt to process, organize and integrate our thoughts to make sense of the chaos of REM neural signals (which is what produces those dreams).

In other words, our colorful yet strange dreams may be a reflection of the negative emotions invited by

Covid-19.

Clinical Psychologist Jennifer Martin says “we are wired to stay awake in the face of danger, and in that way, it’s normal to have struggles with sleep throughout all kinds of difficult situations.” [r:cnbc]

Research has also shown that  increased anxiety during the day can lead to more negative content in dreams.

Psychotherapist Jupiter Vaughan explains your brain as having several “folders” for the things in your life. One folder for your spouse, another for your work, another for your worries and fears and so on. When you sleep, the subconscious can just run freely and pick something totally random [from any of those folders- “It can be an ex [partner] from eight years ago or something that’s really present, like the coronavirus.” [r:global news]

SO- Where do we go from here? What can we do about it? CNBC has some ideas below or keep scrolling to read the summary of it, along with information compiled from other news articles

https://www.cnbc.com/2020/04/17/sleep-expert-who-had-weird-coronavirus-dreams-nightmares-what-i-do-to-sleep-better-now.html

1. Wake up at the same time everyday- The body rewards regularity: People who wake up at the same time experience more metabolic health, improved cognition and enhanced emotion regulation. Having something pleasant to look forward to- like coffee or a morning routine- can help + the natural light also helps entrain your circadian rhythm

2. Try and Stay Active- Vigorous, moderate or even mild cardiovascular exercise (i.e., walking or doing household chores) stimulates adenosine, which helps build sleep pressure — or the body’s “hunger” for sleep. And an increased sleep pressure means less likelihood of anxiety or insomnia.

3. Use your bed for sleep (or rest, or sex) ONLY- With more time spent inside, people may start adopting the habit of eating, working or binge-watching Netflix in bed. This can be disruptive to our sleep, because it trains the brain to associate the bed with daytime activities, rather than a place for resting. *If you can’t sleep, get out of bed (or if in a studio, go to a different space in the condo, and read under a dim light, meditate, fold laundry, stretch- whatever! until you’re sleepy again, and then return back to bed

4. Take a Bath and Stay Off Your Phone!- Most people think it’s easier to fall asleep after a bath because your body is nice and toasty. But the opposite happens: It actually brings the heat from the core of your body to the surface, thus naturally cooling the body and promoting a more peaceful sleep. Also- Darkness facilitates healthy production of melatonin, a hormone that promotes drowsiness; whereas light interrupts it. 

5. Stop Drinking Caffeine 10 Hours Before Bed- This gives your body a chance to metabolize most of the caffeine

6. Half an Hour before bed, Do Something You Wouldn’t Mind Dreaming About- Talk to friends, look at photos from a past vacation, read a book, do some light yoga. This is a way to positively influence your dream content!

7. Turn off the News Before Bed or Consume Less During the Day- Don’t consume stress-inducing pandemic updates right before bed. If you need to, head to a reputable news source 1x during the day.

All the information above was sourced from the below articles:

https://time.com/5821896/coronavirus-nightmares-dreams/

https://www.cnbc.com/2020/04/03/why-youre-having-pandemic-related-nightmares-and-how-to-sleep-better.html

https://globalnews.ca/news/6814991/coronavirus-dreams/

https://cnycentral.com/news/local/nightmares-over-covid-19-youre-not-alone-heres-what-to-do

I'm Cayla. This is My Story. Chapter 4

By Cayla Meredith

@CaylaMeredith

*this image was found online and details the spot indicated in the story below. Would love to give the photographer credit but this was found on flickr!

A note from the author:

Sometimes when I don’t know what to do with emotions attached to past events, I try and put them on paper. It’s a different way of processing and a different way of reflecting. I always feel lighter after I write, and it continues to help me on my own mental health journey. Perhaps it can help you too! Hope you enjoy.

*****************************************************************************************

I suppose this is the part in the book where Chapter 4 weaves the first three together; isn’t it?

I’m not sure.

What I’ve provided you with so far are snapshots of situations that have bruised me but shaped me- they are a part of a greater whole (and aren’t we all just a sum of our broken parts)?

But Chapter 4 is different. I wanted it to be different.

It’s about love.

Now- this is not a cushy story about love; more so an honest one of how I stumbled across it, like a foot catching a rock in the forest: quick, unexpected and jolting.

Chapter 4

He exists in a way that unsettles me; and I am unsure of what to do with this feeling.

After all, I am 18- what does unsettled even feel like?

He is confident, kind- a natural charismatic leader. He is high on everyones list, because back before social media everyone had lists.

“You should never stray from your list,” my friend Janel used to say.

We would talk about our lists deep into the hours of the night somewhere past lights out and before the breakfast alarm when, sleepily, everyone would tread downstairs to the dining room to butter their toast, to pour coffee, to say a prayer, to wake up. My friend would always race to sit next to me because I don’t like orange juice and I would frequently offer him my glass. Somewhere around mid-June I stop offering but he keeps asking, an annoying puppy wagging his tail, waiting for his treat.

I sit down.

I roll my eyes.

I hand him the glass.

“Schafer you’re the best, “ he says eagerly, finishing the glass in one gulp.

I think that guy is a doctor now.

Who even likes orange juice? It’s pulpy.

I’m avoiding the topic.

Unsettling.

Love.

Him.

Yes.

As Spring turns to Summer in June our days at camp are filled with laughter, adventure, swimming in the lake, singing, playing- freedom.

The weeks blend together and this place is safe, and I have never known safety so intimately before and I like it.

He is also safe. He is engaging and intelligent and we begin to spend more time together over cigars and clove cigarettes on back patios, on hikes, in his car, in mine.

We don’t touch. We talk. And instead of the actual physicality of unzipping my sweater I begin to reveal the intricacies of my mind to him in the exact same way; slowly, nervously, but with great intent.

We were raised in the church so this sharing of cigarettes and stories feels rebellious and wrong and right and we do it as often as we can, when we can, he’s an addiction, a sharp quick inhale of smoke that I want to hold as long as possible.

In a way he is Clyde and I am his Bonnie and brick by brick we deconstruct the foundation we were both raised upon. It’s both terrifying and liberating and the adrenaline of this casts us as Pariahs but moves us closer to each other.

That same Summer in August we are camping- three big groups from three different churches. We’ve spent all of July apart but we still write emails back and forth and we title them all to keep track.

He slides me a note during morning session:

Meet me tonight.

And I do.

The path to the beach is gravel and littered with large loose stones that roll between my feet and my flip flops every few minutes. Some of the tents around me are dark; some of them still have flashlights on- so when I pivot my heels and look behind me, the campground feels magical- like the inhabitants of each site are fireflies and I am Peter Pan.

I see him ahead on the path, hiding, but I pretend not to because I want him to scare me and pull me in, and he does. I grab the elbow of his sweatshirt, wrap my arm around his back, and rest my head on his chest for one second and it feels like home.

I have never known this feeling before now.

He grabs my hand.

“This way”.

He leads me up a steep incline into a short patch of woods, and through the contrast of the soft leaves + coarse trees the white light of the moon illuminates the water like black diamond.

We sit at the edge of a small cliff, the stones previously caught beneath my toes falling to the sand below with the soft evening wind taking their place.

If June was deconstructing a foundation, we lay a new one here in August. Something about this feels exploratory and free, like we are finally the artists of our life and tonight we paint together. We laugh, we look at the stars, we lay on our sides, he tells me he wants to get married young, he tells me he wants to teach overseas, we share silence. At one point we are shoulder to shoulder and I can hear the sound of his heart humming and it harmonizes with mine every few minutes, like they have known each other forever. There’s a certainty about the structure of his plans that unravels me, because I have never known structure before yet I have never been this sure. We don’t touch but I see him and he sees me, and this is the safe space I’ll go back to years later when I can’t sleep at night, when I can’t calm down, when I need to escape.

He tells me he wants to get married young. He turns his head towards me and asks me what I think. I can see the reflection of the moon in his glasses. I think he’s asking my permission, I think he’s planning for our future.

I like when he wears his glasses.

I tell him I believe in love but the reality is that we’re building this foundation tonight and I won’t walk through the door tomorrow. It will be years before I can intricately explain why.

Hours pass.

We part ways at the fork in the gravel road and this separation is the first foreshadowing in the novel of my life, the first crack in the canvas and I’m trying to keep painting but I’m too afraid. I don’t trust myself. I zip up my sweater and unzip the tent, no longer Peter Pan but a lost boy unsure of what to do, where to go, how to feel.

Katharine rolls over, opens one eye and pokes me in the side as I climb into the sleeping bag next to her.

“How was it?” She whispers.

The sleeping bag is lined with green plaid which I can barely make out in the early hours of the morning. I lift it up towards my nose, take a deep breath in and close my eyes. It smells like firewood, like damp dirt, like lake water, like a beginning or an end but I can’t tell which.

I exhale.

“The moon was nice”, I say.

********************************** Chapter 5 coming soon

Meet Alexandra: Part Two- This is What Battling a Medical Illness Taught Her About Avoidance, Fear + Self-Love

by @AlexandraIngold

Hi! It’s been awhile. If you haven’t read Part One to my story, you may want to do that before reading Part Two, otherwise things might not make much sense.

Remember when I told you that healing takes time?

I really meant it.

It’s been exactly two years since I was hospitalized for Mono, Pneumonia, and a sinus infection--the result for having taken immune suppressing medication that was keeping my Ulcerative Colitis in check. But it’s been within this second year of recovery that I feel as if I’ve become a new person.

Newsflash: Opportunities to change yourself can happen overnight--if you allow them to.

As the months passed after I had shared my first update with you, I began walking down a very fine line in regards to my health. I felt myself fighting for the life I had before getting sick. Fighting for a life that didn’t even exist anymore. I began slipping back into old coping mechanisms--over eating, over exercising and going on copious amounts of dates to distract myself. I looked left and right for validation from other people, and ignored the nagging voice in my head that was desperately telling me to rest.

Iin late February of 2019, I did what I thought was going to “fix me.” I bought a ticket, hopped on a plane, and flew to Vancouver for a week on my own-because surely, running to a completely different place would help me, right? And all while battling the negativity running through my head, I was battling the symptoms of a very serious medical condition. By that point, I had been off my medication for my Ulcerative Colitis for one year, and all my former symptoms were coming back quicker than ever.

For anyone with IBS/IBD, you’ll know the havoc this disease can cause on your body. My body began rejecting everything I put in my mouth. My stomach constantly hurt and became bloated, sometimes by just drinking water.

But I ignored it.

I ignored everything. Because I didn’t want to admit to myself or anyone around me that I was sick.

Sick again.

I’m good at ignoring reality, so I did what I knew best. I ignored. For that week in Vancouver, I ate whatever I wanted, kissed a lot of boys to help me ignore my body more, and continued to do whatever I wanted. And though I do not regret taking the trip, I look back on that week now and honestly don’t know how I made it home alive. Out of all the risky things I’ve done, that was the most dangerous and careless week of my whole life.

Somehow, I made it back to Ontario. Somehow, here I am. But after that week, my health plummeted to an all-time low. I was going to the bathroom 5-7 times every day. I started losing weight quickly, and my body felt weak. I ended up having to get a blood transfusion because my iron levels dropped to a dangerous level. I began getting regular iron infusions after that, and continued getting them on a weekly basis for the next three months. But, I told everyone I was fine.

“I’m fine!” I screamed, mostly to myself.

My GI doctor started to worry, informing me that we had to find an alternative medication to get me back on track-and find one that wouldn’t suppress my immune system. Except I told him that I wanted to try a more holistic approach--which he didn’t like. I can tell you that no doctor wants to hear their patients say they’d like to try taking herbs instead of Western medication.

