Well y’all, we have reached the end of another year!
As always, since this time of year is the busiest for my work and personal life, I will leave you with a series of photos that showcase my year (without pics of my kids). It’s been a wild ride; I went on some wild adventures, reconnected with some old friends and made some new ones. I finally let go of the end of a friendship that meant the world to me and reached acceptance. I found the love of my life in the same place he’d always been, I just didn’t know that’s where I should look. Said yes to an important question, and then a dress. Watched my younger daughter graduate high school and start her own journey into University. Watched my son come into his own as a high school freshman. This has been the most fun year of my life and I’m so grateful for the experiences. I hope everyone else had a wonderful year, and that 2025 brings us all joy and success.
Sometimes my life feels like it’s going a mile a minute and I don’t get any real time to stop.
I don’t mind the pace of it all. I have morning carpool with the kids, work, visiting my mom in long term care, maintaining a home, and (in theory) planning a wedding. The last one is mainly either procrastinating or crying. I’m the best.
My fiancé and I divided up wedding planning accordingly. He picks the venue, the food, and keeps me from going insane, and I…plan the wedding. Trust me folks, he has a MUCH harder job. So far he has picked a venue and looked at the menu and I half ass built this website and went dress shopping and possibly had some kind of nervous breakdown. So we’ve both accomplished a lot.
Planning a wedding triggers all kinds of emotions. I’ve always been afraid of commitment, even in my youth. My fiancé told me he was going to marry me when we were teens and I LITERALLY LAUGHED AT THIS MAN. My first marriage was a disaster of epic proportions. He didn’t want to get help for his depression; I didn’t want to be there at all. I’m so scared of being trapped in a situation where things just escalate and become violent again. There’s also the income deficit; my partner out earns me by a considerable margin. I’ve always prided myself on being an equal. I spent eight years with a man who made less than me but also made me account for every dollar I spent. I don’t want to be a drain or someone that can’t contribute to her home and family. There’s also ageism and the body image issues. Am I too old for this and should we have just gone to the courthouse? Because of this, I hyper analyze every detail and ask my fiancé if he’s mad at me eleventy thousand times a day.
(Fortunately, my fiancé is a very patient man, because otherwise he’d be driven nuts by now)
Basically, much like everything else in my life, this change has made me an anxious ball of anxiety! However, the one thing that doesn’t scare me is the person I’ve chosen to spend my life with. He is the part that makes sense. I try not to talk about my personal life too much, but everything is easy with him. We communicate well, I trust him implicitly, he’s compassionate and kind, he loves my kids and is excited to blend our families. The idea of spending my life with him is easy; it’s the smartest decision I’ve ever made. It’s not him that makes me fear commitment. It doesn’t even feel like commitment; instead it feels like it’s supposed to be this way. My fear of commitment has nothing to do with him; he’s perfect. My therapist and I have been working on this and we are realizing that my fear of commitment has nothing to do with my partners and everything to do with me.
I have a confession folks; my name is MHC and I have control issues…and abandonment issues…and body image issues…
I grew up believing I would never be able to count on anyone. My mom let me down, my family was dysfunctional, so I decided if I just did everything on my own, then no one could ever hurt me ever again! Also, no one could reject me, or tell me I’m not good enough for them. If I kept to myself, then I couldn’t let them down. If I just accepted that I’m not traditional wife material, then no one would want me to be their wife! Self sabotage; WHAT A BRILLIANT IDEA! I’ve always struggled with gender roles and norms. I never wanted to be the white picket fence wife who made cookies and stayed home to raise a family. I wanted to raise kids, but the rest seemed terrifying. I wanted to have my own career, earn my own money, be an equal. But I grew up with people who made me feel like wanting to be more than that made me somehow less.
This feeling of being less has been growing since I was 19 and a boy told me he was going to marry me someday (kudos to him; he played the long game). Ever since I’ve always worried about disappointing people when they realize I’m not good at traditional wife things, I’m stubborn, I struggle to open up about my feelings, and I’m pretty much neurotic every second. So, I’d pack up my shit and run away again. New town, new adventures, new life where I can just be on my own. However, once you find yourself settled, you start to look introspectively. It was never about how anyone else saw me. It was that I always saw me as a broken toy; damaged by trauma, product of the system, dysfunctional family. I looked at the highlight reels and surface levels and compared it to my own experiences and felt like a stray cat you need to coax inside. Why would anyone want a stray cat when you can get a fantastic Scottish Fold or Himalayan Blue?
All of my fears came from the fear of being judged too harshly for my shitty upbringing, failed marriage, or lack of real estate, but it was really just me judging my own reflection and seeing how I stack against my own demons and phantom women that may haunt my partner’s ceiling. Clever, beautiful women with talent and never talk too much and aren’t ever too loud. If they couldn’t make it work, what chance did I, the stray cat who is too loud and has never stopped talking, have?
Part of getting over my fears of commitment is actually fully accepting myself and accepting that someone is capable of loving me. It’s a slow process, with a ton of procrastinating and a fuck ton of therapy, but if I keep working at it, maybe I’ll have something planned by my wedding day, which has a date set because at least one of us knows what they’re doing.
