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Mindful Dragon

Mindful Dragon Blog

My journey of learning to authentically live a value-based life.

New Posts to be posted on this page!

A little update: I moved off grid, out in the woods, last summer. That’s where I’ll be spending my summer/fall months, while having on-grid adventures over the winter. I’ve been figuring out life as a dragon living in the wild - off-grid and without running water. I’m sharing my journey on instagram @offgrid_dragon if you’re interested in following along. I also plan to keep writing blog posts and posting here! Thanks for reading! Fierce love!


 
 

The Specialness of Coffee and the Limits of Candy

January 18, 2023

My writing and insights don’t always (ever) follow my life chronologically. A lot has happened in my life these past six months. I’ve been on adventures in the world and deeply in my heart, I felt my mom’s last heartbeat, I changed my name. A lot of this has yet to make it to blog posts. I simply can’t write about them all yet. It’s just not time.

Sometimes I feel a desire to force it so my posts make sense in terms of my life and for you as my reader knowing me, but I’ve learned I simply can’t force it. It works better when I just let it be. And as a writer I also don’t want to limit what comes to me naturally just because it’s a B when I didn’t yet write about A. Admittedly this one is more like an S, but you get the idea.  

As a deep thinker who gets excited by identifying needs and sitting with emotions, I’ve been reflecting a lot lately on both of those things, especially in terms of relationships.

One of the needs that comes up is to feel included (not left out, abandoned, rejected) by my tribe and another one, very closely tied, seems to be the need to feel special.

 I can accept that this is my current truth and I know I share it with many. But I wanted to look closer and truly understand it.

 So okay, I know I have this need to feel special.

 But why? Why do we have such a need to feel special? It’s as if we’ve been trained to feel like we need to stand out, be unique, be special, in order to matter. In order to be valued we must be invaluable.

It’s not just identifying our own uniqueness – which can be wonderful. To know yourself and know there is only one of you. To celebrate all of who you are.

But why do we need others to think we are special?

 If we’re in the tribe, why do we need to stand out?

Is it a sense of security that we will stay in the tribe because of our version of the chicken dance? I mean who kicks out the person who can make everyone laugh, right?

We have a desire to fit in but also be seen as someone who stands out. At what point does it shift from “yay, I’m about that too!” to “Oh no, if I’m not the only one who is about that, I don’t matter!”. In the polyamory world (where you have multiple romantic relationships), I see myself and others seeking a sense of security in uniqueness or specialness.

This doesn’t just relate to polyamory of course, it relates to many many relationships. Like coworkers, friendships, siblings, people you see at the gym, etc. If you have found yourself evaluating your specialness or what you bring to the table for your boss when your coworker seems to be kicking ass, your friend who just got another friend who also shares a love of skiing, or discovering how to understand the worth of your relationship with your Dad when your sister likes the same type of beer and watches hockey, then read on. If you are human, I’m guessing you have felt some version of this. For me, in the polyamory world, I’ve felt like a lot of what I’m working through isn’t abnormal or specific to polyamory, it’s just in your face more which leads to wonderful growth as you deal with things you may have otherwise swept under rugs or covered with chocolate sauce.

In polyamory I have found the “special” factor surface in a few ways. Perhaps because the typical go-to for monogamous couples of being the “only one” has already been removed from the false-sense-of-security menu. The fact that we aren’t the only partner already means we’ve lost the ability to put our safety in being the “only one”, so now we are trying to form safety around being “the only one who ___”. 

As if creating a specialness to our relationship is the reason we can feel secure with our partner. Secure about our love.

 Is it helpful? It can be absolutely. It feels wonderful to know and feel that sense of specialness.

 Is it necessary? Is it possible for us to feel secure in our own worthiness and our love and relationship without assigning it to being the other person’s only (or best) source of X? 

If all of your partners had the same skills and were also a source of emotional support and  comfort, would you not still love them for who they are and your shared love?

Even if two can tango, I’d still love dancing with them both. And each dance would be different and special because of who they are and who we are together.

I like the idea of detaching myself from the need to put my safety into “specialness” – at least in terms of skills or things I do or activities we share. If I can hold onto the fact that I’m worthy and safe because I’m me and our love is wonderful and enough to stand on its own, well that sounds fucking amazing. I wouldn’t be shaken by the possibilities of learning something about other partners, because it would no longer have to mean something about me and us. I love the idea of putting my trust in us and my safety in being me and leading with my heart. Not only does it feel more secure and comfortable, it will also allow me to embrace other partners without getting blocked by those things or resistant to knowing just how amazing they truly are. Their amazingness will now be mine to embrace and appreciate whole heartedly - and how wonderfully loving and expansive is that.

It’s nice to hear “you’re the only one…” but it feels a little like a cheat code. Like an easy out. Like I’m getting a security-high from a candy bar instead of feeling full and nurtured by the main dish. There’s nothing wrong with some candy (as a sugar fiend I would clearly never imply this) but the security needs to come from elsewhere. If you are eating well-balanced meals, a candy bar is one thing. If you are malnourished, it’s a whole other story. I don’t think it will ever be something I don’t want to hear, but I feel a yearning to make sure it’s not where I’m getting my nutrients.

For a few reasons.

It’s more fragile. It means that the security is dependent on me being the only one who XYZs. And it doesn’t take long in polyamory to find out that there are many awesome people out there. And those other awesome rockstars are likewise attracted to your partner. Those girls who you might secretly be jealous of on Instagram are now not only just “some girl”, they are kissing your boyfriend.