Since it felt right for me to go down that route, I found a holistic healer to help me and I began her protocol. I began a new diet, started getting weekly reiki treatments and began taking a whole new whack of supplements. Within the first month, I started seeing improvements. I felt like I was getting stronger. Until- I went off track again. I’d like to point out that the outcome was in no way at the fault of my healer. Unfortunately, I could not stick to the plan. Even after reaping the benefits, after feeling and seeing improvement in the way I felt, I couldn’t seem to do it.

The reason? Truthfully, I don’t think I was ready to heal at that point (and if deep down inside, you’re not ready to heal, I don’t think any method will work for you).

The work always begins with you. You have to be 100% all in and ready. And I just wasn’t.

By May of 2019, I was in trouble, and by the end of June and into July, I was bedridden and going to the bathroom 7-10 times a day. My stomach was so uncomfortably distended, I couldn’t even lay down without feeling like my belly was about to burst. It felt as if someone was going at my organs with a dull chainsaw. It was an indescribable amount of pain.

I’m unclear as to why I waited so long to get help. But that’s what happens when you avoid the unavoidable. I was so painfully in denial that I was somehow even able to ignore intense pain.

By the end of July, I had an appointment to see my GI doctor. I knew things were really bad. I knew that I couldn’t avoid things any longer. My doctor took one look at my extended stomach and sent me by wheelchair down to the ER. He was concerned that I had an obstruction (and if I had, I would need emergency surgery that night to remove my colon and have a bag attached to my body which would become my new method of pooping. Yup!)

I’ve had my life flash before my eyes before, but nothing compares to how I felt that night.

I started thinking about all the horrible things I had done to my body that year, and all the actions that I DIDN’T take. Everything was about to blow up in my face, and now I’d lose my colon over it.

After multiple scans and a series of blood tests, it was concluded that there was no obstruction. I didn’t need emergency surgery. But I was still clearly very ill, so I was promptly admitted to the hospital, and I found myself back in an all too familiar spot. Lying in a hospital bed, with one of those scratchy blue gowns, chained to an IV post. Back where I started. Or so I thought. And test after test, doctors stood by my bed, telling me they were very confused. I had all these symptoms, yet nothing was really wrong? How could this be? My doctor even approached me with questions about whether or not I was dealing with an eating disorder. He told me I was extremely malnourished. Yes. And I can admit to struggling with body image dysmorphia, I can admit to having dealt with binge eating, but I can confidently tell you that I have never experienced a full blown eating disorder.

I was malnourished because I was going to the bathroom upwards of TEN times a day.

I was malnourished because my body rejected everything I put in my mouth.

I started feeling like no one was listening to me. I had fallen into this deep, dark hole with no way out. I began questioning everything I had done in the past.

How did I let myself get this sick again?

How come the doctors couldn’t tell me why I was feeling the way I was feeling?

And so a week into my stay at the hospital, my doctor told me we had to do a scope, so we could see what was really happening inside.

Sidenote: I need to go a bit off topic here, because this next bit is very important. Over the course of my hospital stay, I believe I experienced a whole lot of magic. And if you’re not into the woohoo stuff or you struggle with understanding spirituality, you may have a hard time with this next part. But it’s the most important part of this whole story, and I can’t leave it out. I believe that I had to experience staying in a hospital again. You know, I thought I was back where I started, but I wasn’t. I wasn’t at all. During my second stay in hospital, I wasn’t intubated, and I wasn’t fighting for my life in the intensive care unit like I was a year and a half ago. I had a voice this time, and I was able to communicate how I felt to my doctors. Which I did, especially after being accused of having an eating disorder.

For the first time in my life, I started advocating for myself, and standing up for my health.

I stopped ignoring what I was feeling.

And on top of all that, I was receiving the most love from the people around me that I’ve ever received before. And I was embracing it, which I had never been able to do before. I had no idea just how many people cared. I started getting phone calls, text messages, and surprise visits from people I hadn’t talked to in a year. Not only did my family 100% show up for me--as they always do, my friends and complete strangers showed up for me. And seeing other people show up forced me to show up for myself.

So here’s where things get spiritual. The night before my scope, I placed my two hands over my stomach and I repeated these words to myself, over, and over again:

“I’m healing, I’m healthy, I’m loved.”

I didn’t allow any negative thoughts in. Anytime I felt negativity knocking, I visualized myself politely shutting and locking a door.

“I’m healing, I’m healthy, I’m loved.”

And before I knew it, I was waking up after the scope, with my doctor standing by my bed looking nothing less than dumbfounded. He informed me that my scope showed significant improvement than the scope I had six months prior. He told me that my Ulcerative Colitis went from severe to mild. I started on a course of antibiotics, and in one weeks time, I was released from the hospital with minimal symptoms.

Magic, I tell you.

That night was pure magic.

And since that night, I have improved every single day. My stomach flattened out, I started being able to eat food without experiencing pain, and I’m no longer running to the bathroom ten times a day. My doctor chalked it all up to a very bad “stomach bug.”

;All the while I have chalked it up to avoidance, fear and a lack of self love.

I left the hospital that summer with a fresh mindset. And I’ll be honest, these past few months haven’t been easy for me.

I continually remind myself every day to slow down, to rest, to love myself, and to love others around me.

I’m still healing. But these days, I’m healing more than my physical body, I’m healing my mind, my belief system, and my values. The story isn’t over, but today, I’m able to recognize my strength and my resilience. I won’t give up on myself this time around.

I know I’m capable of achieving the life I deserve.

Meet Dr Emily Elliot, ND: This is Her Story on Stress + Burnout

By @dr.emilyelliot.nd

For most of my life, I have taken pride in my ‘type A’ personality.  I would beam with pride over ‘getting it done’, being a multitasker and wearing my busy-ness as a badge of honour. I had a tendency to jam pack more hours of work into the day than seemed humanly possible. I felt my absolute best when I was constantly moving, chasing and doing. It was my preference to not have a moment of stillness until I was passing out at 1:00 am, (aka. the second I would hit the pillow).

I later would learn that I was literally addicted to my stress hormones.

The stress hormones did their best to keep up for as long as they could.  Even amongst a plethora of very stressful family events, I seemed to be managing okay with this stress thing! In fact, my body was riding out the stress curves, low sleep and poor nutrition like a champ – so why would I change?

Or so I thought!

The early warning signs of stress dysregulation started with decreased immunity in the form of chronic sinusitis and bronchitis infections, major cravings for sugar and salt, difficulty getting out of bed, skin issues, increased irritability and I was absolutely wired at night, right at the time my body should have been winding down. It was clear that my body could no longer maintain the high cortisol and was headed into a state called ‘adrenal fatigue’, (a set of symptoms that arises when the body has been under prolonged stress). I let these new symptoms carry on for most of the next 10 years using band-aid solutions (that just kept adding to the problem) like coffee, a high sugar diet and continuing to never let my body come down from stress, in fear of feeling what it might take to get back up again.

It was after my naturopathic licensing exams in 2016 that 15+ years of excessive stress caught up with me. Around that time, my family also suffered a great financial loss and I felt as though I hadn’t taken a deep breath in a very long time. My body became so depleted and weak that it was a challenge to spend more than a few hours out of bed. To add to the problem, since chronic stress also starts to wreak havoc on major body systems, my digestion was a mess, my female hormones had gone wiry and I was experiencing frequent heart palpitations. Quite frankly, my whole body felt like a stranger’s. [Note: I continued with traditional medical testing (bloodwork, physical exams etc.) and everything came back clear, I wasn’t matching the diagnosis for any major disorder.]

At the very time I was ready to trade in my Naturopathic license out of exhaustion, I realized that this was the very medicine that was going to save me. I identified that I had adrenal fatigue from prolonged stress, leaky gut, estrogen dominance and a number of other imbalances well known to the Naturopathic world, and I knew exactly how I was going to heal them. 

It was during this time that I started to realize that stress as we classically know it (work deadlines, hefty mechanic bill etc.) is just one form of stress that our bodies can encounter. Stressors on the body can also come in form of – medications, pollution, food sensitivities, excessive fear and anxiety, emotional stress, poor boundaries, having chronic infections, eating processed foods, overusing alcohol/stimulants and the list goes on.  As someone who had been on the muffin and iced cap diet for years, taken round after round of (resistant) antibiotics, lived my life with a ‘lens of anxiety’ etc. etc.  - I realized that the work wasn’t going to come at the ‘snap of a finger’ but rather with a holistic overhaul, starting to clean up one thing at a time.  

While there are many things I have included in my healing plan over the last four years, here are three of the best things I did to help boost my stress glands and to bring my body back to the strongest it has ever been. 

1. Vibrant food for a vibrant body: Taking the time to curate good nutrition was one of the first ways that I started to heal myself.  Preparing fresh, colourful plant food meals from home is an amazing way to connect to healing foods and to show us how worthy we are of beautiful, vital nutrition. Here are some of the principles that I follow..  To start, I  to eat a variety of plant foods (lots of vegetables and some fruits) that includes all of the colours of the rainbow. Since each colour of plant food has a different benefit for the body, this is a beneficial practice. I also try my best to rotate my plant food selections at the grocery store each week as variation is beneficial for the microbiome ('aka a healthy gut'). Some other nutritional principles include: choosing quality proteins, having a small handful of nuts and seeds per day as a snack option, opting for healthy fats (e.g. olive oil & avocado oil) and to opt for whole grains (e.g. quinoa & buckwheat). As part of this healthy diet, I also eliminated processed foods, white refined sugars and inflammatory oils like canola. Last but not least, I eliminated coffee (that was a tough one!) and alcohol for 6 months (as they can be quite draining on our stress glands). I slowly introduced them back in (in mega moderation) when I was feeling better.  

2. The healing power of herbal medicines:  There were a number of plant medicines that helped to heal and nourish my body. Two of my absolute favourites along this journey were called passiflora and ashwaganda. Ashwaganda is a type of plant that is known in herbal medicine as an ‘adaptogen’ - to help the body to adapt to internal and external stressors. This herb can act as a tonic whether the body is in a higher or more deficient state of stress. On top of supporting the body through physical and mental fatigue, this herb helps to support memory.  Passiflora was my herb of choice for calming my nerves, supporting restlessness and nourishing my sleep. These two were incredible supporters as I worked to calm, nourish and rebalance.

3. A new way of thinking: No matter how many whole foods or medicines we try, the body cannot fully heal until we have taken good care of our emotional and mental health.  It is important to create a space where our nervous systems feel safe, calm and seen.  For me, seeing a therapist to help to reframe thought patterns was an incredibly powerful tool in altering the stress response. Through this work I was able to identify the beliefs that stood behind my thought patterns and then as I worked to reframe these beliefs, I was able to change my thinking.   Daily meditation was also an imperative in my stress and exhaustion recovery plan. This practice takes us out of the the external world of stimulation and doing and roots us into our bodies, into a feeling of being grounded and feeling safe and calm. Some of my favourite meditation teachers include Abraham Hicks (youtube), Joe Dispenza (itunes store) and Elena Brower (yoga glo). 

The journey out of chronic stress patterns is not an easy one, but it is a worthwhile one. When we have been operating at full speed for so long, it can actually feel scary to ‘come down’ from stress. It can feel uncomfortable to learn to sit with ourselves as we untangle from the web of constant distraction. Though, on the other side of this work is some powerful healing. As our body starts to re-regulate, all of the systems starts to re-boot – we are digesting better, feeling better, moving better and the list goes on and on. If chronic stress has been a part of your journey, ask yourself, "what is one thing that I can do today to invite in my most peaceful and bliss-filled life?" Your intuition will take you towards the best healing path for you.  Wishing you peaceful and calm moments, today and always.  