Summer 2024 is behind us and now it’s time for me to BOMBARD YOUR ASS WITH PUMPKIN AND SPOOKY CONTENT. GET READY BITCHES.
Anyone who knows me knows basic white fall is basically my personality. Pumpkins, leaves, red lip, and of course, Halloween. This means that it’s time for my annual viewing of the Nightmare Before Christmas, starring my one true love; Jack Skellington. Yes, I am basically a relic from Hot Topic. Fight me.
But, fall also means my birthday, which always makes me a bit more introspective and reflective, but don’t worry; the overthinking and general neurosis remains. I was ordered to plan something for my birthday because my sweet angel fiancé understands that I have an unhealthy obsession with birthdays stemming from a childhood that was devoid of love and the first time anyone I considered family celebrated my birthday was when I went into foster care. If I like you, there is a million percent chance I have gone buck wild about your birthday at least once. Unfortunately, he won’t be able to celebrate with me until ten days later, but he still wants me to be happy. I haven’t celebrated my birthday in almost three years, so I’m excited to have some friends over to play games and drink wine.
The last two years have been some of the most challenging and transformative of my entire life. I was tested emotionally, physically, and financially, to the point where I genuinely believed I would lose everything. I devoted every second of my life to protect someone I loved from their darkest urges and was afraid to leave them alone for a second. My job was ripped out from under me as I was on the cusp of building a way to do good for people who need it, and I was drowning in debt. My health was poor and I missed the wedding of one of my closest friends. I gained all of the weight I worked to lose. My mom was diagnosed with dementia and I was a full time caregiver with no help from my family. I genuinely had days where I just didn’t want to wake up anymore and it was only muscle memory keeping me going. But life has a way of pulling you forward to the light if you just believe that you can get there.
And I did.
No, I haven’t lost all of the weight. I’m 44lbs down and halfway to where I want to be again. No, I am not a zillionaire, I don’t have a pet penguin, money is still tight, and woodland creatures do not clean my house.
But I DO have a job that I love, my two youngest children are starting amazing educational adventures and I’m so proud of them. I have myself back, and that’s in part to a small but amazing group of friends who stayed in the trenches with me until the bitter end, and I’m so grateful for them.
There’s my best friend in the entire universe, who has been by my side during the bleakest moments of the last two years. She drove my kid to the hospital while I was stuck in Red Deer. She was the only person who came to a holiday party, even though she had been in a serious accident the day before. She gave me a pep talk when her attempt to fix me up went poorly, telling me that I deserved someone who would move mountains for the privilege of loving me. I don’t know where I’d be without her, and while she would tell you she is evil, I would tell you everything she’s ever done is right and good.
We also need updated selfies lol
There’s my best friend since high school, who was my lifeline during the darkest times. She helped me understand my own kid better, and always had an ear. We didn’t get a pic this summer, but spending time with her and her family was one of the most magical parts of my summer. It was like nothing changed; we just sat and chatted, all we needed was coffee. She’s the level headed voice of reason I need when I let my emotions rule. I’m so grateful for her. There’s my former manager who’s become one of my friends. We communicate in memes, but I know if I ever need a friend (or a Nanalan meme) he’s right there.
There’s my other closest friend, who is a literal angel on Earth. She’s the most patient, empathetic, and understanding human being I know. She shares all of my nerdy interests and she’s so positive and warm, you can’t leave spending time with her and not feel happy. It’s just not possible.
It’s so easy to distance yourself from someone when they’re struggling. I had friends that I assumed would always be a part of my life, now we watch the other’s life play out on social media and she messages my fiancé her well wishes instead of being invited to my celebratory dinner or helping me plan my wedding. It’s so easy to ignore texts or pretend you don’t know someone anymore when they’re down and they aren’t able to do anything for you, or build you up. But my small circle didn’t do that. They pulled me closer during a time when I didn’t even want to exist. Now I’m on the other side of it all, in my beautiful house in my favourite city, with my incredible family and cats, professionally and personally fulfilled. I look at my life now and I’m filled with gratitude for the people who were there for me during the absolute worst of times, and now I get to celebrate so many happy things with them; birthdays, holidays, Vegas, and when I marry the man of my dreams. We get to celebrate milestones our kids achieve, and I’m just so grateful that they like me enough to put up with me.
I’m due for another spin around the sun, and for the first time in a long time, I’m so excited to celebrate what’s to come. The future just feels warm and bright, and I can’t wait to see what fall 2024 brings for everyone I love.
That’s right! ME. You probably guessed because if you follow me on social media, you would know that this ring is going to be my personality for the next eleventy million years. I’d apologize, but I am not the least bit sorry.
Also, before we get too deep into this, here are the ring details. It’s a 2.03 carat emerald cut lab diamond centre stone set in rose gold with a hidden halo. He designed the ring. I did not give any input. Yes, he’s that amazing and knew exactly what I wanted and designed it for me while I was sleeping.
Let us continue. I’m sure you have many questions, starting with how did this happen, why did this happen, and aren’t you afraid of commitment?