Feelings about that of course will show up regardless from time to time, but if I’m hanging my hat on the fact the he loves me for my X, and now I see she also has an X, that’s a whole different level of activation. In that case, it becomes a threat to the stability of your relationship  - even if solely in your mind (okay often solely in your mind).

It would be pretty difficult to poly respectfully and lovingly if you’re playing a subtraction game with your partner’s partner.

ME – HER = ?

Is there enough left to keep me in the equation?

I don’t want to do that. And it’s not just because I fucking HATE math. If I am looking to anything that could be captured in a math problem – I’m looking too shallowly at everyone. I want to feel secure about my worth and what I bring to a relationship without comparison. I want to cherish our unique connection and love and have faith that my partner does the same. “Well she can bake, but I can play piano” – this just sounds exhausting and absurd when you write it out like that. But if we’re honest, we may have found that we’ve done this very weird math in our heads.

If you are searching constantly for ways to feel like you are still in the equation, your sense of worth to yourself, and your perceived sense of worth to your partner, is always in question. That’s no way to live or love.

If I’m special because I’m me – not the elements that make me up, but a deeper sense of who I am at my core. And if you are special because of who you are at your core. And each relationship is special because of how those two cores combine. Then, there truly is no comparison. There is no threat. There is only love.

There is just that combination – unique as the two souls that contribute to it. As long as that combination is healthy and loving and deep and felt by both people, it is wonderful and beautiful and enough. It is special. In a way that nothing else can touch.

And if we are our own combination – than other combinations, other people’s unique souls and beings intertwining with your partner, is truly their own thing.

Polyamory has taught me many things, and one of those things is just how much our hearts have the capacity to feel love, to love many combinations simultaneously. To hold many relationships in the highest regard. To do so without any detraction, without any interference on the amount of love available or felt. It’s true of friendships, family relationships, and romantic relationships. Our hearts are expansive. So much more than we often allow them to be.

My morning coffee is loved even though I also love my evening coffee. And both are vitally important to me and fulfill me in many ways. Those of you who know me well will know just how accurate this statement is. And yes I know it’s a bit of a silly example, but it speaks volumes if you let yourself understand these parallels in your life and heart. I will not go without either coffee. They may both even be coffee (double espresso americanos with soy milk, to be exact), but they are both special, wanted, appreciated and extremely valued and loved.

 I am tempted to leave it at that. But there’s more here. The question I still want to work through –  one I hope you also may have.

 How do I truly start adopting this mindset?

The process I ended up going through was this.

Take a look at what you currently tie your value to. List them out. If it helps, go relationship by relationship.

Looking at this list, it’s not that anything on here is wrong or things you shouldn’t be proud of. Instead, I am going to practice appreciating these things about myself and at the same time, remind myself they aren’t WHY I am worthy of love.

Truly reflect on how the two of you combine to create the relationship you have and the specialness that exists in that combination. Reflect on those deep reasons you love your partner, and how much you trust that they are deeper than the roles they play or what they bring to the table. Apply the same trust to yourself.

Those are just the ideas I came up with, explore whatever feels right for you. There is no expert advice here, just our hearts trying to feel it out.

Back to the question.. is it even necessary to feel special?

Some people could use specific things between them to feel more connected. To feel special. To secure a sense of uniqueness about their relationship. If it’s working, no problem. I’m not here to judge how others decide to love or live. It definitely offers some comfort, so I can completely understand the desire to do it.

It’s a road to special marked with external signs. But personally, I have decided I don’t want to go down that road any further. I want to take an unmarked road to my special destination.

I want to love from a place of trusting that our combination is delicious, even if there are many variations of the same drink.

No one is ever going to be your specific blend. It’s obvious you are unique as you are. Even if you share traits or skills or activities with someone else. And absolutely be proud and celebrate your you-ness. But in terms of worthy and valuable – I want us all to go deeper.  

Deeper, and somehow more simplistic.

I want to invest in the specialness that comes from the same place that love does. I think we should all feel special. Trust that we are special because we’re us. And our relationships are special because it’s you and me.

There’s a comfort I feel investing in this mindset. It allows me more ability to embrace others in this deeper sense. It allows me a comfort and security in myself and my relationships. It feels right. It feels real. It feels like I’m moving even closer to the true essence of love.

Our essence beyond. The result of what happens when we strip all of those labels away.

I want to feel secure and loveable and worthy and loved for that part.

And I want to love you all on that level too.

 Fierce Love


 

The First Year Mom isn’t on my Christmas Shopping List.

November 29, 2022

 

It started so joyfully

Listening to Christmas tunes

Dreaming of Christmas soon to be

Drawing from Christmases past

Thinking of ideas of what treasures I might find

Smiles I can put under the tree

 

Open the notes app on my phone

Add my nephews, my friends, my love, my sister, my Dad

And then my thumbs started to ghost write

They yearn to complete the list

As they always have

Every single year I’ve been making Christmas lists

Which is to say since I was old enough to write

From the time it consisted only of Mom, Dad, Rosalie

 

Now I stare at this list of people I love

And feel a pang in my chest at its incompleteness

Still containing the usefulness of its intended purpose

But no longer capturing what it used to

 

You’re missing from my list

Not my heart

And I can’t help but feel the urge to add you anyway

Add you to honour that I didn’t forget you

Add you to acknowledge you will still be a part of Christmas

Hell I even want to buy you a present

So I still get to walk through the stores and think of you

To buy something I know you’d love

And now, it could be something I know the you I lost a long time ago would love

The real you

A present that I can hold onto and hold you close

So maybe I’ll start a new tradition of an old one

Change nothing but who unwraps your gift

 

This year’s present

A find I found on a hunt in Chicago

Don McLean’s vinyl record of American Pie

I hear you singing loud

I see you stomping your feet, snapping your fingers

Dancing in the kitchen

I know all the words and the memories are so palpable

I know how to miss you well to this song

The perfect gift for you, for me,

The first year Mom isn’t on my Christmas shopping list 

 


This is Love. Oh, and I’m a Badass.