P.S.

If you are looking for Naturopathic support as part of your healthy vision, it would be my honour to work with you! You can read more about me on my website and book here. http://dremilyelliot.com/contact/ 

Meet Alanna: How Running Led Her Back to Herself

Hi. My name is Alanna. I first came to know about Move to Heal just under a year ago and was immediately compelled to get connected. The mission resonated with me because movement has healed me and it has also become a huge part of my daily self-care practice.

Here’s why:

In my late teens, I developed anorexia and lost much of my youth, mental energy and vitality to the disorder. I spent my senior year of high school in a hospital. My delicate physical and mental state meant a local university choice was the only option my parents were comfortable with. In hindsight, it was the right choice as I had to drop out of my first semester to get back on track after relapsing.

I spent the better part of 3 years not exercising at all.

Perhaps yoga here and there but definitely nothing to stress my cardiovascular system. As my weight stabilized and I was healthier mentally and physically, I began to introduce running back into my routine. I always did cross country as a kid, played soccer growing up and was always noticed for being able to “run forever and not get tired”.

Because of my history I started running in secret. I knew my parents and health care providers would strongly discourage it. They said it was “Too dangerous” or “It’s a slippery slope”- but at the same time I knew I absolutely loved running and it made me feel good. After years of hating so much about myself and, if I’m being honest, being completely lost, I was desperate to find something that made me feel like Alanna again.

So I started small. I hit the track at Ryerson university and ran for 20 minutes at a time. There was a lap counter on the wall there and I used to see how many laps I could fit into the 20 minutes I gave myself to run. It became something I looked forward to. I quickly began to notice the mental benefits of incorporating running back into my routine, in a healthy way.

Running became (and still is) like my therapy. It is something I have to show up for, something I have to fuel my body for, something I have to respect my body to do and something that reminded me who I was.

Flash forward to today and I’ve had the privilege of moving my body through many 5ks, 10ks, half-marathons, marathons, triathlons (even a half Ironman!) as well as some personal upsets, family issues and many low points in my life. Running is my outlet- and being able to run in a healthy body is one of my greatest accomplishments.

So, finding an online space like The Move to Heal Project that focuses on movement as an adjunct to therapy- it spoke to me. It is, in my non-medical opinion, why I’m here today. If I can play a small role in helping others know they are not alone in whatever they are going through, it would be an absolute honour.

My purpose here is to share some of the ways I’ve incorporated movement and mental health awareness into the corporate setting in which I work. Before diving into that, I thought sharing the why behind the column would help you better understand the motive behind it.

Looking forward to sharing more with you!

Meet Erin: From Anxiety, to the Psychiatric Ward, to Self-Acceptance.

From Anxiety, to the Psychiatric Ward, to Self-Acceptance. This is her Story.

By Erin of @thekeepitrealproject

Imagine wearing a full body costume, that covers every inch of you.

From your toes, up your legs, around your torso and chest, down your arms to your fingertips, and over your head and face. Imagine this costume looks like a person when you look at it in the mirror; it looks like you. It has the same skin, hair, and facial features as you. It has curves, dimples, contours. Now, imagine coming to realize you cannot remove the costume. There are no seams. No zippers. No buttons. You’re trapped. Locked beneath the surface of this body that doesn’t belong to you. You look the same, but every part of you, every sensation feels foreign.

This was my reality for a very long time. It has a name: Anxiety.

My diagnoses? Panic disorder, Phobic Anxiety, and ARFID (Avoidant Restrictive Food Intake Disorder).

I grew up with a health-related phobia of germs, illness, and contamination. Some of my earliest memories involve serious panic attacks, obsessive thoughts and behaviours, and avoidance techniques. I had become fixated on the idea that something bad was going to happen to me. All of my bodily sensations were heightened and I experienced constant stomach pain, nausea, and cold-sweats. Normal everyday activities like going to school would send me into full-fledged meltdowns. It became so serious that my parents were forced to pull me out of the mainstream school system and homeschool me for a number of years.

I spent my days obsessively showering and washing my hands until they cracked and bled. I spent hours on end by the toilet, convinced I was going to throw-up (I never did). I ate a very small number of simple foods that I deemed “safe”, and my weight stayed dangerously low for most of my childhood.

Things improved slightly as I aged with the help of a number of therapists, psychologists, and a nutritionist. I was looking forward to going to a public high school and getting a fresh start. But…

At the beginning of my grade 9 year, my Mom passed away suddenly.

I was 13, dealing with the typical freshman problems of making friends and fitting in, I was predisposed to mental health issues, and now here I was dealing with an extremely monumental loss, the worst pain I would likely ever endure. My Dad remarried within a year. So, in a way, I kind of felt as though I had lost both my parents.

I felt so alone.

I was so desperate for attention that I became very rebellious. I felt betrayed by my Dad (and by the world quite frankly) so I disobeyed everything he said. We fought so much; I felt like it was impossible to see eye to eye. I skipped school, and when I did show up I acted out in class and got in trouble a lot. I left for days on end without telling anyone where I was. I lied to anyone and everyone and dug my “lie holes” deeper and deeper. I started hanging out with other people who were participating in the same destructive behaviours in an attempt to feel a sense of belonging. I was “popular”, surrounded by people, but still felt alone and misunderstood.

I managed to graduate high school on time and off I went to college a couple of hours away. As soon as I arrived and moved into my dorm room, I started having night terrors, panic attacks, and major depressive episodes. I had no appetite and barely ate anything. I would stay in bed for days, so overcome with anxiety and sadness that I was unable to attend my classes or participate in social activities. My dream of the true college experience was completely squashed. I only made it until thanksgiving before dropping out and moving back home. I felt totally defeated. I was ashamed and disappointed in myself. I felt as though I would never get the “fresh start” I had always wanted, and I wallowed in this sadness.

My world got smaller and smaller; first I didn’t want to leave my neighbourhood, then, my house, then, my room. The simplest of tasks felt monstrous. I stopped taking care of myself. I felt like a zombie who couldn’t shower, get outside, or eat. I just laid in my bed in a constant state of panic that was never ending.

I remember thinking to myself how horrific it felt to even be alive; to feel things. To need to eat. To need to breathe. I didn’t want a body. I didn’t want a life.

My family witnessed all of this and were at a loss for what to do. They tried to help me in so many different ways, but eventually their only option was to take me to the hospital. I was admitted to the psychiatric ward against my will. This was one of the scariest moments of my entire life, but it’s when I had a revelation of sorts:

I had to start taking my mental health seriously.

I was given my diagnoses, my medication was adjusted (which made a massive difference) and I was put in an intensive outpatient treatment program, which was 4 days a week for 4 hours. My world had become so small that this seemed like the most massive commitment, and in a way it was. I was overwhelmed and ashamed of the idea of sitting in a room surrounded by “crazy” people. But when I got there on the first day, I was surprised to find myself surrounded by a diverse group of people who I would never expect to be there. There was a successful lawyer, a mother of 3, a fashionable girl around my age. I realized that seeking help wasn’t a shameful act, and that more people experienced issues with anxiety and depression than I ever could have imagined. It made me feel less alone. Every day I got up and made my way to the hospital. We talked about our struggles and experiences, we learned a bunch of skills and tools to help us cope, we even did different activities like arts and crafts and sports. I found the program, at least, gave me a purpose and a reason to get out of the house and, at most, changed my life. I was actually kind of sad when the program ended and definitely scared to be thrown back into the “real world”. But I used the skills I had learned to slowly get back to a normal life.

Things got better. Not immediately, but gradually and steadily.

I reintroduced my body to food and gained my appetite back. I started seeing my friends, driving my car again. The times where I felt relaxed and not preoccupied by my own symptoms and what they meant became longer and more frequent. I was finally beginning to live.

I owe who I am today to self acceptance. Accepting that I need a little bit more discipline and care than the average person might, and that’s totally okay. I owe it to taking my wellness seriously, investing in myself, and putting in consistent work to stay healthy and happy.
I owe it to all the incredible people who love and support me. I owe it to asking for help, and actually accepting it (I’ve had countless therapists over the years but it wasn’t until I truly accepted help that I started to see changes). But most of all, I owe it to me.

I have saved me.

I still feel trapped in the costume sometimes. But now, I realize something drastically important: it’s not a costume at all. It’s me. It’s MY skin, MY hair, MY facial features. MY curves, MY dimples, MY contours. This process of reclaiming my body as my own has been wildly liberating, and I have never been happier or healthier. I can’t wait to see what the rest of this beautiful life, the same one I once resented, holds for me.

Meet Kourtney: On Fear, Stress + Moving Forward

By Kourtney Meldrum

@kasualkourt

Stress is normal; an unavoidable part of life- a lot of times it can even be healthy. All this being said, stress can also be unwarranted, it can be dangerous, it can consume our lives, and in many ways, it can harm us.

In September of 2018, my health started to turn. It still unclear to this day what happened, but suddenly I was exhausted beyond belief, I had no appetite, and the migraines I had been plagued with my whole life had been joined by a constant dull head pain that clung to my skull and refused to leave.

My usually packed schedule and active lifestyle was no longer an option. There were days I couldn’t stay awake for more than a few hours and would have to nap before continuing with my day.

I didn’t feel like myself.

Previously, my life had revolved around adding more things to my plate, always challenging myself, and continually searching for a new goal to conquer. Suddenly, everything I was working on and working towards was put to a halting stop. I physically couldn’t keep up. I was mentally exhausted. I was stressed.

I was stressed because I couldn’t keep up. I was stressed because I was in pain. I was stressed because I was too exhausted to fight through it. I was stressed because I was falling behind. I was stressed because I knew I could never keep up. I was stressed because I felt like a failure.

This was not me. To say no to opportunities, to miss deadlines, to forget to reply to emails, to stop chasing dreams, skip classes, nap instead of going to the gym, to give up.

I felt like, if I wasn’t the person who could do it all and take everything on, then who was I?

I was having an identity crisis with no energy to find my way back, and I was stressing TF out.

The word failure consumed my life. It flashed across my brain like a news headline, and I couldn’t escape it. It defined me, and I wrestled with it. Over and over again I would tell myself that I wasn’t a failure, but deep down I felt like one, and it was a pain I couldn’t let go of.

Since September I had taken on big projects, had stressful school classes, experienced the death of a friend, and felt isolated in a city that months before had felt like home. Stress and anxiety had become uncomfortably comfortable and built themselves a little house to stay. The stressors in my life had been given so much energy that they had grown into nasty beasts that reared their heads in the forms of panic attacks that hit me harder than I’ve ever experienced in my life- on the streetcar, in Ubers, on the sidewalk, in my bed, in coffee shops, in school hallways- I’d hyperventilate and try to count my breaths. Sometimes I’d catch myself being so lost in my streams of thoughts that I would forget to breathe.

When I went to my doctor back home in December, I had been dealing with this pain for over three months there were still no clear answers. One of the suggested reasons for my new head pain was tension headaches. These tension headaches, my doctor recommended, had been brought on by stress.

This hurt. The realization that I had made myself so stressed, that I had become so incredibly sick broke my own heart.

Beyond feeling like a failure for the past four months, I felt I had truly failed myself. I had done this to myself in many ways.

While this does not solve the entire puzzle of me feeling unwell, my constant stress and anxiety put a considerable amount of pressure on my physical health.

Following this conversation with my doctor, I went on a month long vacation with my family to Hawaii. I took the time to recharge. I knew it was vital for my health and wellbeing. I left Calgary on December 17th as the most broken down, worn out, anxiety-filled, stressed out, and exhausted version of myself I have ever been. I took the month to disconnect from my life in Toronto, to spend real and meaningful time with my family, to be outside, to reevaluate my priorities, and in many ways decide what I want from life.