How is pretty straightforward. I had been telling my partner for weeks that if my beloved Oilers won the Stanley Cup, he should come to Edmonton for the festivities. INSTEAD THEY LOST (please respect my privacy during this time). To my surprise, he’d booked a flight and showed up anyway! We went for dinner and I took him to my favourite part of the city, and he asked me to marry him. No fancy speech, but he did cleverly take the ring out of the box so I had no idea he had it with him. He also didn’t get on one knee because it had rained and he didn’t want to get into the mud. My children and girl friends had been teasing him, but it’s since been corrected. It was private, simple, and perfect; zero chance a lady would say no.
For why did this happen?
I guess the short answer is because I’m in love with the man. Truthfully, I probably always have been in some way or another. The longer answer is much more complicated.
As kids we were wildly incompatible. In the height of young love, he told me he was going to marry me someday and I laughed at him, because I wasn’t the marrying type. Back then I had wild dreams of travelling the world as a reporter. I wanted to interview celebrities and travel to war zones. I didn’t want to be someone’s wife, and he wanted a picket fence and 2.5 kids. He told me when I was done adventuring, he intended to change my mind, but instead of him changing my mind, we just changed.
He grew resentful that my career aspirations came before his devotion and ended our young love affair abruptly. I nursed my broken heart and refocused on the goals; leaving our hometown and becoming a writer. When the dust settled, we restored our friendship, and he swore when I came home for Christmas, he’d win back my affection and change my mind. I did visit that Christmas, but we were both seeing someone else.
As time moves, so do priorities. Young love settles into friendship, and the days where you thought they were the one fade into the background. I got married out of necessity, and divorced to save my life. I raised my kids and went on my adventures, and he married a lovely person; getting the picket fence and family. Everyone got what they wanted, or so it seemed. Unfortunately, things don’t always work out the way you think they will.
Decades after our first date, we were both single again. However, we were both still stubborn. I wouldn’t leave the mountains, still wouldn’t be his wife. He insisted that he couldn’t leave his job, so I HAD to change my mind and move to his hometown, but I can’t uproot my family, not to mention I do not like when men tell me what to do. Soon enough, he called to tell me how he’d met someone else because he couldn’t wait for me to decide, and I faked the “I’m so happy for you,” while licking my wounds, burned by the fire of a flame almost rekindled. Through the ups and downs, and even a period where a jealous partner forbade us from speaking, the friendship always remained.
This time, he came to me, despite a fear of flying. Gone was the rigidity that had been there before. No longer was I expected to uproot my life. Now, I was free to remain in the mountains and we would balance our time. There were no conditions or expectations; he just loved me for me. No one had ever loved me for just me; not even he did the first time. I didn’t have to do anything or even reciprocate feelings; he just loves me. When someone loves you just as you are, without any conditions, it’s easy to decide what you want and how you feel. He works so hard to make me happy. He loves the kids and they view him as the father figure they’ve always wanted. He laughs at my jokes that aren’t funny and doesn’t get mad when I’m being irrational or annoying. He’s so damn good and the easiest person on Earth to love. How could you not want to marry someone like that? It took two decades but he finally changed my mind.
As for commitment, don’t worry, I’m still TERRIFIED. Fortunately my fiancé is a very patient man because most of our life together consists of me asking if he’s mad at me, if his family and friends like me, if he’s mad at me because what if his family and friends don’t like me, and panicking when we pick something for the wedding, reminding him that he doesn’t have to marry me. I’ve never known a life that is this easy. All of my previous relationships were chaotic or violent, sometimes both. I’ve spent all of my life scratching and clawing for everything I have, even if it seems insignificant to the rest of the planet. I struggle to rescind control and allow myself to work with a partner to build a life. He’s grown to be patient and open minded; I am still stubborn and determined to do everything on my own. I’m still annoying and the hardest person to love; I worry when he figures it out, he’ll be the one the change his mind. We absolutely cannot rule out that I will drive him bonkers while we blend a family and decide where we will live (eventually), and while we have talked about last names, I’ve been pretty open that I don’t want to change mine. But, if I don’t drive him completely insane, we are going to get married, and despite the geographical distance, for the first time in my life, I don’t feel like the ground is going to cave in from under me, and I can finally be happy and secure with a partner, who actually means it when they say they love me, even if wedding plans cause me to hyperventilate.
As for the ring spam, sorry folks, that’s not changing. Please accept my insincere apology.
The worst part of being a woman is that no one listens to you.
For those of you who are new to my life (but for real, I’m not that cool), three years ago I went to the doctor for a health issue. I was always tired, I gained a ton of weight despite no dietary changes, my hair was falling out. My doctor completed a biopsy, decided that even though there were irregularities, I actually had PCOS; I did not. She misdiagnosed me and prescribed medication that triggered a pulmonary embolism that almost killed me.
(In addition to being the most insane night of my life, some random person stole my necklace with a ring I wore every single day, which was a gift from my most favourite human that I didn’t give birth to. I stil get upset when I think about it. If you are the person who stole it, fuck you)
My life expectancy and quality of life has been irrevocably damaged as a result of this mistake, all which could have been avoided if SOMEONE GOD DAMN LISTENED TO ME. But the problem didn’t go away. I have to get blood work before I travel, be mindful of medications, and make sure I’m doing my part to prevent this from happening again.