August 18, 2022

Spontaneous, unplanned, unexpected. 

Out of nowhere I decided to go out to the middle of nowhere, alone.

 

On Monday I went backcountry camping alone at Kejimikujik park. 12 kms into a campsite, overnight in a tent, and 12 kms back. Alone. 

And it was only two days before booking this site that I found myself yet again saying “I really loved the idea of solo hiking - but that was pre-bear.”. I’ve been meeting new people lately, and naturally a lot of conversations hit on the topic of sharing things we enjoy. So of course, hiking and nature and camping comes up. For one, it’s summer. And secondly, nature is one of my biggest loves so how could it not? And every time I share the love or even the love of the idea of solo hiking and camping, I can’t resist the postamble of “..but that was pre-bear”, “I’m definitely not ready for that though”, or “I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to do that again”. I’m not sure what clicked in me to shift it so drastically, but I have a suspicion. 

I think the brat inside of me who absolutely hates being told what she can’t do (even by myself) heard it too much that she got pissed and decided to retaliate. Or, more romantically, those ideas triggered an intuitive reflex that I was mindful enough to listen to. I just knew it was the right move for me, in that very moment. And my stubbornness just simply wouldn’t let it go, even if it didn’t make a lot of sense and I was lacking a lot of my supplies.

This trip wasn’t just about reclaiming something I lost. Admittedly, I had only ever solo hiked once in my life - and it was also at Keji, but it was one of the closest sites you can reserve and still consider yourself a hiker. In fact, the one time I went to that site with my partner we still had energy to burn when we got our camp set up that we decided to hike further just for fun. In my opinion, that’s not what it should feel like when you reach your site on a backcountry venture. And it certainly wasn’t what I was feeling when I reached site 45 on Monday. Exhausted, sore, and couldn’t get my hiking boots off fast enough. That’s real hiking. That’s what I wanted. That was the real dream. To be able to go on epic solo journeys. It was beyond reclaiming, it was about taking back the possibility of continuing to pursue dreams that would have been a stretch, even pre-bear.

The idea of sleeping in any tent, with any amount of people, in any degree of civilization, felt like something I just couldn’t bring myself to do with the remnants of PTSD lingering. And I didn’t just find myself alone, in the middle of a forest in a tent, I put myself there. 

When I arrived at Keji and was signing in at the visitor’s centre, the lady behind the desk offered me a closer site. Had I been taking an approach of incremental steps, possibly an approach that is preferred to a healing journey where you want to be gentle with yourself and increase the chance of success and overtime build up, I should have taken her up on the offer. It made the most sense. If I was going to push my limits, it might make sense to only push them a bit and see what happens. 

But alas, this is not how I function apparently. I think there’s an extra determination I find deep within when I make my goal a bit absurd. And what’s more absurd than going to the furthest site I’ve ever been, having never set up the tent before, without some of my gear thanks to the lack of prep. I wasn’t home when I decided I would do this, and I refused to make the extra trip home in order to have all the things I would typically have with me. I refused to have this idea and put more than 12 hours between me and starting it. Maybe I feared I’d lose my drive if I waited longer, maybe the absurdity of having to meet the demand of urgency allowed me to ride just enough crazy to get me to the trailhead. 

One of the things I didn’t have with me was (one of) my bear bell. So what’s a girl to do walking alone in the woods for 3 hours? I practiced my whistling for a minute or two, but after exhausting my wolf whistles, it didn’t last long. Instead, I talked. And talked. And talked. And talked and talked and talked. 

There’s a difference between incessantly thinking and incessantly talking. I liken talking to writing, letting it flow as something almost separate to you. As this separate thing, you can listen to it and respond to it. It becomes a method of reflection, of being curious, of sorting things out, working through instead of getting lost in thought. You can catch yourself in your own bullshit easier when you hear it out loud, or when it stares back to you from a page. It’s easier to poke the holes. It’s easier to question. It’s easier to hear it out and see what the message is. 

It’s also easier to offer kindness. My thinking tone to myself can be so bitchy and mean sometimes, but when I offer that out in the world it quickly changes. You can catch yourself treating yourself in a way you wouldn’t stand hearing yourself talk to anyone else. You can correct it. And on the positive side of things, you can more easily be comforted by your own words when they come out in a loving, encouraging tone that your ears can actually take in. 

I had some beautiful epiphanies while trekking between the trees with 50lbs on my back, trying to avoid tripping over roots while simultaneously taking in the breeze and the sounds around me. A lot of those enlightened insights were just about how fucking hard hiking is. How much it hurts. How there is literally a spiderweb everywhere you walk. How those tiny black flies could fly absolutely anywhere but insist on getting into my eyeballs. How maybe it I stop wiping the cobwebs away from my face the flies might actually get caught in it and then I’d have one less problem.

(I’ve included the other insights at the end of this post if you’re interested in getting in the mind of a rambling hiker.)