For a majority of people taking a month-long vacation is not an option but I'm grateful that I could. I still came back home with stress, the same problems, and new hurdles, but at least I had had some distance and a fresh perspective.

My priority is my health right now. Both finding answers for my physical health and making sure I’m taking care of my mental health. Everything else comes second to that.

The past sixth months have felt like the worst in many ways, but have also taught me incredibly significant lessons.

My idea of failure and success is distorted. Living my life in a state of being constantly busy is not healthy or sustainable. Sometimes I go for things to prove I can; not because I want them.

Both my pain and my stress are real, and it is okay to feel them.

All of my ‘failures’ built my greatest successes. Being able to recognize my pain and put my health first is the biggest win, even though it meant saying no and letting things go - ‘failing’ in many ways. But I have come to recognize that this isn’t failing: This is learning to win in the ways that matter.

Stress is unavoidable in life. Stress can also kill you. I allowed so much stress and anxiety to fill my life that I made myself incredibly sick.

I will leave you with this.

We live in a culture where being consistently on the go is idealized and where stress, never-stopping, never-sleeping, and working yourself to the limit, is put on a pedestal. It is not a healthy way of life. It is toxic, and it physically and mentally tears you down.

You know your  limits, listen to them.

You know who your support system is, so lean on them.

You know when you don’t feel your best, pick up on those clues and patterns.

Where do you find the light, the love, and the joy in your life?

Follow that.

(Everything else has a way of figuring itself out)

Meet Becca: On Having Brain Surgery + Re-Claiming Her Life Back

By Rebecca Lewis @torontoblondie

Photo by @innayas

When I was seventeen, I had brain surgery.

The irony is that these words, brain surgery, are still scary to me. I like to avoid saying them out loud. I think this is because in retrospect they make my experience seem so overwhelming - part of me doesn’t even believe it happened to me. Instead, I prefer to think of my surgery as the experience that gave me my life back, and I hope other people who hear my story think of it this way too. I think of it as something that I had to go through so I could be here now.

Throughout my childhood, I remember having frequent headaches. They were something I became used to and something I learned to cope with. But at the beginning of grade twelve, my headaches got worse. I don’t like to take pain medication unless I’m experiencing a level of pain that is preventing me from getting through my day - that was how bad my headaches became. My pain also became consistently localized, a throbbing that would start right above my left eye and spread to the back of my head.

My headaches would always hit mid-afternoon, so I started to bring a bottle of Advil to school with me. Most days, the Advil didn’t help. I would take it anyway, suck it up and go straight to my room when I got home to try to sleep it off. Do you remember life at seventeen years old? I was worried about getting good grades so I would be accepted into my university of choice, and simultaneously trying to figure out how to get my crush on the football team to notice me. I figured I was stressed out, and that it would get better. I never considered any other possibility.

But my body was giving me so many signs. At this time, as my headaches were getting worse, my pediatrician was running tests on me for a different issue. I was seventeen and still didn’t have my period. My bloodwork showed that my hormone levels were totally out of whack and nowhere near the level they should have been for my age. Crazy enough, this was the only reason I ever went in for an MRI, my headaches weren’t something I originally brought up to my doctor. My MRI came back showing accumulated fluid in my brain.

My doctor told me that the fluid in my brain wasn’t flowing properly, so my third ventricle had become severely enlarged. It was so enlarged that it was pressing on my pituitary gland and preventing it from functioning properly. As I had just learned in my grade twelve biology class, the pituitary gland is the tiny but very powerful little organ at the bottom of our brain that controls our body’s hormone production. All of a sudden, everything made sense - my pituitary gland wasn’t sending out the proper signals to my body, so my body wasn’t producing the necessary hormones. My headaches were most likely caused by the huge build-up of pressure inside my head.  My pediatrician referred me to a Neurosurgeon at Sick Kids Hospital.

This is when everything started to happen very quickly. My Neurosurgeon at Sick Kids needed another MRI to determine exactly what was going on in my head. When he saw the scan, he scheduled my surgery for the very next day. I remember my Neurosurgeon saying he didn’t know how I was getting up every morning, going to school every day and functioning as well as I was. He felt I must have a very high tolerance for pain. I didn’t even really have a chance to process what was happening, but obviously the situation was serious. The plan was to perform a Third Ventriculostomy, which would create a secondary pathway to my spine so the fluid in my brain could drain and remove the pressure from my pituitary gland.

My surgery was a major trial for my family but it was a turning point in my life. Thinking back now, I never considered that there was any chance I would not wake up. Today, ten years and way too many episodes of Grey’s Anatomy later, this would be my biggest fear. Mostly, I remember my parents telling me how much they loved me and that when I woke up I would feel so much better. I had no idea how terrified they were, and am so thankful they both put on such a brave face for me.

People say Sick Kids Hospital is the happiest place in the world - they’re not lying. Although I was in recovery, my time there was incredibly happy. I can’t put into words the amount of love and support I felt. When I left Sick Kids, I was a different person. I was ecstatic to no longer be experiencing the daily headaches I had become so accustomed to, but my experience also made me very aware of my health. I became intensely interested in nutrition, I wanted to know as much as I could about what to feed my body to keep it strong and functioning efficiently.

I grew up doing a lot of ballet, but for the first time I started to really understand the benefits of movement and a good sweat. I began to learn to love and appreciate my body for everything it is capable of doing for me, something I still try to remind myself of often.

The way each little cell in our bodies works together to keep us breathing, moving and experiencing is pretty remarkable. As the one single thing that we will carry with us for the rest of our lives, shouldn’t we be taking the best possible care of our bodies?

Today, I try my best to eat whole, nourishing foods and I move my body because I can, but also because it keeps me sane. A lot of people comment on my positivity - they tell me they wish they could have my positive perspective on life. I credit so much of my positivity to my life experiences, but I also think life is a whole lot easier to navigate when you do it from a place of gratitude. While I am still dealing with the consequences of my condition, I feel so incredibly grateful for the way it all turned out. It taught me to listen to my body and the signs it is giving me. It helped me accept that my pace in life is not necessarily going to be everyone else’s pace, but that’s okay. It helped me realize that life is messy, and things don’t always go the way we plan, but that the challenges we face always help us grow and gain understanding. And ultimately, it taught me to find beauty in the little things.

Meet Kourtney: On Conquering Mountains + Learning to Rest

BY: Kourtney Meldrum

Early in the Summer of 2016, in the middle of the night, my best friend and I stood at the base of a mountain. It was pitch black, and the only light came from our headlamps. We started the ascent up to the peak; feeling lost in the dark, following a path that often diverged, bears and cougars looming in the back of our minds, we hiked through the dark, and halfway through falling snow. It was an uphill battle (literally). When we wanted to quit, we pushed through. After scrambling up the loose rock the mountain dropped off into a sheer cliff, and the world opened up.

In the very early hours of the morning, I stared at the sun rise and explode into water-colour pastels over the rocky mountains. I wanted to cry. We had made it. We’d pushed through, refused to quit- we made it.

This moment changed my life in so many ways.

At this point in time I was just shy of 19 years old and finishing my first year of university. I had just begun to love fitness as it helped me work through depression and was quickly becoming obsessed with the outdoors. The cumulation of those things is what brought me to the peak of a mountain at 6am, taking in the world in a way I’d never experienced it before.

This experience became a mantra for my life- When you want to quit you keep going. You take one step at a  time, then one more, then one more, until you reach the top. This was proof that I could make it to the top of grandiose mountains; any mental mountain I faced in my life would pale in comparison.

I. Could. Conquer. Mountains.

This became my mindset going forward and is responsible for so many of the great things in my life. I felt empowered to take on more, to accomplish more, to prove myself wrong when I didn’t believe I could do things. I could conquer mountains, I could do anything.

On a trip to Africa with my father, we hiked up a mountain in Mauritius. As I dragged my father up a mountain in the sweltering heat of the early morning, I thought many times that this might actually kill him. I told him we could stop, go back, we didn’t have to finish the hike. As my father took a final step to the top, I’m not sure I’ve ever felt more proud. My father turned to me and said, “I am a finisher, not a quitter.” This became another mantra for my life.

I’ve created a mentality that has pushed me forward in life to chase after my goals and dreams with an intense ferocity. I crave to feel challenged and uncomfortable as I searched for growth and accomplishments. I have pushed myself hard because I could, and I knew I could handle it. I never quit, I never rested, because I knew that I could do more.

In the past few months, all of that changed.

Some health issues surrounding the migraines I’ve experienced for over a decade forced me to slow down my life. I’ve been exhausted, in pain, and sick. I’ve been so mad at myself. I’ve felt like a quitter. I’ve felt like a failure.

Most days I don’t feel my best and consequently, am not performing at my best. I’ve said no to opportunities, lessened my responsibilities, and done the bare minimum to get by. I’ve done this because I physically have not been able to live my life the way I was before.

I didn’t even have the option to make a choice to take care of myself; I’ve had to. I’ve been so exhausted for months and in daily pain that I’ve had to learn to rest more and put taking care of myself a priority so that I can perform the tasks I do have to the best of my ability.

It’s hard for me to even put into words how tough this has been for me. Resting is the antithesis to how I’ve lived my life for years. It’s been mentally draining to not push for my best. In many ways, I feel like significant parts of who I am as a person have been stripped from me in this period. If I’m not someone who can conquer mountains, who is a finisher, who doesn’t quit, then who am I?

I’ve had to learn to rest, and I’m still accepting that that is okay.

I’ve been learning that putting myself and my health first is not only okay but essential. I’ve found solace in the community of people who love me and support me. I’ve found a degree of acceptance in sharing where I am, and how I’m feeling.

I am not a failure. I am not a quitter. I am a finisher, and I can conquer mountains. My new mantra has shifted, but it has the same sentiments. As I ground myself by placing my hands on my knees, I say “These legs have carried me up mountains, and they can make it through this day.”

Meet Mikaila + How Her 6th Concussion Changed Her Life

In the Summer of 2014, I was given a gift in disguise.

An elbow to the back of the head granted me my 6th concussion; a circumstance which I at first perceived as an obstacle, but quickly realized to be a very powerful miracle.

I was hit by the occipital lobe, so my eyes were unable to focus on a screen or words. I had no access to TV, computers, phones, or written content of any kind. Listening to and processing information - visual or audial - was difficult.

Graduation from University, exercise, normal conversation, and large gatherings were put out of question by doctors. I became well acquainted with my bed… and myself.

I had not realized was that I had been given a rare opportunity to live simply; to get in touch with myself, with no access to outside information.

As a high extrovert completely immersed in the “hustle culture” at the time, introspection was a rarity. I had, in the past, searched externally for much of that which I defined as “happiness” or “success”. I can recall mentally straining for months, feeling such unease as I lay in my bed imagining what I was missing at school, how my athletics would be affected, and similar less than productive thoughts.

I quickly began to realize that what we focus on is the reality which we create.

And therein, the overhaul of my thought processes began,

for what we believe to be true for ourselves is how we experience life.

Albert Einstein once said that the most important decision which humans need to make is whether we live in a fearful or loving Universe, and I agree! Choosing to believe in the good, even if my mind couldn’t quite comprehend it, was a very intentional thought, which after a little bit of forcing (hehe), became a pattern.

The starkest of contrasts took root when I allowed myself to relax into life in this sense, trusting what I was experiencing without any logic, except that I had chosen to believe that there was a loving reason for the concussion. When the strain of attempting to control the circumstance dissolved, I began to notice simple things that I had never taken a moment to noticed before.

The vibrance of the seasons, for example. The purples emerging in the spring, to the lush greenery and warm wind of a summer evening, to the smell of crisp leaves in the air of the fall brought to my attention by the winds of change.