Fast forward to modern day. I’ve switched doctors twice. I’ve switched OB/GYN’s twice. I’ve seen a dietician because I need to lose weight, but also NO SHIT SHARON THAT IS PRECISELY THE REASON I COME TO THE DOCTOR. I GAINED A FUCK TON OF WEIGHT FOR NO DAMN REASON. I’ve had enough blood drawn for the same seven tests that I could feed a whole ass Cullen family. But the only answer I get is “have you considered losing weight?” Like, no. I love having a deflated self esteem and shudder when people ask me to take pics of them. It’s great for me. I am having the best time, I swear.
I had all but given up and accepted that things were just gonna be like this forever, when I saw an IG post that changed the game. Former WWE Divas Champion Maryse Mizanin talked about how she saw doctor after doctor but no one listened to her about similar symptoms until finally, an OB/GYN listened and found multiple tumours that were pre-cancerous. Persistence saved her life. But it also showed me that even women who were wealthy, had resources, would be ignored.
Reading her story made me realize I shouldn’t just accept “it’s your anxiety,” or “why aren’t you losing weight.” Finally, after many moons of asking and finally screaming, my doctor ordered an ultrasound to see if something had changed since the one my old doctor said was “mostly fine.” Well, now it’s not fine. There are multiple cysts, possible polyps, and this means a second biopsy next week, followed by an endometrial ablation, and possibly a hysterectomy. If you think one horrifically invasive procedure is gross, why not THREE?! So fun right?!
Naturally, the first thing I did…was cry. After all, if something is seriously wrong, who’s gonna run my house?! Who will take care of my cats?! Two of my kids are underage. Is their sister ready to be a guardian? Their dad isn’t involved at all, so he’s not really a factor. My mom needs constant care. Who’s gonna do that? There’s the miserable feeling when you remember you get to drive yourself to the horribly invasive procedure and then drive yourself home, because your partner lives many time zones away and this means you’re on your own kid. Fortunately, I’ll also buy myself ice cream for being brave. I can’t exactly take time off from my job, despite my boss being the best and making sure that I prioritize my health. But I have one income to support many people. I can’t afford time off. Sometimes I stare at my ceiling in my room and comment to myself that I simply do not have time for this, and how dare my body inconvenience me in this way. Mostly I am just angry and scared. Maybe if someone had listened to me before, this would all be behind me. Instead, I almost died (but don’t worry, my OB/GYN says the first pulmonary embolism won’t kill you, so that’s…good? I guess?), lost my most prized possession, haven’t seen any real improvements, and now have to go through a ton of gross procedures while also trying to get my mom to do basic hygiene, plan my oldest’s birthday, attend two graduations, and I need the Oilers to win this series because Doughnut Party and Stanley Cup.
All hail Connor McDoughnut
Also, I can’t be the only one who has a very real fear of waking up during the procedure because the anaesthesia didn’t work, am I? because this is a very real concern for me, and maybe a step or two below geese on the terror scale.
I don’t have time for this. But mostly, it just sucks that almost every woman on Earth has a story just like this, where a doctor didn’t listen to them, and things ended up a mess. However, like all things, there’s always some kind of silver lining. I have some days in lieu I can use for the day I go in for my biopsy. I have a wonderful eldest child who offered to come with me (I still have to drive and buy my own ice cream lol). I have an incredible partner who is so supportive and loving while I have a manic episode and then contemplate my own mortality. My younger kids have been helping me keep up the housework. My friends care about me. Also, thanks to Weight Watchers I’m down 35lbs. My people always show up for me, even if the medical profession lets me down.
I also learned a valuable lesson, which is to keep advocating even if it seems no one is listening. I need to take some accountability too. I felt unheard so I gave up. Maybe if I had just kept on it the way I should’ve done all along. Maybe then I’d have answers sooner instead of thirty more blood tests. It’s a shame that almost every woman has felt ignored by a doctor, and I’m so grateful that more women are talking about it. Maybe eventually we will reach a point where our concerns are taken seriously the first time and not just “maybe not even never.”
It’s funny how things fall into place when they’re supposed to.
After years of randomly uprooting my life, I’ve finally seemed to find my home. With home comes stability for my family. With stability comes my job. For those of you who aren’t aware of how much I love my job, well trust, I love my damn job. GUYS THEY PAY ME TO TALK ALL DAMN DAY! AND I GET COOL SWEATERS!
Marvel at all of my hair
In all seriousness, my job gives me an incredible sense of fulfillment. I love teaching people and helping them grow their skills. It’s so exciting to me, and I think I’ve found something that I’m truly good at. Nothing brings me more joy than when I get to prattle on and on about what I do for a living. My job isn’t even a job. It’s fun! I genuinely love going to work every second of my life. But with stability and purpose comes fulfillment. I don’t say peace, because my life is generally chaotic as I raise kids and take care of my elderly mother, so nothing is really easy. But there is a sense of serenity that comes from knowing you’re on the right track.
I’ve never been on the right track before. I always jumped the tracks before I really knew. I left cities, relationships, jobs, etc. But abandoning the nomad life for a house in the suburbs has helped me find myself a bit more. I talk to my neighbours. I go running again. I feel at peace in my life. I’ve even lost 30 lbs. Having peace with my home and my job made it easier to consider sticking a toe back into dating.
As y’all know, I gave up on dating late last year when I went on a date with the human equivalent of Reddit. The only positives were that my salad was really good, and I looked fantastic.