All the complaining aside, I felt like a fucking badass hiking that trail. Hell, I felt like a fucking badass rushing to buy a camp-stove with ten minutes before the store closed on Sunday night. I felt like a badass asking myself “What will this mean if I can actually do this?”, and I felt like an absolute invincible badass when that transformed into “so it seems like you actually did do this” as I closed the gap between the campsite and my car on Tuesday. As I collapsed beside my car, on top of my pack, I felt washed over with a sense of fierce freedom that only comes from empowerment. My breathing laboured, but easier to breathe. Like the walls of my limits that had been crushing in on me had been pushed back. Perhaps not even visible, but certainly not felt. My lungs having more space to expand, my heart more space to fill. 

I could barely walk as I made my way through the errands on my way home; hobbling my way through stores with sore legs and a massive blister on my left heel. Body - dead. Heart - alive. 

I was delightfully surprised with my lack of panic on this adventure. It didn’t feel like something I simply made it through, with a lot of emotional struggle. It felt like something I was able to enjoy and stay connected with - and even when that was struggle, it was often about the blister forming on my heel or the heaviness of my pack cutting into my shoulders. The only time the bear thoughts got a bit intrusive was in my tent overnight. And even that, I was able to breathe through and redirect my attention. All things considered, I don’t feel like the bear had much at all to do with this adventure. And that feels like.. more than healing. 

I think this trip was more about my relationship with nature. I feel proving to myself that I can do this, and embrace it with my whole heart, that feels like I didn’t just repair my relationship - it made us even stronger. I feel this sense of closing a chapter. I’m not so naive to believe I won’t re-read the bear chapter every now and then, but I think I can see it as a chapter that is finished. A crazy story that will always be a part of my book, but finally feels like it is unlikely to ever have a sequel. The real storyline is about nature and me, the trials and tribulations of our relationship. Stronger than ever, I feel I’m starting this new chapter. 

A question that continued to come to me as I took another one of the 40,042 steps was “If I can do this, what else can I do? What can’t I do?”. It applies to me and my own power, absolutely. It applies to every area of my life and dreams that my strength can touch. And yet, it also seems to fit here in the story of nature and me. If we can do this, if we can overcome what we have, if we can embrace the beauty after such a torrential storm, what else can we do together? What can’t we do? Does our relationship have any limits? How much love can we embody between us? How much connection? I’ve never been so held and so secure in my love for you. I’ve never felt so open and vulnerable and strong enough to meet you where you are. And you know what? After being away in nature, I can’t even express how ridiculously happy it made me to also be coming home to nature. 

Grinning delightfully as I drove barefoot through the tree covered road of my long driveway with aches and pains and exhaustion, and fire in my eyes, I had one thought. This is love. 


Insights from a rambling hiker:


Making your way through a muddy patch. 

You come up on a stretch of muddy ground. You could plot your path, looking for roots and rocks to help you avoid the mud. Calling forth your balance (which is difficult with a heavy pack on your back), and risking twisting an ankle as you delicately make your moves across. Or, you could just walk right through. It’s not very often mud is so sticky you would actually end up stuck. If your goal is to continue onwards, get back to your car. Maybe it doesn’t matter how muddy your boots are. Maybe I can walk right through. 

It dawned on me the same could be said about emotions


People are allowed to make no sense. 

People make no sense. People are allowed to make no sense. I make no sense all of the time. 

As much as I want to rail against their reactions because they seem so illogical when I’m trying my best to operate logically. When I’m doing my best to avoid pain with stats. When it feels like they are hurting me on purpose when the data goes seemingly ignored. But they are not. Logic is simply not how people operate. 

It’s not personal. But it will absolutely always feel personal. Because you also make no sense. 

And you’re allowed to make no sense. You are people. People don’t just make no sense - people are allowed to make no sense. 


The trap I keep finding new ways to get trapped in.

Living to avoid suffering is not the living I want to do. I see myself trying to control for future situations in which there may be suffering. It felt protective. Maybe the idea that I should be protective is simply a falsity. A way of getting stuck in the trap of avoiding suffering, instead of living. Protection robs you too, and it robs others. It just uses this false sense of security to tell you it’s worth it. It’s not. I want to live. 



This feeling, in this moment, is yours to keep forever.

Any future that is to come changes nothing about what you have in this moment. You will always have this. Let yourself soak it in. It can always exist in your heart. Don’t let your mind resist it because it fears it’s not permanent. Nothing is permanent, but this moment will always be and feel like this moment. Nothing can change that. So let it exist. 


Start From Zero

August 14, 2022

I never was good at math. It never came naturally to me. If there’s something to add and it’s beyond the number of fingers I have, it’s all just a guessing game at that point. A painful practice in patience for anyone playing cards with me. 

I memorized my times tables when I was a kid, thanks to my Dad creating me a computer game on his Amiga back in the 90s. When I got the answer wrong, the computer would generate a response like “Huh, that was stupid”, “Maybe I can get my little sister to tutor you”, or other degrading messages that he admits he’d probably never have gotten away with these days. But, I learned my times tables. I now wish I had been so primed for addition.  Maybe a bit of well intentioned punishment would have set me up to make it easier for my brain to add things. 

I know it’s not just my brain though. We all do this. Subtracting from some grand number, an idealized view of the world that no one really knows when we adopted as an expectation.  Funny to think of where those expectations even originate, but we all know complaining about life not being fair is not only something we hear from children. It seems to be some assumed thing that we expect and desire, even if it’s never been that way for anyone ever, in all of time. 

Start from zero. 