My busy mind previously fragmented by multiple thoughts shifted into a knowing that…

To live “here and now” is to be in tune with miracles present in each moment;

To be in conscious conversation with someone is to FEEL their emotions; to be compassionate;

To experience personal emotions of frustration or anger as an observer, simply knowing that emotions come and go like weather;

To begin to realize that absolutely anything is possible to create when you place your attention there, including recovery from physical injury; and

To begin to cultivate only positive thoughts out of realization that they literally manifest in how you view your world; your reality, and what is possible in your life.

Now, sometimes, I dance around the gym or catch myself with a face sore from smiling, walking through the grocery store simply because I am experiencing it: A life where every moment is perfect.

My definitions of certain words in our culture began to shift:

“Success” shifted from “accomplishment” to “experience”;

“Joy” became “this moment” rather than a state I had to reach;

“Comparison” became uncomprehensible, because no two perceptions or life stories are the same

“Judgement” stopped, because “Compassion” took root in my heart.

As such miracle minded concepts took root in my mind, these thoughts translated into a belief that recovery was very, very possible.

Thought turned into action, and my body slowly, through incremental shifts in training, began to believe itself to be more capable, as well: I have completed University and am beyond blessed to be able to move my body again. (Except for the splits; a skill I am determined to have! Currently sitting at approximately 90 degrees out of the full 180. Heheh!)

Choosing love and positive thoughts are the best medicine. After years of treatment, the greatest shift in physical recovery began once my mind truly and wholeheartedly believed it to be possible!!

When we do our best to choose a loving intention to underlie every thought, word, and action, no circumstance can be perceived as an obstacle. 

Here’s to relaxing into the world, welcoming what comes, focusing on abundance, loving all those in our lives, and believing that we ARE capable of surfing that wave.

:) :) :)

Meet Ariella. This is her Story of Dysthymia, Suicide and Anxiety + How She Continues to Find Comfort in Exercise

Lesson no. 1: never judge a book by its cover.

I was born and raised in Buffalo, New York and am the eldest of three children.  My father is a physician, mother a nurse, brother a 22 year old division 1 hockey player “life of the party”, and sister the full package of beauty and brains at 20.  Then there’s me, Ariella- 25 years old with a mind comparable to a watch that continues to tell time even when the battery dies.  But that’s not all; there is more, so much more.

Since before I can remember, I have always felt different.

Not different in the way I looked or acted, but different in the way my mind worked.  Let’s be real – what kid doesn’t feel like an outcast at one point or another?  I convinced myself I was just like everybody else and kept on keeping on with my life because at the end of the day, the mind is an inanimate object that couldn’t be operated on to change it’s makeup.  And physical medicine was all I had known being raised by two parents in the medical field.  

As the years passed and I moved through milestone stages in my life, this feeling of being different seemed to become more prevalent on a day to day basis and the struggle became very real.  But-nobody would know, because from the outside, my life was perfect.  I was a goody two-shoes- a sociable, intelligent pretty girl, with a dream wardrobe, a cookie cutter family, and a smile on my face.  Always.

What could possibly be wrong with someone who is always happy and has it all, am I right? 

Let’s jump to the part of the story where Ariella is in her third year of high school (sorry for the weird third person interjection – sometimes I like talking about myself as if I’m someone else doing it).  The word “therapist” was one that I began to learn more about and thought maybe I should see one.  Speaking to someone about this weird feeling that wouldn’t go away, but kept getting worse, sounded like a good idea.  

At my first session, I was diagnosed with Dysthymia, persistent mild depression.  Keep in mind – nobody knows what goes on behind closed doors and there were many things other than my genetic makeup that were affecting my feelings.  Well, okay, I guess that made sense considering staying in my bedroom watching TV was always the better alternative to doing pretty much anything else.  I continued going to therapy as needed and felt little improvement.  It was a bonus to have an unbiased ear to listen to your problems that nobody knows about-

But this did not fix me. 

Off to college I went; my first semester was spent in London, England.  That’s when I really began understanding depression because I felt different in more than just my own mind; my physical self was beginning to have a tough time as well.  It was a very long and dragged out slippery slope, but it was only the beginning of what hell I was about to go through.  When I returned from London, I FINALLY had a word for my overall feeling of being different: Generalized Anxiety Disorder.

My third semester of college was in the fall of 2012.  I was going through the motions of being a college student.  Going to class, doing my homework, partying, breaking rules, and “living it up”.  That is far from what I felt like I was doing though, I felt more down and out than ever before.  I began Cognitive Behavioral Therapy with a private therapist near my school.  Then the straw broke the camel’s back. I lost all sense of myself and felt like more of a black sheep in a world of white sheep than I ever had before.

I had a full on mental breakdown my spring semester of 2013.  

The crying spells were endless, my appetite nonexistent, and here comes that S word- Suicide was all I could think about.  I didn’t want to be here anymore.  I found the idea of being somewhere other than in my physical body much more beautiful.  I had no plan and did not want to die, but I just wanted to be gone.  I wanted to be in a place where my mind didn’t make things so fucking complicated for me at every second of every day.  

I spent 24 hours in a Psychiatric hospital after insisting on going to the ER.  It led to my decision to take the semester off of school and get my feet back on the ground again.  What the actual fuck was I doing?  Here I am about to embarrass my parents for having a kid with a mental illness.  My friends are going to cut me off because who wants to be friends with a crazy girl?  Everyone is going to think that either I have been living a lie or am lying about what I am going through.  I’ll never be able to live my “normal” life again.

Oh to have the brain of someone with GAD … Meanwhile, back on the ranch (in Buffalo, not at school), I began to see a Psychiatrist and spent months testing and disputing different medications because I concluded after being in years of therapy, I needed a bit of extra help.

 And so began my road to recovery, a recovery that is lifelong.

That was 5 years ago. I was younger then and new to the mental illness club.  (I hate to call it that, a mental illness.  It’s such a degrading and ugly phrase.  You will often hear me refer to it as being different and mental health issues because in my eyes, it’s just like any other illness, but with a not so nice title.)  Every day brings about new obstacles, but every day I am learning what helps me be able to function.

Writing is my love.  I began writing during my semester off from school about my experience and have been writing ever since.  It’s scary as shit talking about something that is not accepted by most of society, but it’s opened up my eyes to how many people I can help by simply sharing my story.  Being consistent with it is not my strong suit, but getting my body moving serves as an instant mood boost.  Some days getting out of bed is what I consider to be exercise, but on other days I go on long walks, do a SoulCycle class, or a virtual workout.

Exercise has never failed to comfort me.

There are so many things I can and want to say about my experience living with Generalized Anxiety Disorder and Depression, but I can’t give away every detail that I want to include in my (one day) book.  So I will leave you with an easy to read bulleted list for those struggling with their mental health and those who know someone who is.

If it’s YOU:

• You are not alone.  I know first hand that more often than not it feels like you are in isolation, but I promise you are not alone.

• You are allowed to talk about it.  People will always hear what they want to hear and refute what they disagree with.  Guess what – this is your life and not for them to decide how you are supposed to live it.

• Not everyone will understand what you go through day in and day out, and some may not even accept it.  Don’t be discouraged by it.

• You are just as much a human as everybody else.  If others are going to treat you differently for opening up, change your surroundings.

If it’s a LOVED ONE:

• Don’t take anything personally.  When you are not wanted around, it has nothing to do with you, and everything to do with how your loved one is feeling.

• Don’t tell without being asked.  Suggesting ways to deal with their mental health to loved ones may seem to be in their best interest, but it’s not the case.  Chances are they have tried everything in the book at one point or another, especially if their diagnosis is nothing new.

• Just be there.  When I am not in a good place, sometimes all I need is someone to physically be there, even if it means sitting on the couch with me in silence. 

• Educate yourself.  It’s hard to relate to something you don’t experience first hand, but there are so many resources available for you to learn more about mental ailments. 

Being you is the best you can be.

A Chat with Author Rebecca Ray: "It's Not About Just Feeling Good"

A Chat With the Author:

Rebecca Ray, Author of ‘Be Happy: 35 Habits for Personal Growth and Well-Being’.

It’s Not About Just Feeling Good

My first book has a title that I wouldn’t have chosen personally. It’s called Be Happy: 35 Powerful Habits for Personal Growth and Well-Being. It’s those two little words, ‘Be Happy’, that don’t sit well with me (authors don’t always have a say in what publishers consider will help books jump off the shelves and into the hands of readers!)

You see, if happiness is your goal, then the most valuable experiences you can have – the ones that challenge you to grow, the ones that break you and shape you by their significance – will be lost to your efforts to feel good all the time.

I didn’t write this book to help you feel good all the time, and I know that you probably don’t expect to – but I bet you’d like to! Me too, but unfortunately, suffering is an unavoidable part of our human experience. Still, we often assume others feel a whole lot better than we do or have some kind of happiness secret that we don’t have access to.

I wrote this book to help you live fully, richly, and meaningfully. I wrote it to help show you that you are normal for feeling all the feelings! And I wrote it to show you my favourite practices for well-being that I use in my work as a psychologist (and as a human being trying to live well). In four sections, I show you that there are things we can choose, cultivate, practice, and make space for that help us to find more joy in life, heal from our hurts, and reach our potential. I wanted to wrap these up in a format that you could open at any page to take from it what you need when you need it.

But the caveat is that Be Happy is not a book of answers. It’s not a book that promises your life will be transformed by reading it. It’s a book that gets real about life and pain and how we can move through it, heal from it, and grow into the best version of ourselves that we want to be.

Making Space for Holding Pain Lightly

Here’s an excerpt from Be Happy on Making Space for Holding Pain Lightly: 

Beyond the instinct to simply survive, the strongest human instinct we possess is to avoid pain. But if we attempt to live a life without any pain at all, then we make no place for processing tough emotions, or for striving to achieve things, or for simply being resilient to the discomfort that occurs as part of the natural flow of existence. If you fight off emotional discomfort, you only end up feeding the pain and encouraging it to overwhelm you. Running from it, denying it, or trying to cover up or smother it is a recipe for prolonging and intensifying the pain.

What if there is another way? What if I told you that you could do pain differently? I’m sure your interest is piqued here, but I can guarantee that the answer probably isn’t what you expect,because it’s counterintuitive to our natural approach to things that hurt us. The bad news is I don’t have any secret method of exorcising your pain for you. The good news is that this technique is powerful and effective and is not a secret, even if it won’t turn your pain off.

The most effective thing you can do in the face of pain is to accept it. I do not mean you have to like your negative emotions, or want them, or enjoy them. Instead, I mean acknowledging and accepting the presence of pain as part of your experience, without judgment or struggle.

At first, it may seem impossible. I mean, who really wants to accept pain? Isn’t that just an invitation for the pain to have full control over you? Well, surprisingly not. Accepting pain is very different from wallowing in pain. While wallowing in pain is about resistance, helplessness, and a sense of being consumed by it, accepting pain is the opposite. It is about making a conscious choice to drop the struggle with the pain and sit with it in the moment, without letting it drive your choices. By accepting pain, we free up our energy to decide what to do next, even if that’s just in the next minute. Acceptance frees us from being bound to the pain. It allows us to move through the pain to process it and reach the other side.

Here’s to living and loving meaningfully and bravely andholding pain with accepting and courageous hands.

Rebecca Ray Bio:

Rebecca is an Author, Speaker, and Clinical Psychologist. Her message centres on the task of living bravely in the truth of our experiences as finders and seekers of inspiration and connection. Rebecca has been a Clinical Psychologist for 15 years, where she specialised in the treatment of Depression, Anxiety and Posttraumatic Stress Disorder. Rebecca’s first book, Be Happy: 35 Powerful Habits for Personal Growth and Well-Being, is available now. She can be found online interacting with her community daily about finding courage and living inspired, expansive lives.