See?
I deleted my dating apps shortly after and gave up. I took a long look at my life and realized that maybe I’m not cut out for relationships. I’m pretty set in my ways, I’m commitment phobic, I run away from my problems and I will always put my kids, cats, and job first. I’m also neurotic af and will always worry that some poor dude is mad at me or will leave. Also, my taste in men is BAD. GUYS IT IS SO BAD. I dated my own stalker…TWICE! If you’ve met my ex husband, you’d realize the stalker was an upgrade. My love life is littered with Mr. Wrong, Mr. Abuser, and Mr. Stalker; no thanks man. It seemed like I was destined to die alone with my cats, and I was actually pretty good with that.
Friendly reminder that my cats are often sick of my shit
Before I decided “down with love,” I always used to joke that someday I’ll write a book about my love life called “what in the fuck is even happening?” I’d change some names so my ex husband doesn’t try to claim royalties, and I could cast Billie Eilish to play high school me in the movie. The only problem was that the book had no ending. After I deleted all of the apps, my kids (who decided I needed to get back out there) asked about my idea, and I told them I’d need some kind of ending, but “and she lived with her cats,” didn’t feel like the feel good ending of the year. A story of one woman’s constant need to pick the worst possible outcome should have one ending where she got it right, n’est pas?
But like I said, things have a funny way of working out in just the right time, and in just the right way. Around the same time as I had deleted the cesspool known as tinder, I was also feeling my oats at work and in life. For the first time in a long time, I felt like my family was in a good place, I was mostly financially stable, and I regularly got ramen with my best friend. Now that I’m removed from a situation, I realize that maybe some people were dragging me down, as they only wanted to talk to me when they wanted to vent about their own misery. I was a fine sounding board when they thought their husband was cheating or that they didn’t look good in shorts, but never for a night out or laughs. As the black cloud of devastation faded, I realized that I was well rested and happier and much more confident than I had been in years.
That particular day, we were launching some new products at work and I was pretty pleased with my training methods. The teams seemed really excited and I felt like I was really good at this. I was actually just finishing up a really great event when my phone rang. I rarely check my personal phone at work, but I was done my work day and wondered if it was one of my kids. It was not. It was one of my best friends/former high school boyfriend, whom I hadn’t spoken to in a year, save for one rushed conversation two days after my birthday. The conversation picked up like it always did, and two hours later it was like no time had passed. Before long, two hour chats were happening every day. Six months later, I was meeting him at the airport. By the time we went back to the airport for him to resume the Homer Simpson life, the conversation had changed. The “love ya” had changed to “I love you,” and carried more weight. The looks lasted longer. Things weren’t the same anymore and there was no going back. There was also no leaving my house and job. What’s a gal to do, besides figure it out as one goes.
Maybe the reason that the tale known as “what the fuck is even happening here?” Didn’t have an ending is because I didn’t know where to look. It wasn’t on Tinder, or in my marriage, or dating my own stalker (twice). It wasn’t on my own as the cat lady, although I’m never ruling that one out. The reason I couldn’t find the happy ending was because it was all the way back at the very beginning of the story. It was nestled in the nostalgia of young love and senior prom, where romance turned to friendship. It was trapped in the past behind near misses and stolen moments and finally when we told each other, “I met someone,” and the response was overwhelming happiness for the other. But what is meant for you will always be yours and after two divorces, a crap ton of therapy (for both of us), and a few years of space, it seemed like the answer was clear.
Continued reminder that my cats are so done with my shit
Of course, I still made sure to make the most complicated decision. Neither of us can leave our jobs and my family and I have a life in the mountains. Also, I’m obsessed with my house. For the first time ever, a relationship of mine is hampered by my boundary to not move anywhere. Any mention of a long term future results in my asking “why” 37 times in a row. I still sometimes wonder if he’s lost his mind and realizes he could do better than a neurotic workaholic that cries a lot (but is so productive). But, for the first time ever, I don’t wonder when the shoe is gonna drop, or measure every move to protect my heart and ego. Maybe it’s because I have my own life and my person; as well as the space to navigate all of the fears and insecurities that one had when they’ve only been in one healthy relationship in their entire life. Either way, for the first time in forever, I feel very fulfilled in every aspect of my life; personally, professionally, as a parent, and as a person. Everything happens for a reason, and my reasons seem to have fallen into place, even if I don’t really understand how it all worked out perfectly without my even trying.
My favourite game to play online is “read my old Facebook memories and remember how cringy I used to be.”
I’ve always been a pretty ridiculous person, I always remind people that the more trauma you’ve been through, the funnier you get to be, so naturally, I am the most hilarious person on this planet (I have references). But I also don’t really shy away from cringy or stupid, and I’m always so amused by how much dumb shit I used to post online. Over the years I’ve realized how important it is to be fiercely protective of yourself and your life, which is why my social media feed is mainly just memes and my cats. When you give too much of yourself, you open up yourself for people to take parts of you. That’s something I’ve learned is a non negotiable.