I was reading a book recently (The Courage to be Disliked by Ichiro Kishimi and Fumitake Koga) and one of the ideas that hung onto the fabrics of my brain was this idea of starting from zero. We often start from 100. We often hold our ideal in our heads and then use our realities to subtract. If it’s a situation, we subtract all the things not going our way. Because we feel that they should have gone to plan, or dream, or expectation. So we subtract. 

With our relationships we sometimes find ourselves doing the same thing. We subtract from what we think they should be, or what we hope they can be. I often find myself subtracting when life circumstances or the inability to teleport keep me apart from the ones I love. Minus-ing every time I wish and yearn for their presence. Whether we’re subtracting because of the limitations of physics, reactions that didn’t quite hit the mark, or actions that were or weren’t done - the method is the same. We subtract and find ourselves with a number of less than what we started with, even if just that number only existed in fantasy. There’s simply no way to subtract and end up feeling more.

When we start from zero, we start to see everything there is - instead of everything there is not. We start by the mere gratitude for that person’s existence and presence in our lives. We start by counting every way this day or this person has added to our lives. Every way everything has given us something, even when that is merely a presence in our hearts or the ability to miss them. 

It’s left me wondering - can I build a life counting up? Even if just for awhile? Can we hold the filter of gratitude - of acknowledging everything we have, even when we don’t naturally feel we have it? 

I want my mind to be a counter, using my eyes and heart to capture all the moments and feelings and actions that add to my existence. Tallying up all the gratitude on a great big scoreboard in my brain. Changing a sense of lack to a sense of abundance. Changing any absence to nothing more than varying degrees of distance. 

But life is hard. And it’s just too damn easy to go to that place of lack. So easy in fact I think most of us end up in the negatives before we realize we’ve been missing part of the equation.

It’s too easy to focus on the ways you lost marks, or ways that you wish things were different. Poke holes in a full bucket and see just how fast you empty. 

And what if we start from zero with ourselves? What do we have to offer? Not what are our shortcomings, what can’t we do or give or be - instead, what are we? What value do we have in even our existence? What value can we add to the world around us? The people around us? 

“How can I add value?” is a question my Dad used throughout his work life, that my brother in law picked up and we have since acquired for everyday life use. Every time my Dad hears one of us use it he thinks we’re making fun of him. Now, in my family that isn’t a long stretch. But in this instance, we aren’t. It’s a wonderful way to show up. It makes sense. It’s a perfect question. How can I add value? It’s not about self-sacrificing here, it’s acknowledging what you have to offer. It’s being true to what you can do to add value, as well as asking what the situation calls for. It’s seeing from a place of addition. From a place of taking whatever number is currently on deck and seeing what you can add to it to make a sum larger than what existed. 

Start from zero.

I’ve been having a really difficult time keeping a bigger perspective lately. One area of my life and heart and mind have been all consumed, and it’s been in a very subtracting way. What I don’t have, what I can’t have, what I’ll never have. My sum has gotten so negative around this thing that I’ve been struggling to see all the other plus signs hanging around me. The larger equation is beyond my vision when I focus on subtracting all the things I lost and feel like I’m losing. It would take someone with a lot more math skills than myself to subtract and add at the same time. 

If I start from zero. If I could only add. How much would I have? What would be my sum? My view of my situations, of my relationships, of myself. Certainly more immense than it is now.

And when I come to think of it, half my problem might be that I’m actually not even that good at subtracting. Give me that sobriety test of counting back from a hundred and I’d fail stone cold sober. And maybe there’s a lesson there too. Maybe part of the subtraction problem is that we aren’t even accurate. The perspective is off. The amount you subtract isn’t an objective amount. Maybe I take off too many points. If subtracting wasn’t bad enough, surely taking more points than necessary is not helping me any. And the thing with subtracting is that you don’t even have to stop at zero, you just keep going more and more negative. All it takes is the addition of that little dash thingy. See, I remember some math.

Start from zero. 

Embodying a mindset of addition. 

One way I’ve been practicing this is by shifting my loneliness subtraction equation. I’ve had the tendency of starting from some imagined 100. Which is complicated when you decide to live alone in the middle of the woods. But then again, woods or not, who really has 100/100 on connection always anyhow? I don’t think I ever have, so it’s interesting how I’ve used the woods as a scapegoat to blame a less than ideal sum on. All that to say, I need to start adding, so I’m starting from zero.

I’ve been doing this by leaning into the comfort, love, and joy in the messages I receive. The ways I am connected and cared for, even when those people are not currently in my physical presence. The way that our connections permeate my day in reminders of you, daydreams, thoughts - which all make me feel closer even when the distance is great. Recognizing how grateful I am that there’s a ‘you’ to have the thought of “Can’t wait to share this with you”, among many other thoughts. All the yous that I can appreciate immense gratitude for the fact that you exist first and foremost. And that in itself massively fills my heart. 

It’s not that I don’t get lonely or miss people still, but having been able to feel every addition holds me in a greater sum of connection. A sum that I’m hopeful will be able to help hold me through those times of loneliness without getting dragged into the hopeless pit of negatives. 

I used to work with a child who loved counting things and likewise adored ‘the Count’ from Sesame Street. Every time he would count things, he would do it just like the friendly vampire, adding a cackle of “ah ah ah” after each number. So it would go like this, “1 ah ah ah, 2 ah ah ah, 3 ah ah ah…” and so on. This little guy comes to my mind when I picture myself counting up my life; going through my day in a mischievous way finding the joy and amusement of counting everything I possibly can with a hilarious “ah ah ah” each time I come across something to add to my total.