Website:

https://rebeccaray.com.au/

Socials:

Instagram –     @drrebeccaray       

Facebook –     @drrebeccaray   

Twitter –     @drrebeccaray   

Pinterest -     @drrebeccaray

Meet Alli. This is her Story

August 8th, 2004 is a day that will forever leave a painful mark on my heart.

It was a Sunday morning that started like many other mornings; I slept in, grabbed a glass of water and went downstairs to find my parents to start our day. I picked up my pace heading down the stairs, and that’s when I heard some painful gasps- which I soon learned was coming from my Dad. I walked into his office in the basement to find him hunched over in my Moms arms, crying (which I had never seen) and I knew.

To give you some context, let me tell you about Garrett.

Garrett was my half brother (we shared the same amazing Dad). We had a big age difference and lived in different cities- but we were very close. Garrett was a top shelf, full package guy. He was tall, good looking, had killer hair, was active, a marathon runner, loved to cook, drove a Volkswagen and a motorcycle, had great style, was kind, thoughtful, knew his wines and was an Air Canada Pilot. Pretty solid line up, right?

This is why I was beyond excited to move to Toronto (where Garrett lived) after being accepted into Ryerson University. Not only that, Garrett lived in a loft near the Campus so I was going to get to see him regularly- team workouts, team dinners, you name it... there was so much to look forward to!

We first learned of Garrett’s battle with Bipolar Disorder when he was diagnosed with the illness in the year 2000. What followed was a four year battle for Garrett and our family that had many peaks and valleys. Garrett was very aware of his battle and looked for some alternative therapies to help him through his illness; this is where he developed a love for running. Like many things Garrett did, he nailed the whole marathon running thing pretty much immediately! He ran the Toronto Marathon, New York City Marathon and always dreamed of doing the Boston Marathon.

My parents and I lived in Winnipeg during this time, so my dad was making regular visits to Toronto to spend time with Garrett. Garrett also spent time flying back and forth to Winnipeg.

Garrett had planned to attend my high school graduation in June of 2004 but unfortunately wasn’t able to make it. He was feeling very “off” that month and admitted himself to the hospital to seek appropriate treatment. Though I missed having him join us for that milestone, I understood. I had already been accepted to Ryerson by that time so we knew we had lots to look forward to....

On August 8th, 2004 Garrett took his own life.

Despite a lot of opinions and questions, I moved to Toronto at the end of August 2004 and completed my four year Fashion Communications program at Ryerson.

I have since had some incredible career experiences, met some very special friends, met my husband, bought a house and have run 10K and 15K races in memory of Garrett. Fitness became a very powerful outlet for me throughout my grieving process and more so a way for me to feel connected to him. Running to a good playlist will make me think of him, boxing will release any pent up emotions or anger and yoga helps me to connect my mind + body and feel deep gratitude for a beautiful life.

There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t think about my brother. Losing someone to suicide leaves you with so many unanswered questions and painful feelings.
Though I miss Garrett terribly, I know he is at peace and watching over me and my family.
We talk about Garrett often and toast him on his birthday, Christmas and even the anniversary of his passing.

Life is still meant to be celebrated.

 When we celebrated Garrett’s 10 year anniversary, I wanted to celebrate it on a bigger level and do an event in his honour and in support of Mental Health. I had the opportunity to partner with the incredible team at the Centre for Addiction and Mental Health (CAMH) for this event, as well as many others these last few years.

Mental health awareness has become a big passion of mine and something that I will always support. I have found that being open and honest about my experience with losing Garrett has not only helped my grieving process over the years but I have been able to use it to help others.

Losing Garrett has taught me many life lessons- but most of all to appreciate and enjoy life.

You only get one, so be sure to live it to the fullest.

Alex + the Power of Affirmations

Did you ever make a life altering decision and act on it (without a second thought), only to realize later “HOLY CRAP, DID I REALLY JUST DO THAT?”

I did.

On June 1st, 2017, a month after graduating college with a BFA in Musical Theater and no money to my name, I packed a U-Haul with one of my best friends and moved to New York City to pursue my goal of being on Broadway.

Did I cry on the 14 hour drive from Chicago to New York City?

Maybe a little.

Did I feel overjoyed about this new step in life?

Absolutely.

Was I scared out of my mind?

You bet I was. 

But I was ready to face the challenge—or so I thought.

Life in New York was so much different than I could have ever envisioned. Tv shows like “Friends” and “Sex and the City” may look glamorous, but they don’t show the dirty and soul sucking parts of the city; the endless hours on the MTA, packed streets, and homeless men and women on every corner.

I moved into a room that really should have been classified as a glorified closet. It had enough room for my twin bed and bookshelf with a tiny sliver of room to walk from the door to my bed. It was rough. I never felt at home in my new space, which left me feeling constantly drained. Also being an actor in the city was not as magical as I had hoped. I woke up at 5 am to go to auditions only to be told once I got there that they were not seeing non-union actors- AKA Me. This happened more often than not and I felt like everything I had been training for in college was suddenly non-existent.

All of this and more led to one of the most depressive episodes of my life. This city full of lights, people, and possibilities all of a sudden felt oppressive and soul sucking.

Since I was 9 years old I have dealt with severe anxiety- the kind of anxiety where I wouldn’t be able to breathe or think straight if a panic attack ensued. I was always waiting for the next attack to happen. It was a horrible way to live. My first few months in New York I had at least one panic attack every day and a fit of tears on the phone with my mom back in Tennessee.

Then I discovered a book.

This simple yellow cover called to me on the train one day. A woman was reading it on the packed A-train and nodding emphatically to something she was reading. I took a peek at the cover and discovered the title “You are a Badass: How to Stop Doubting Your Greatness and Start Living an Awesome Life” by author Jen Sincero. The woman looked so moved by this simple block of paper that I knew I wanted to read it. That day I ran to the Amazon book store and with the money I had allocated for pizza that night (my dinner almost every day for a while) I bought that little yellow book and immediately started reading it on the train ride home.

And from then on my life changed. 

I kid you not when I say that this book drastically changed how I perceive the world around me. I read about a woman much like me who had a goal and felt as though she kept failing to achieve it. But then she realized that the universe was full of possibilities and only SHE could be the one to take control.

From then on I drastically changed my life. Sure I still had a lot of trials: I was evicted from my apartment, was working 3 jobs, and still barely made my bills: but I no longer let the world dictate how I should be feeling. I took charge of my life and decided to say “COME AT ME UNIVERSE! GIVE ME ALL YOU GOT!”

And something magical happened.

The universe finally began to give back.

I found a new apartment, was cast in 3 consecutive shows, received my equity card (joined the actors union), and began going to therapy. This little yellow book gave me the courage to start over and not be afraid of what lies ahead. I made daily affirmations to repeat in the mirror to remind myself what I was fighting for.

Of course the dark cloud of anxiety was still there.

Some days I woke up and wanted to do nothing more than lay in bed watching tv all day and ignore the outside world; but with therapy, support from my friends and family, working out, and this little yellow book, I finally had the tools to grab life by the reigns and take charge again. 

And once again, when the universe began to fight against my happiness, something magical occurred. I posted about my little yellow book and my post it note aspirations and the author of the book, Jen Sincero took note. She reposted a picture I had taken in front of the mirror holding her book surrounded by my post it’s on her Instagram as her “Badass of the Week”. Suddenly, I had hundreds of people reaching out to me, sharing my story, reading my blog, and telling me their own stories.

It was a beautiful way to be reminded that you are never alone in your struggle.

People all over are going through similar trials, and if you put yourself out there someone will latch on. Someone will come through to show you that you aren’t alone in this insane world.

My story began with a little yellow book and a whole lot of drive.

So, what will your catalyst be?

Meet Fran. This is her Story

In the beginning months of 2016, I can honestly say I was the worst version of myself.

I was stressed out unnecessarily at a job that didn’t fulfill me (or treat me well for that matter) and I let that flood of anxiety trickle into every facet of my life- making my thoughts and behaviours unrecognizable.

I was diagnosed with GAD (Generalized Anxiety Disorder) in third year university, and although I handled it well for several years, the flare ups started to make it feel unmanageable.

I often sought refuge in exercise and movement.

However, Yoga-which had often been a ‘cure-all’ for the ailments in my body and mind-no longer helped soothe me; so much so that I dropped out of my 200hr Yoga Teacher Training (something I had wanted to do for SO long). On top of that, I couldn’t focus at work or at home and was constantly angst- ridden- to the point where my physical health fell apart. I was sick constantly, not sleeping, exhausted and eating sparingly or not at all. Because of what was going on in my mind, it felt like my sense of self and my life were spiralling out of control.

My anxiety eventually got so out of control that my doctor recommended I consider anti-anxiety medication.

On April 4th 2016, I held my Dad in my arms as he passed suddenly from a aortic aneurism.

In that instant, the safe, comfortable, self-indulgent 20-something life I had known had vanished forever — and in a way so did the anxiety that I had been struggling with. His passing came as such a shock to my system, that it caused a full body and mind reset. The day of his passing felt like the first day of the rest of my life.

And in the midst of that restart, I felt myself go numb.

There’s no guidebook for life, and even less of a guidebook for when someone dies. In the immediate moment you’re surrounded by so many friends and family. But- then the funeral passes and friends and family fade into the background as they resume their normal lives. The person who is grieving is left surrounded by a pile of tiny shattered fragments of their former life with no instruction as to how to rebuild it again. Although well intentioned, folks will share their thoughts as to to how to pick up the pieces, which looks a little something like:

“You should go out more”

“You definitely need to stay in more”

“Maybe therapy would help”

“I’m starting a new XYZ cleanse I think it could help you too”

“You should try and push yourself”

I think you get the idea. Sadly, not one of these stamens is a ‘cure-all’ for tragedy.

At the time of my Dad’s passing it made sense to withdraw a bit and to take stock of my life, my goals and my relationships. I knew movement had played an important part in managing my mental health in the past, but something about this circumstance was different.

Due to the sudden nature of my Dad’s passing, and having had to respond to his calls of distress, I developed severe anxiety around being away from my phone. In my mind, if I was near my phone I could react and help if someone needed me. “What if something happened to my mom?” I would think. Because of this, my regular yoga classes weren’t an option. I remember trying to go to yoga a few days after his passing to clear my mind and having severe panic attacks because of not knowing what was going on in the outside world. Classes were no longer an option for me.

However- I was still operating with an urge to move- so I began running 5k a day. Just far enough from my house that I could make it back in time (should something happen). Those runs were my time to feel free, to think, to cry and to sweat. I became so focused on making each run better than the last. It was the one thing I had control over while my life seemed to be spiralling out of control.

I was at a followup appointment with my naturopath in the spring of 2017 when she suggested I try a mix of HIIT, weight training and intensive cardio in order to better manage my stress. The thought of trying a class worried me, but I was also committed to getting myself on a healthier path.

Indoor cycling was becoming popular in Toronto and my friend encouraged me to try a class at Spokehaüs with her. I wish I could say it was love at first pedal-stroke; but it wasn’t. I was out of breath, my lungs burned, I couldn’t keep up with the class at all and I kept panicking about not being able to get to my phone.

It was a mess.

However, something sparked in me — if I was struggling to keep up with a class like this, it meant that I needed to boost my cardio health. For obvious reasons, heart health had become very important to me since my dad’s passing. I knew I had to keep at this.

In the following summer I began bouncing around a few indoor cycling studios during my lunch hour at MOVE. During this time, my Mom began experiencing severe back pain- so between her doctors appointments and visits to the emergency room, I was finding it hard to commit to class times. From June to August we were back and forth between Doctors, Physiotherapists, Acupuncturists and Orthopaedic Surgeons.