(Although I also learned that I was ahead of the COVID curve by about four years)
This also helped me learn that I’ve lived in Edmonton for NINE YEARS. Guys. I stayed in one place for nine years! Through the stalker ex boyfriends that showed up at my hotel, job changes, life changes, friendships, and 300 bad dates, I am still here. Who saw this coming?I wonder if it’s because I truly love my home city, or simply because I’ve run out of places to run. Vancouver is pretty expensive, and after that it’s the ocean. I’d run east but I’m allergic to fish so what do I eat in the Maritimes? I always vowed never to backtrack, so maybe I’ve reached the limits of how far I can run.
Those who know me well know that when it comes to fight, flight, or freeze, I only have one response; run. Name your scenario and I assure you I have run from it. Job losses, breakups, mild inconveniences, a fierce desire to escape my hometown and never return, there is no situation where I can’t look at it and go “yup, I’m out of here,” and run like Hell. I have run from every relationship I’ve ever had, save for the one I should have sprinted away from like Usain Bolt. I once fled a party in the middle of the night thanks to a conversation that consisted of only two words. Hell, I tried to run away from my own wedding, and only said “I do” because of the rain. You name it, I’ve probably bolted out the door as far away from it as humanly possible. Men who could have been good for me (or terribly bad for me) have been left in the dust as I pleaded with my mind to invent a reason why it could never work and run into the night. I’ve never stayed in one place for more than three years because there’s always something I need; to write, to escape, to create space. No where was off limits except for my hometown; I used to wish on stars that I’d leave and never look back. Some people look at their hometown as a fun nostalgic place. For me it’s a source of trauma that slowly chipped away at the bright eyed little girl I was, leaving the woman that I am. While I take solace that the trauma has made me HILARIOUS, the more space I can put between me and that town of evil, the better.
(Somewhere, a cousin or a friend is gonna read this and tell me it’s not that bad, but I assure you, you will never convince me. I can be stubborn, and I will never back down on this point)
But I’m still here. Sure the house isn’t the same, as it took me a couple of tries to find the right one, but my house provides me with a sense of stability I’ve never really had outside of living in my foster home. There are no spectres of tenants past haunting the walls or my mailbox. Gone are the days of wondering who the person behind the mis-delivered credit card bills is; this is my home. My daughter intends to start university here in the fall and I am so fiercely proud of that young woman. My job is the most fun I’ve ever had in the workforce. It combines my favourite things; playing with new tech, and talking your ear off until you will hear my voice in your sleep. My friends are here. Even though my best friend out here is a Markham export, I couldn’t navigate life without her and her insanity. She’s the best human being alive (she will tell you she is evil), and my life is made better because she’s my friend and we have ramen. But every friend I’ve made out here has been the best person, and while I miss my friends back home (I haven’t seen anyone in SIX YEARS), I wouldn’t want to do life without the weirdos out here I call my friends.
Look at this ramen
As part of my never ending quest to be the best type of person I can be, I’ve allowed my therapist to really help me dive in to the why factor. Why is it that I always need to leave? Part of it was to escape a childhood that left me abused and damaged that I was terrified I wouldn’t be a good person. Most of my formative years were spent fleeing from situations; evictions, poverty, cycles of abuse. The only stability I ever had was in a foster home and that was only six years. I don’t think I ever knew what stability was and I decided it had an expiration date on it. The only time I ever doubled down was on my marriage, where I was determined to make it work, even though everyone and their dog knew it was wrong, including me. Between the feelings like I owed him and the guilt that stemmed from trying to race out of there, I resigned myself to staying, no matter how poorly I was treated or how many bruises I ended up with. I always joke that I’ve been engaged twice and married once, and never has it been my decision. If you ever run into him, he will tell you how I’m a life ruining succubus that destroyed his potential, but every story needs a villain, maybe I’m his. The only thing of permanence in my life was my role as a mother to my children. Homes, cities, relationships are all expendable except for them, and they come with me.
So why am I still here? What is it about Edmonton that keeps me here? Is it the space that allows me to live in a big city without feeling suffocated? Is it my friends? The close proximity to mountains? Did I finally exorcise my demons and leave them with the leeches in Lake Huron, never to haunt me again. Maybe it was the desire to give my kids stability. Maybe I secretly love the cold. Truthfully, I couldn’t tell you, but for the first time in my life, I feel like I have a real home and no desire to check indeed and pack up again. The feeling of “home” that I’ve chased since I was a child seems to be here, or I’ve deluded myself, but either way, it’s magical. Every time someone visits me I show them around like a proud parent at the art fair. I even like the Oilers. Maybe it’s because I started dedicating myself to giving back to this community that has brought me the peace and belonging I’ve craved since I was five years old that I finally can stop moving (unless I switch houses again, but I doubt it. I’ll die here).
My therapist thinks that perhaps my desire to stay in Edmonton and build a less nomadic life for my family is a sign of growth, and I can finally stop running away from my emotions. I can assure him that’s probably not the case, as one time someone got all let’s talk about our feelings and I almost crashed my car into a Volvo. But it’s nice to see that I’m capable of remaining in one place and finding the feeling of home.
As is tradition, I’m posting my year in review. It’s been a transformative year. I travelled, I learned lessons, I enjoyed a new job; it was a struggle and a joy all at once. I bought my youngest daughter a prom dress. I learned that sometimes people who say you’re their best friend actually only want you around when it benefits them, and then you’ll get kicked to the curb as soon as you expect reciprocation for the support they’ve always gotten from you. I’ve learned that the best people can return to your life like no time has passed. I’ve learned that love is where you look for it, and rarely on Tinder haha. And I’ve learned that even the smallest person can overcome truly dark and debilitating things if they have people that love them. So take care of yourselves this holiday, and best wishes for 2024!