Let’s see just how high we can count.

Start from zero.


Home Bitter Sweet Home

July 29, 2022

Can you be truly nurtured by a home? Safety and comfort, can I find them in the brook and the trees and the breeze? 

I moved out here, to the Dragon’s Den, in the middle of nowhere almost a month ago. 

No longer just a nightmare. No longer just a dream. Somehow, being here is holding both of those. The reality in between. Nightmare, dream, and all the conscious levels of experience in between.

I stay up until 2am because for some reason it feels protective. 2am being the time I woke up to the bear, somehow my brain decided that if I can make it past that time before falling asleep I won’t wake up to a bear. Like I’ll be awake and aware for long enough to this imaginary line of 2am, that after that point, it’s safe to sleep. Or at least safer. Less time left to wake up to a bear. Logically I understand this is not a thing. Bears can come whenever they want. They don’t have a 2am curfew. Logically I know there is no difference between going to sleep at midnight or 2am. That my chance of being attacked by a bear has nothing to do with the time I decide to close my eyes. And yet, here I am writing and expecting to just-so-happen be up until 2am again. Even though tomorrow is a long day. Even though I should be up early to get into town. 

The progress is still here though, even among the nonsense of timing my bedtime. It’s in the way my body is relaxing as I sit here on my bed. It’s in the way I can focus on writing or reading. It’s there in the lack of incessantly checking out the windows, even if I still jump when the motion detector lights come on. It’s there in the lack of hiding from the darkness too - the open hatch behind my head. With only a moment of fearful scanning before admiring the stars. Progress. It’s here, even when it’s not the only thing here.

Living here again is a personal victory, but it’s not only that. It’s starting to be able to just be what it was meant to be. A dream come true. A lifestyle realized. A way to fully live embodied as a truer version of myself. It feels right. 

Today was a beautiful example of how right it can feel. It was a crazy hot day here. 38 degrees. Miserable to stay in the trailer, but that’s not a problem when the outdoors is part of your home.  And with 56 acres, there’s plenty of square footage to use and plenty of privacy to allow for any amount of nudity or off-key singing. 

Waking up in the morning and breathing in the fresh air. Stepping out into the day. Enjoying coffee and journalling while sitting among the birds and trees. There’s so much joy here. I found a big rock to meditate on, one of many spots I will adopt as meditation rooms in my nature home. 

Even the rainy days are charming. The way the rain sounds on the roof of the trailer, I could listen to it all day long and still be enthralled. In fact, I do. Sitting in bed writing my heart out and then writing it full again. And when the rain becomes hard enough, I grab my soap and shower under the open sky. There’s nothing quite like a true rain shower to revitalize your soul.

Being lonely is something that has come up a lot for me over the month. Living out here, alone. I’m someone who values my alone time. I’ve gone to Costa Rica and spent a month alone, barely seeing other humans before. Is loneliness the price I pay for aloneness? Is it something I need to accept as my choice of lifestyle? It seems deeper than that, and yet that still might apply.

Resilience sounds like it should be a solid unchanging thing. Like an achievement you reach and always have. A tool you get to stick in your backpack and carry with you always. In reality, resilience is a finicky thing. An ongoing equation of assessing the demands of the environment to your current available resources. 

Do you feel you have the ability to meet the demands, or access to the resources needed to meet those demands? The answer for me seems to be dependent on the position of the sun. The demands increase as the dark invades, apparently as humans we require more safety at night. Back to our days of needing our tribe to help keep us safe while we’re vulnerable and sleeping. So the demands go up as the sun goes down. 

My ability limited by my aloneness, and access to any resources seeming so out of reach. I can feel every gravel kilometre of road between me and any resemblance of civilization as a lump in my throat. My sense of safety still jaded from past experience plays in the background. And it’s not just that. It’s really not.

My whole being has felt this pull for connection lately. It’s been undeniable, clearly upping my environmental demand. And the yearning I often feel for connection shouts louder as the vulnerability peaks. The need for comfort sits in my heart always. Showing up in different levels, from a desire to hold hands as I go about the day, turning into a yearning to be held as night settles in. The level of loneliness dictated by the size of the need left empty by its absence. All the self love in the world doesn’t replace connection and relationships. Living this contradiction of prioritizing connection in my heart and life, while living alone in the woods. I suppose there’s no escaping loneliness when you put it that way. 

This post has been such an interesting progression of exactly what I’m writing about. I started writing this the other night, continued during the day today, and now it’s night again. I see the optimism in the middle of this post gleaming with pride and joy and resilience. And now I’m typing the ending from under a weighted blanket, with a sadness that furrows my brow and and anxiety that makes sleep feel impossible. It’s not 2am yet. 


Gauging Your Potential

aka

Piss or Get off the Pot

May 27, 2022

Life circumstances have left me motivated to check on my possibility meter lately. Gauging whether possibilities are even slightly possible. Testing if my assumption of potential being way out of reach is in fact accurate. I needed to know the answers, for myself and for planning my next steps. Despite my best efforts to sort this out in my head, it was pretty clear, after many failed attempts at adding “figure out life” on my to do lists as thought experiences, that action would be required. 


Decisions that needed to be made and all I had to rely on was my limited mind based on past memories of dropping bikes and bear attacks. “Am I ever going to ride my big bike or should I just give up and sell it?” “Should I live in my trailer full-time?” “Would I even be able to handle living there?” “Do I just sell the land?” 