My Mom was rushed to hospital the last weekend of August 2017 for emergency surgery after she had lost feeling in both legs.

During her surgery, they found a tumour. A biopsy and more waiting lead to the news that would again, alter my life forever: The excruciating pain my Mom had been experiencing was a rare, incurable cancer known as multiple myeloma. She would have to stay in hospital till she was strong enough to come home.

In that moment, our roles became reversed. My childhood officially ended.

I was no longer a daughter, but a caregiver to my Mother. I made it my mission to ensure she received the best care possible. My brother and I couldn’t afford to lose her, especially so soon after losing my dad. This meant doing things like attending any and all doctors appointments, coordinating second opinions, cooking or picking up dinner along with anything else she needed everyday after work and keeping her company on the weekends. It was a role I slipped into wholeheartedly. It was difficult but I was determined. And she was too.

I knew I didn’t want to slip back into a state of acute anxiety, so I knew I had to keep moving. Worries about not being close to my phone became an afterthought after my Mom was diagnosed.

Phone or not, if life was going to change, there would be nothing I could do to control it.

In addition to weight training, I pushed myself to attend my first class at SoulCycle. It had taken me a few indoor cycling classes to psych myself up for it and (truthfully) it was also conveniently along my commute to the east end of Toronto for work.

Before I knew it, 7am SoulCycle classes became part of my routine.

I would call my Mom and the nursing station at 6am to check in on her before going into class. Within the dark room, those 45min became my refuge — in my SoulCycle class there was no cancer, no sickness, no anxiety.

Just me, the bike and my breath.

I left each class feeling a little bit lighter. I was able to leave everything that weighed me down in that rom. In a way, SoulCycle became my good luck charm. Before any big follow up appointment of my Mom’s at Princess Margaret Hospital (appointments that were truly life and death) I would be sure to book a morning class so that I would be in the best headspace possible to ask the doctor questions and advocate for her care.

On one such appointment, however, it seemed that my good luck charm had run out.

“You have one more line of treatment left to try, but if it doesn’t work and it doesn’t seem probable then we will have to have conversations around palliative care.”

Time froze as the words left my Mom’s oncologist’s mouth.

It couldn’t be. I had made sure to do everything right. I got my Mom a second opinion at the best cancer centre in Canada, I had done my research, I made sure she was eating the right foods, I was trying to take care of myself — how could this be?

One thing I knew, is that we weren’t giving up. Following that final follow up at Princess Margaret Hospital, I began researching doctors and hospitals in the USA. Call it fate or circumstance, but I was connected to one of the top specialists and grandfathers in the treatment of multiple myeloma, Dr. Barlogie who worked out of The Mount Sinai Hospital in NYC.

Within a week, I was riding in the back of an ambulance transport in the middle of the night with my Mom in a stretcher as we made our way to New York City. My caregiving commitment went from the after work, weekends and the odd workday to 14-hour-a-day bedside care. My Mom had received a second chance and I wanted to be there for every moment. She needed me, and I needed her.

The highs and low’s of a cancer journey are so incredibly extreme. The highs of a successful round of chemo are euphoric and intoxicating. The lows of recurring disease or complications are so bad that you find it hard to even wake up in the morning. Also as an aside, that’s just my caregiver’s perspective. The patient feels these peaks and valleys tenfold.

After a particularly difficult day, Anna, my Mom’s Physiotherapist noticed me upset in the hallway and came over to comfort me. She asked me what I had been doing for myself since moving to NYC to be with my Mom.

“Nothing,” I said simply. “But I was really enjoying SoulCycle when I was back in Toronto.”

“Oh no way!” She said, “My friend is an instructor there, I should connect you.”

I didn’t think anything of the gesture until she found me in the hallway a few days later and told me that she had told her instructor friend Becca about me. She handed me Becca’s number.

“She’s expecting you to message her.” Anna said.

I knew I had met someone special within the first few exchanges I had with Becca that evening. She was positive, kind, vibrant and it felt like her loving heart radiated through the phone. She invited me to ride in her class anytime I needed to as a guest. I couldn’t believe it.

During the 4 months I was in NYC with my Mom, I rode with Becca as much as possible. My days were committed to the hospital and her care, but my mornings became time for me. Time to just let go, connect to myself and centre my mind for the gruelling days ahead.

Outside of class, Becca and I became fast friends. She was a constant reminder of how important it was to take time for myself amidst my circumstances. She also gave me support in remembering who I was before my Mom’s illness. It gave my Mom and boyfriend comfort to know that I had made a friend in the city that could support me.

On July 13th, 2018 in the Intensive Care Unit at The Mount Sinai Hospital, I held my Mom as she passed away from complications due to her stem cell transplant. She had achieved her long sought after remission, obtained her healthy stem cells but succumbed to a virus due to her compromised immune system. Again, only 2 years after losing my Dad my world was shattered.

I had lost both parents before turning 30.

I was silent most of the car ride home to Toronto. My boyfriend, his uncle and his Mom tried their best to keep my spirits up and positive. But all I could feel was disappointment. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I had let my Mom down.

I returned to SoulCycle a few days after coming home to Toronto with a few friends. I needed a place that felt familiar and like home. I walked into the studio to find ‘Welcome Home Fran!” spelled out in big letters under the front desk. My eyes welled with tears. Becca had told Jenna — our instructor in Toronto- that I was coming home that day.

I knew my SoulCycle bike would always feel like a safe place for me.

After the funeral had passed, and ‘normal’ life began to resume again, I was left with thousands of pieces. Some that were leftover from when I had lost my Dad- but now, there were new pieces to fit together: those of having lost my Mom and those from losing both my parents. I began feeling very, very low.

One Friday evening, my friend Chelsea told me a few of my friends wanted to take me for dinner. I was told I didn’t have to plan anything and was told she would meet me after work that day and walk me to dinner. As we were walking up King Street, Chelsea said she had to run into SoulCycle to buy a few credits because the site wasn’t working.

I walked into the studio to see a crowd of people. After a few moments I realized the studio was not hosting a Media event and the crowd of people that had formed was everyone near and dear to me!

As I looked around the room, I took in what Chelsea had organized: A raffle to collect money (to be donated to the International Myeloma Foundation), a hair braiding station (my Mom LOVED braiding my hair) complete with monarch butterfly hair clips (I’ve seen so many butterflies since my Mom passed) and most importantly: the space was full of love.

“Get ready to ride!” Everyone exclaimed!

In my shock I managed to change into workout clothes and head into the studio.

I was still in tears as Jenna began to lead us in a ride in memory of Maria.

But the best surprise was yet to come.

The doors opened after the second song and a silhouette appeared. As it moved towards the room, I unclipped right off my bike and ran towards it for a big sweaty hug.

It was Becca.

For her last week working at SoulCycle, she had asked to be flown to Toronto to ride for Maria. She took the podium and I rode (read; cried) my heart out.

For me, SoulCycle and really any of the movement I undertook to heal was never about the equipment, the physical gains or the athleisure. It was always about love — for myself and for the community I cultivated and gained.

We often don’t realize how much we receive when we put our bodies and minds into a beautiful space through movement.

The healing journey ahead of me now is one that will last a lifetime. Each day will be different with it’s own advances and detours. Healing is the furthest thing from a linear process.

What I can always come back to is this small space in the world I chose to carve out for me:

45 minutes in the dark to think, cry and breathe.

Meet Lindsay. This is her Story.

Let me start out by introducing myself.

My name is Lindsay Coulter and I’m a wedding and portrait photographer based out of Waterloo.

I’ve always been a happy person. Each report card ever sent home to my parents used words like bubbly, energetic, joyful. I felt grateful for the cushy, “normal” life I had been blessed with. Sure, I worked hard, but I was also very aware that I was lucky. I had two parents who loved me, had completed university, gotten a cat, a dog and had a fiance who loved me. Honestly, everything was falling in to place like some kind of hollywood script. I’m sure I had normal bumps in the road just like anyone else, but really my life was good. I’m sure you’re wondering when the shoe drops, because as my naive self learned, it always does. 

In December of 2016 my whole world fell apart. My best friend of 25 years, Kristen, passed away suddenly. I had just gotten home from a Christmas trip to New York with my fiance Taylor, and opened my laptop to a message from a friend of hers in Australia (where she was living) looking for Kristen’s parent’s phone number. My heart sank. I knew that it wasn’t going to be good news. I sat on the couch frozen, unable to type.

Finally a few moments without breathing later I responded and asked her to just tell me what was going on. Kristen and I were like sisters; we had grown up in each other’s homes, we met at daycare when we were less than 2 years old, and had been practically inseparable ever since. Although it was selfish, I just wanted to know she was okay, so I could go on with giving her their number. Eventually they connected, but I knew whatever it was I didn't want to find out over the phone. So Taylor and I drove straight to her parents house.

When we got there, they told us she had died.

That was it.

The world froze.

I went through the many phases of grief - denial, anger, erratic behaviour, sadness, anxiety, extreme fear of losing anyone else, guilt… the books about grieving really had it right.

But what the books about grieving don’t really tell you is how to come out on the other side of it.

I was incredibly grateful for my self-employment in those next few weeks, so I could take some time to process. To be totally honest, I went through a cycle of sleeping, crying, and drinking for a few weeks. It was really strange, it didn’t matter how much I drank, I still felt sober. It was almost like nothing was going to cut through the reality of this loss. 

Luckily for my health and my relationships, that phase only lasted a few weeks. Once I stopped that cycle and realized I needed to continue working and getting up each day, I became numb. I wasn’t happy, I didn’t smile. The only jokes I could make were morbid, and I’m fairly certain most of my friends and family thought I had totally lost my mind. How I kept my business going in 2016, while trying to plan a wedding is nothing short of a miracle. I have no doubt that Kristen was asking the universe to help me out during that time. 

After about 3 months of just merely existing, I decided to go see my doctor. I told her “I don’t have time to feel like this, I need to get back to normal”. (As if anyone has time for this). My doctor gave me a couple of prescriptions, and also referred me to a counsellor. I was happy to have medication to take for when panic attacks took over, but I knew I needed to speak to someone in order to fully move on.

When a 25 year old dies, they don’t leave a neat and tidy package.

They leave a path of pain and destruction and 5 million unanswered questions.

I knew a pill wasn’t going to help. 

So I went to a counsellor. I asked her if I would get myself back. I wanted to know if the happy person I once was would ever come back, to which her answer was “Maybe, maybe not. This might just be your new reality”. *Note, if you’re a counsellor dealing with someone with severe depression, telling someone there’s maybe no way out of this, is definitely not the answer. At our next appointment, she told me I probably just needed to take more naps and drink more water. She obviously hadn’t listened when I told her I was sleeping 8+ hours a day. So I got up in the middle of our session, told her I needed to go for lunch, and never went back.

It was a weird time.

Finally, the light came.

Near the end of 2016 I had agreed to trade services with a personal trainer in the area. She was pregnant with her second daughter, and wanted maternity photos. She knew I had a wedding coming up and wanted to get in shape, so it was the perfect fit. Her baby arrived in May of 2017, and we started training together a few weeks after. She brought Baby T to all of my workouts for the first few months, and her little face was all I needed on the hardest of days. For the first time in 5 months, I was moving. I was getting out of bed at 7, I was putting on clean clothes, and I was seeing progress. Not just physically, but emotionally. 

I worked through my fears of having a wedding without her by my side, of losing another loved one, or dealing with any other kind of tragedy.

I had no idea that lifting weights and running would be all the therapy I would need.