As is tradition, a Super Bowl cake explaining why Tom Brady sucks
I realized that I haven’t really had the energy to write anything in a long time. The truth is that I didn’t know what to write about. I didn’t really feel confident in my abilities in really anything, and for a long time I’ve been going through the motions. But I’ve been sitting at home down sick with the flu, which has freed up some time to actually be creative and write something.
There hasn’t been much to discuss. I’ve been grieving the loss of a twenty year friendship and it’s crushed me to my core. I have actually mourned this more than my divorce, and even several deaths. This was more than a friendship; they were quite literally the most important non related person in my entire life. I genuinely felt like they were my human in this life, and I didn’t even care how one sided the friendship was getting. I was begging to make plans, they only reached out when they needed to vent. When I was at rock bottom, navigating my weight, my mom, and my mentally ill teenager, I broke down over a pair of pants. Was it dramatic? OF COURSE I WAS OVERLY DRAMATIC! But I didn’t need to hear that. I wanted someone to see that I was breaking down under the pressure of my reality and just tell me that they cared and offered anything; a coffee, a hug, a stiff drink. Instead, I bawled alone on my bedroom floor in silence. I’ve sobbed on my floor so many more times since then; on my birthday, when I didn’t hear from them at all. On their birthday, when I extended an olive branch, desperately wanting my friend, only to be left on read. Even now, I catch myself when something happens in my day, or I get a new meme, because that’s the first person I want to talk to. From that positive work review, to my possible reconciliation with a former flame, I grab my phone to text, and then remember there’s no point. With my divorce, I was happy to be finally free, but this is like having a limb hacked off and expected to be the same. It’s really rattled me in ways I’ve never imagined.
But much like in all things, it’s important to take this experience and use it to grow. I’ve been doing a lot of reflection. I asked my most honest of all of the friends if I was off base over ramen. She said of course I was dramatic, because I’m always dramatic. However, a little basic human empathy would have been nice, and it’s a good thing I didn’t call her, because she has only one feeling.
This is actually not true, and she’s the best person ever. She has been with me during some of the darkest times, taken my daughter to the hospital, and was the only person who showed up to my holiday party even though she had been in a car wreck three days earlier. We need more people like her in our lives).
This gave me an epiphany. I’ve been trying so hard to get back to the old me, but the old me is dead and gone.
I loved the old me, and I currently hate the current me. But I also have to accept that the old me is gone. She died under the weight of a million tasks, inflation, and exhaustion. She can’t come back because she isn’t right for this version of my life and that’s okay. So I realized I needed to grieve for the person I used to be, because she can’t live in this current reality. I need to let her go so I can rebuild her as someone who I can love again.
That didn’t mean that pieces of her can’t come back. It just meant that some things would never be the same. Instead of praying to be who I used to be, I had to look at my life and ask “who am I now?” And then learn to love her. I keep getting stuck because I’m trying to get back to a person who can’t exist anymore. My life has changed dramatically since then. I’m now a full time caregiver to an elderly parent. I work a completely different job. Inflation has changed how much extra money I have. I enjoy being alone more than I ever have before. There isn’t a world to house the old MHC anymore because it’s also dramatically changed. I’ve been failing at all of my goals because I keep trying to walk backwards to a life and a world that isn’t there anymore. I’ve spent years learning to pivot and move forward no matter how bad things got in my life, but I fell into a holding pattern and couldn’t get out.
So, I started making it a point every day to do something to get out of Groundhog Day. From weekend cardio with my 6km walks to Starbucks, working out at night, and making it a point to get a good night’s sleep every night. In order to get back to a person I like, I have to create her from the ground up again. Sometimes it feels so exhausting to constantly have to adapt, but as my daughter would say “sucks.” The truth is that we will always have to adapt. Marriages end, friendships fall apart, relatives die, jobs can be lost. But you can’t just expect to go back to the way it used to be when the way it used to be no longer exists. Instead, you just have to learn how to become the best version of you in your new reality.
I would pretend I have some big reason or something exciting is happening in my life, but the truth is, I was just very depressed.
I’ll have some good days and feel like maybe I’m finally in a good place, but then something will happen and I’ll realize I’m not quite as healthy as I thought. It was actually a day at the gym. It was ideally the best kind of gym day. My fave team members were there. The best coaches were there. The workout had all of my favourite movements. But I left and sat in my car crying because I HATED CrossFit.
I couldn’t get past how I used to be good at this. But now I just felt like a fat blob trying to work out. I went back to running, and a guy on my street made a fat joke and told me to lose weight as I was running. Like, dude, I am literally jogging, I AM CLEARLY TRYING TO GET IN SHAPE. But again, I wasn’t good at it anymore. I just wanted to be good at my favourite things again. I didn’t write anything because I had no desire. I didn’t feel good at it. I didn’t feel good at anything I used to be good at. I was learning the ropes at a new job and I desperately wanted to be good at it. I wanted to feel like a good mom, but advocating to make sure your mentally ill teenager gets the treatment she needs is hard. You’re judged by doctors who have no way to help due to cutbacks. Any time I tried to tell people how depressed I was, I just got “okay,” or “I’m sorry.” Every time I would just repress some more, until it bubbled up again and rinse, repeat. I was falling apart and dead inside, but still expected to raise my kids and take care of my mom, keep my house clean, and also drop everything when a friend needed a shoulder.