It’s interesting how closely these two obstacles tracked together. Two things, once very meaningful to me, gathering dust and mice, both laced with fear and doubt, encompassing my incapability. Two Schrödinger's cats in my life.

Arguably I could have taken an easier way out, of just assuming I knew the best answer (which my mind told me it did, relentlessly). I don’t need to put myself through the horror of being alone in the woods. I love my small bike. Maybe I was just wrong that I ever wanted those things anyway. Maybe the mistake was made when I bought the bike. Living without power is a hassle. It’s perfectly reasonable to want running water. The money would be really helpful. Sell the bike, sell the land. Move on. Make peace with it.  

I’m sure my brain would have supported it in the end. But something held me back from it. I didn’t feel strong about that decision. I didn’t feel like I gave myself a fair chance to really understand what was best for me. What was true for me. What my capacity was. What my capability was. I feel I would have been burying a lot more than a presumed dead cat. 

I know I’m resilient. I know I’m more than the things I lose, even when those things are part of me. But I couldn’t handle burying something that might be alive.


So the experiments became evident and inevitable. I had to know. And I had to know now. Beyond all fear and doubt and pain that might come (either way), I needed to know. I needed to know how much I knew. I knew my evaluation of these experiments wasn’t going to be whether perfection was reached or not. I knew that was impossible to expect from myself. But what I was determined to find out was just how much potential was there, at this time. Is there any possibility of a future where I ride my big bike and live in my trailer? Is it impossible? And if it’s not impossible, how far out of reach is it really? 

My bike has been collecting dust at my incredibly patient sister’s garage for a year now. I decided I would try riding the bike again on my last visit, and of course I chose the last day as “ride day”.  I can’t tell you how many times I almost forgot my helmet on my way to my sister’s house. And then once making it to her house with all of the necessities, despite being warned that I should check the battery and add gas before, I ended up leaving it up to chance to see if the bike would even start. Alas, to my relief or dismay, it started no problem. 

Very cautiously I took it on the road, and went straight as far as I could, to avoid turning the heavy beast. Success was that I didn’t drop it. That’s what I was looking for. That was my gauge. Is it possible to actually ride the thing and not drop it? What I found was that this was possible, my capability was somewhat restored (making turns may be another story), but I also found something more. Riding it this time I discovered joy in it. I got a glimpse of how fun this bike could be. And this joy was probably even more meaningful to me than restoring some belief in my capability. It offered me not only the knowledge that it’s possible, but it gave me a reason why I should even care. It restored in me motivation to even want it. I find myself thinking of how I want to ride it again, something that never happened before this. One experiment down, one cat very much alive. 

The next experiment would require a whole new level of courage/strength/insanity from me. Am I able to stay overnight in the trailer alone? I can’t tell you I decided to take this on because I felt ready. To be honest, the nightmares of bears had recently come back with a vengeance. And days before this experiment, I ended up at a wildlife park for work and came face to face with black bears with a visceral reaction that left me shaking for days. I could tell you I decided to do this now because I needed to decide on living arrangements for the summer, and it is true, but I think it was more than that. Realistically I could have put it off and just made a decision to live elsewhere. Not pushed it. But something deeper in me had to know now. Maybe knowing more about the bike left my curiosity revved up about what else I could discover. Maybe the resistance to move forward with another plan was driving me mad. Or maybe it was simply my impatience rearing it’s head - but whatever it was, I choose to believe it was something more profound. 

So off to the woods I went. Hit with an intense loneliness as the sun set, one I can only compare to the night with the bear. An inner fight of self preservation and determination took hold of me, a mix of strength and fear. Equal parts of yelling at myself to leave and convincing myself I should stay. Power-posing at the trailer door with tears streaming down my face, watching the light disappear behind my car. Escape within reach, yet something keeping me from moving. A beautiful clash of experience and emotion in all its rawest states. Discovered a belief in myself that could only come from being intensely alone, born out of an experience that led me to be more connected than ever. And neither one are untrue. Life is such a mind fuck sometimes. But if we allow it, it sure is one intensely powerful beautiful mind fuck. 

Is she power-posing, crying, or plotting her escape? The answer is all of the above..

I made it through the night, albeit without much sleep. I learned I could do it and not panic the whole time. I learned I could do it even when I didn’t receive the level of comfort I thought would be required to do it. I was left to count on myself and it turned out to be enough. 

The impact it has had on me has opened my mind to possibility. Even though I didn’t experience a lot of calm or joy during my experiment, I did touch on the possibility of having that there again. If it’s possible I can endure it, it seems reasonable to assume that I can also enjoy it. I think it’s what my heart wants because my mind keeps coming up with solutions to things I previously felt had none. 

It has shifted the impossible to possible and my mind into wanting to make it happen. When you’re back in the mindset that no running water is no big deal, you know your heart must want something pretty badly. I know I have a long road to go on this one. I’m not naive to the magnitude of this. But the fact that it feels possible, to feel that I’m even on a road is powerful to me on a deep level.

I was searching for clues of where I am and I feel I got even more than that. I feel I not only located myself on a map but by doing so I actually discovered a path forward. A path forged with capability, outlined in possibility, and headed straight to my heart. 

Turns out the cats are alive.. now maybe they can help me get rid of the mice. 


With Gratitude,

Goldilocks

I entered a classroom this week and they were studying the tale of Goldilocks and the Three Bears. In particular, they were working on the moment Goldilocks wakes up to three angry bears and is so scared she runs away and never returns to the woods. It was one of those moments you’re so shocked at how the universe is seemingly mocking you that all you can do is laugh, even though you’re the only one who understands what’s so funny. The class was trying to understand the concept of changing perspectives. They were rewriting Goldilocks story by changing her reaction to lead to a different ending. Ironically, my last five months of work wrapped up in a grade two lesson plan. 