I had been a yoga instructor throughout university, so I knew there was power in movement, but yoga wasn’t calling to me this time. I needed to feel strong. I needed to believe in my body. I needed to appreciate my health and not take it for granted like I had been. I needed to feel connected to the shell that carried me around- since the trauma of losing Kristen it had felt like a foreign entity.

I listened to my body, and forced my mind to play along.

Alicia and I trained together 2-3 times a week, every week, and we haven’t stopped since. What started as something I wanted to do to look nice in a wedding dress became something I needed to do to be a great partner to my now-husband, a better friend, and effective business owner. My clients needed me to show up to their wedding as the joyful, bubbly, happy person they hired a year and a half before, and I needed that girl back too. 

The idea of not only losing Kristen but losing myself was something I couldn’t manage. I couldn’t control Kristen’s death, but I could fight to get myself back.

And so I did. That was the beginning of finding myself, not the previous version but a newer version of myself. This new version of me still cries almost daily, and misses her girl like crazy. But this new version is also grateful with a new sense of awareness.

Before I was grateful for the life I had, but now I’m grateful having known loss, and having fought through it.

In December Kristen will have been gone for two years, and it still feels like it was just a few months ago. I will not pretend to know the answers to loss or trauma, but I will say that the advice given to me over and over again “one step at a time, one foot in front of the other” is exactly what got me through. 

Meet Alexandra. This is her Story.

I am no stranger to hospital stays, and doctor’s appointments.

I am no stranger to the health and wellness world.

I am no stranger to the fitness industry, and I am no stranger to myself.

When I was 13, I was diagnosed with an autoimmune disease. It’s called Primary Sclerosing Cholangitis, and I also have Ulcerative Colitis. You can look up these diseases for yourself if you’re unfamiliar with them, but I don’t believe that their definitions are important. For I am not my illness and I will never let myself be defined by it. I remember my doctor telling me that I’d be different from the other kids because of the traumatic experience I had been through with my disease. He said I’d be “tougher than the rest.” I didn’t want to be tougher. I didn’t want to be different. I wanted to be just like the rest of them.

    Over the course of the next 10 years, I would learn many different things. Things about the world, things about myself, and I would fight back daily thoughts and worries about the possibility of getting sick again. Luckily, the medication I was prescribed worked well for me. I am now in remission, and have been able to live a relatively normal life, despite having to go for checkups every 6 months, have a scope once a year, and get regular blood tests.

    In the summer and fall of 2017, I believed I was unstoppable.

I worked extremely hard on my body and outer appearance. I was working full time at a health café, serving up green smoothies and avocado toasts. After work, I’d walk 40 minutes uphill to the spin studio that I was training to become an instructor at. I’d take a class, and then walk 40 minutes back home, but not before stopping at Goodlife where I’d lift weights for 30 minutes. It would be almost 9 p.m. by this point, and sometimes I’d pick up a few sushi rolls and sip back miso soup before bed, or sometimes I’d just go straight to sleep, eating nothing at all. I lived this way for nearly 3 months, and then I found out that the spin studio had cut me. I was told I wasn’t working hard enough.  This would be my first experience with working so hard at something and having it not work out.

I was absolutely devastated.

Here I was, nearly killing myself, judging my body so horrifically every single day, taking progress photos, working on a playlist for my future classes, and aggressively pushing myself to stay “on beat” with every song I would spin to.

But it wasn’t enough. And so I was let go.

And on November 27, 6:30 a.m., I was leaving for work; I had my hand on the door knob of my front door when I suddenly felt sick to my stomach. I felt hot, achy and clammy. I went back to my room feeling dizzy as I lay down in my bed. I thought I was just coming down with a very sudden flu--I had no idea what was to come.

I slept that whole morning, and lay on the couch for the rest of the day. Things got increasingly worse; I started sweating profusely. I’d fall asleep and wake up, my clothes soaked through; my face red and hot. And then after every heat wave, within an hour I’d be shivering. My teeth chattered so badly, and I could feel the heat escaping from my head. I’d cover my entire body with every blanket in my apartment, but nothing was warm enough. I somehow managed to get myself to a walk-in clinic where I was told that I had the flu. The doctor said, “You’ll be better in a few days.” He took a look at my throat, said it was swollen, he took my temperature: 104 degrees Celsius. But somehow, he told me that it’d be best if I went home and rested. I couldn’t even walk out of that clinic.

It was a Friday night now, I had been sick for a full week with no sign of improvement.

My sister and her boyfriend were planning on driving to my parent’s place in Kitchener, so I tagged along because I couldn’t take care of myself anymore. I was white as ghost, I hadn’t eaten in a week, and I could barely drink water. My fever was still sickeningly high and my throat hurt so badly it felt like knives were, cutting through my entire body apart each time I swallowed. My nose plugged up with thick mucus and I could no longer breathe through it. The whites of my eyes had blood in them. My eyelids were puffy and purple; it looked like I had been punched in the face. I’ll never forget the absolute horror in my sister’s eyes when she saw me for the first time that night.

    In Kitchener I went to see my family doctor who guessed I had a very bad case of pneumonia. She sent me for x-rays, which proved her guess to be correct. I was put on antibiotics, and sent home. Another week passed, my fever was still high, my course of antibiotics was done, and I only felt sicker. My mom took me to the emergency room and this is where I was diagnosed with mono, as well as having a severe case of pneumonia. The mono explained the throat pain, and why the medication wasn’t working, unfortunately there’s no pill that can cure mono. I was sent home again, given another round of antibiotics for the pneumonia, and was told to rest. My family doctor requested that I had my blood drawn daily to keep track of my white blood cell count, which had dropped so low, it wasn’t at a measurable number anymore.

    It was now December. And on one morning, my family doctor called my mom and said that I needed to get more blood tests done. I was in the TV room, listening to their conversation, and I broke down in tears because at that point I knew I could no longer get off the couch. I felt sicker than I have ever felt in my entire life; there are no words to describe the heaviness that I felt in my body. I knew I needed to get to the emergency room immediately, and the only option for me to get there was to call 911. I thought I would die that very day.

    When the ambulance arrived, and I was lying on the stretcher inside the truck, the only thing running through my mind was that I must be incredibly ill.

So ill, that my life was most likely going to end in the next hour.

I couldn’t breathe at that point. I was given a yellow mask because everyone was worried that I was “contagious,” however this horrific mask only made breathing 10 times harder. I was breathing through my mouth, which became so dry, my lips cracked and bled. But I couldn’t drink water because swallowing was even more painful than breathing. My whole body felt like it was attacking me, and I didn’t know why.

    I was admitted to the hospital that day, and for the rest of December. Over Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, I lay in a hospital bed. No one understood why my fever wasn’t dropping. I was rushed to test after test, after test, they even checked my heart and brain. I had so many blood tests done that my veins in my left arm blew out and the doctor had to insert a thin tube through my jugular. I was given three blood transfusions. I don’t remember having those done. Actually, there are a lot of lost memories.

There are weeks where I have absolutely no memory from.

And that still haunts me.

    Eventually, doctors clued in and discovered that not only did I have pneumonia, and mono, I also had an incredibly severe case of sinusitis. And on December 28th 2017, I had my first sinus surgery. I remember being rolled down to the operating room, all these doctors around me. I kept hearing one man say, “You’re doing so great!” I have no memory after that, and those next couple weeks are completely black to me. I only remember having strange visions, hearing strange sounds, seeing strange things, and hallucinating a lot. I was put on Fentanyl, an insanely strong opioid used to treat severe pain. It is 80 to 500 times stronger than Morphine and starts working within five minutes of administration.

    All I really remember is waking up in a new place. And not only was I in a new place, but there was also a large tube down my throat, preventing me from being able to talk, or move without feeling like I was being suffocated or chocking. My parents were next to me. I was told that it was January 7th 2018. Then I learned that not only was I waking up in a new year, I was also waking up in a new city. I had been taken by ambulance after my second surgery failed and transferred to Toronto, where I had my third surgery on my sinuses.

    Everything is blurry, and as time goes on, my memory from this ordeal becomes worse and worse. I’m relying on information that my parents give me, and what my doctors have told me, but I wish I could remember for myself. I wish I could remember how I felt during those weeks where everything is black. What kind of thoughts were going through my mind when I was alone? Was I scared?

    After the third surgery, my fever went down, and then disappeared completely. It never came back. I stayed in the ICU for just over 2 weeks and was intubated for 12 days. I cannot begin to explain the feeling of lying in a hospital bed, fully conscious but unable to move. I had no way of communication to my parents or my doctors with the tube in my throat. I’d try to write things down but I couldn’t spell, and as I was writing I knew none of my sentences made sense. That was probably one of the most horrifying realizations I’ve ever had. I thought to myself, “I’d rather die than have this tube in my throat.”

    There is so much that happened in that ICU. So many feelings and so many dark, lonely nights listening to the patients around me cry and moan in pain. So many days spent staring at the clock watching the time tick by. So many x-rays and CT scans. There are no words.

    One night, I remember accepting death. I prayed, and I prayed to God, “Please let this end.” I just wanted it to be over. I could no longer remember what feeling good felt like, and I was in so much discomfort that I didn’t want to put in any more energy to get better. I just wanted it to end.

    Eventually, the tube was removed and I was able to leave the hospital. I was told that I was functioning “just below base level.” This is when my road to recovery began. I had to take a wheelchair out of the hospital because I was unable to walk on my own after laying in a bed for so long. I remember looking in the mirror for the first time and was in complete shock at the state of my body. My bones stuck out in every direction and I was completely emaciated. I had lost just over 35 lbs in two months.

    I spent the next 3 months recovering at my parent’s house in Kitchener and came back to my apartment sometime during the end of March. I spent of these months coughing at every moment of the day. I couldn’t lie down and I couldn’t sit up right. Every position I got into was painful. Walking up stairs was a disaster, bathing was impossible, breathing, eating–every single day was a waking hell.

    Doctors aren’t too sure how exactly I got sick with 3 intense illnesses all at the same time. It is believed that it was caused from the immune suppressors I had been taking for the past 10 years for my PSC. That may be the doctor’s beliefs, but I believe that I manifested my entire experience. No one just “gets sick.” There are reasons, and the reasons are very important.

    Before getting sick, I was a self-absorbed, workout obsessed, selfish, and immature girl who was living a huge lie. I preached all this stuff about self-love but I hated the person I was. I couldn’t think properly, was too hard on myself, couldn’t make a decision to save my life, and honestly, I just took everything way too seriously.

I once believed that I deserved my pain, for overworking my body and not resting.

Well, I no longer believe this. Yes, I did treat my body very poorly this past fall, and there are many things I would do differently now. But I only know this because of my experience. I whole heartedly believe that it was necessary for me to get sick and I will be forever grateful. I am grateful for getting sick at an early age with a chronic illness because I think that experience greatly prepared me for this one. Although completely different illnesses, I experienced many of the same symptoms, endured many of the same medical tests, and felt many of the same emotions.

    No, it’s not over. I am still very much in recovery.  I still see a doctor multiple times a month for checkups. My body is not as strong as it once was, but would you like to know something special?

My spirit is brighter than it has ever been in my entire life.

I am so proud of how far I’ve come, how much I’ve learned, and how brave and purely resilient I have become. I have been through something that has shown me how wonderful life is. I have learned so many important lessons; I can’t even begin to write about them, for there are far too many. But I can tell you that my favourite realization may be this one: My body is not a machine, it is a temple, and it is home. And I will never, ever disrespect it again.

        And you, whoever you are that is reading this, I’d like to give you one big hug. If you’ve ever experienced a traumatic illness, or are going through a recovery process, I believe that both you and I are going to be okay. We are not our diseases. We are not numbers on a medical report, or any sort of statistic. We have been given an opportunity that most people don’t get. We have a second chance to live a better life. And for that, I think we’re incredibly lucky.