Rock bottom came when I was sobbing on my floor because I hated myself. I was so miserable and I had to buy pants a size up. I was going on a trip, and I was terrified about flying. What if I didn’t fit in a plane seat? What if I was one of those people they make fun of in memes? Was this irrational? Yes. But my body dysmorphia was out of control. I had worked so hard to never feel like this again and yet here I was. I was embarrassed and broken. I had broken out in hives from eczema, triggered by stress. I reached out to a friend and was told I was dramatic. I remember sitting on my floor for over an hour, numb. I hated myself so much that I couldn’t even move from my floor, and the one person who I felt would understand how intense my body image issues had become completely dismissed me like a minor annoyance.
Before I continue, I want to acknowledge the people who do show up for me, because I’m so grateful to have them in my life. One of my best friends dropped everything to take my daughter to the hospital when I was stuck in Red Deer. My best friend from high school is one of the best listeners, even when I spend more time talking about my salad than my date. I have a lot of people who have been in the trenches with me while I struggle to get out of bed some days, and they deserve to be acknowledged.
Anywho, I was MAD. More mad than I have ever been in a long time. I saw RED. Every single thing that I had bottled up for months and months suddenly erupted. It was the last straw after months and months of little things where my feelings would be hurt and I’d push to the side. I felt used, like I was just a sounding board and not a person with feelings. I was ready to unload because here I was, genuinely upset and I just got spoken down to in a super condescending way. Instead, the rational part of my brain kicked in and I just ended the conversation.
I sat on my floor and cried until my 16yo daughter came in and asked me what was wrong. I gave her a high level “I don’t feel good about my pants,” and expected her to flit off to hang out with her friends. Instead, we had a good chat. Instead of sending a scorched Earth rage text, unloading all of the hurt feelings that I had been bottling up for months, I called my doctor for a referral to a dietician, to start antidepressants, and to request more blood work to see if the weight gain was hormonal. I called my therapist. I coldly looked in the mirror and reminded myself that I needed to stop being there for everyone else, and start being there for myself.
I also went on vacation. It was rad.
My life has been made better by Eras Tour
My therapist and I have been unraveling why I hate exercise. We also unraveled why I have been so angry. They explained that my friendships are rarely 50/50. They’re usually 80/20. Basically, I desperately want people to like me, so I let them walk all over me. But I also want to be given the same effort I put out there, and when it’s not reciprocated, I internalize it until I explode. I’m self aware enough to know that being a depressed loser on the brink of a nervous breakdown isn’t really a fun person to be around. But I also know when my friends are in the same situation, I’m there for them. But when it’s me, I generally feel even more isolated and alone because I don’t get that support. But then I just rationalize away until I can’t anymore, but I always feel like I’m doing something wrong by being angry. There’s a lot to work through, but it’s a start.
Also, we did a deep dive as to why I have struggled with exercise, my feelings of failure, and why I feel so down. I miss the feeling of accomplishment when I’d see myself improving, but I also get mad because four years ago I was posting my best running times and my strongest one rep max at the gym. Now I’m back at square one.
I feel like a lot of my life I’m starting all over again. I had to start all over again when I got divorced. I had to start all over again when my landlord sold my old house. I’ve had to start all over again at three different jobs since I quit the most toxic boss in history. Now, the one constant in my life (fitness), I’m starting from the bottom again. Fitness was the one place I felt like I was really good at something, and now I’m not even good at that, and it made me feel worse about myself. For the last three years everything has felt so out of control. I haven’t felt like I was good at anything. If I had been a better salesperson, maybe I wouldn’t have gone into debt trying to save my home. If I had been a better parent, maybe my teenager wouldn’t be mentally ill. If I had treated my body better, maybe I wouldn’t have nearly died. Fitness was all I had and now, I don’t even feel like I really have that.
So, now I’m trying to take control. I make it a point to fill my Apple Watch rings every day. I go for a walk every night. Small steps in the right direction. Once I feel ready, go back to the gym. Some days I literally have to force myself to get up and work out. But I remind myself that no one ever got healthier laying in a rut. But those days I have to literally drag myself out of bed with no motivation are still better than days I’m doing literally nothing.
I make sure to get out of my house and enjoy my life. I even went on a date; it was awful, and I am pretty sure I went out with Reddit, but I still went and put myself out there. I have one cheat meal a week. I take my anti depressants. I pet my cats and spend time with my kids. Most importantly, I clean my house. No matter how shitty I feel, I clean my house. That way, no matter what happens, I have one productive win because I cleaned my house. It’s not much, but it’s a decent start.
I genuinely don’t know if this is the time it’ll stick and I’ll finally get to a point where I don’t have to start over again from the beginning. Even if it’s not, I owe it to myself to keep trying to get healthier, even if it means starting all over again…again.
The Misadventures of MHC 