I created a video about my experience for the few months after the attack because there’s a part of me that feels like expressing what it felt like. Words didn’t seem to do it justice. To be honest, the video is closer but still quite far off from the real experience. I simply am not skilled enough in visual effects to truly portray the nightmares or memories. That being said, the video does create a stronger connection to what it felt like and being able to share what it felt like, being seen and understood in this way, helps me feel a sense of being witnessed and supported. It helps me feel not alone in the struggle. Even if it’s a struggle I now get to look back on, it still feels therapeutic to be able to do so knowing people get what I went through. Because what we’ve all been through is part of us, and part of who we are now. And, despite my childish desires that pop up sometimes of wanting to erase things, I also see the gift it has been. Being able to connect with others on the parts of us that make up who we are is a connection that is all-encompassingly beautiful, like a rainbow that seems to make all the rain worthwhile. 

As portrayed in the video, I would often wake up screaming or gasping. Usually woken by a nightmare. Sometimes the nightmares were memories of what happened, but usually they went a step further. Involving being mauled by the bear after he entered the trailer, or walking along in the woods and being attacked from behind. They all felt so real that it takes no effort now to bring up the details and the crushing pain that shook me awake. 

Trauma is funny in what it remembers. Details that had nothing to do with the event, because the way memory works is to track the things that happened before such an important thing. One way this came true for me was being activated by seeing the light on a smoke alarm because it reminded me of a firefly, and there was a firefly in the trailer that night before I fell asleep. Being a consumer of all things neuroscience for a long time, and being reminded by professionals of how things work, I was able to make sense of it - albeit, after being terrified. This awareness of how our brains work allowed me to understand some of what was going on and then be able to work on them. I even used the smoke alarm in my exposure practice; first in daytime, then nighttime. 

In the video I chose to show some exposure practice as it was a big part of my focus for awhile. Part of this process involved identifying things that were triggers and ranking them from least to most activating. I didn’t start with the video of the bear, that came much later. I started with cartoon bears, thinking of being outside (not in the dark), gradually working my way to more activating things. The idea of exposure practice is to try to stay with it and calm your system while doing so, and if you find yourself getting more activated you abort the practice with something calming and distracting (like a funny cat video). The bear moving toward the fire, where you can see him approaching, was (and still is) the most fear inducing part for me. I think because it reminds me of watching him walk by the trailer that night. 

Exposure therapy was helpful for awhile, but I did have to lay off of it. As I tried to portray in the video, I pushed too hard and found myself much too activated all of the time. Being the stubborn person I am, I would often use any opportunity of semi-calm to tackle more exposure practice. My nervous system couldn’t take it anymore and needed me to focus on down regulation, so that became my new dedication. Every hour I’d do something down regulating, which meant a lot of ball slams.

In the video I tried to capture how my mind was (not)functioning. I struggled to do regular things like think of groceries, cooking, sending emails. Things that felt so simple were such a struggle. I would feel so incapacitated I’d feel like crying and my mind would jump all over the place. Thankfully, one of my tasks was to paint the house, and though I hate painting it at least felt doable. It didn’t task my brain like the other items of my “should be doing” list, though that of course brought its own challenge of staying in the present.

There has been a sense of grieving my relationship with the woods over this time. They were always my safe space and a place of healing for me. It is a real struggle to make peace with the fact that my relationship with the woods is now so much more complicated. I feel a great sense of loss. During my recovery I have made a few strides in connecting with nature again, and I am grateful for that. It has fed me in ways I feared I’d never get back. But I still feel very far from what I had. As with any intimate relationship, I imagine it will be a whole journey of repairing and expanding what the relationship will be between the woods and me. At least I hold hope in the possibility of it being something, and even that being a possibility is much more than I expected five months ago. Goldilocks fleeing in fear and never returning felt much more where I thought my story was going to end. 

It’s been five months since the attack, and I’m doing much better now. Life doesn’t feel like the struggle it did back then. My brain is back to functioning normally (or as normally as normal ever was). I know I was lucky to only experience the symptoms of PTSD for a few months, and not longer. I mean who knows what will happen in the future or when I start living out in the woods full-time again, but for now I feel grateful that I am not in a constant state of crisis. I know not everyone with trauma is so fortunate to feel on a different side after five months. Part of that I’m sure is just the luck of the draw, part of it due to the tools I had before the event, part is my stubbornness to push myself, a dedication to do down regulate like it was my full time job, and a huge part is due to how much support I have had over the last five months.

 I am taking time this week to acknowledge the support I’ve received over the last five months. Expressing my gratitude for the many helping hands that have held mine steadily through this. Friends helping me rewrite my story with good memories, love, and humour. Generosity of people with their time and skills to help me process with therapy, TRE, EFT, coaching, and connection. Those who have helped me reconnect with my land and strength, in my mind and in reality. Every message of support and opportunity to connect and moments of comfort I’ve received have made their impact. I have felt them all seep into my heart, creating connections like new neural pathways. A pathway to others. Connection from your hearts to mine. A new way to exist, among others. Co-regulating, co-healing, learning not just to heal in the co, but to live there. 

My gratitude for your love and how it’s shifted my perspective is something that can’t be contained in any word or expression, it overflows into every area of my life and soul. It will forever change how my story ends. 

With gratitude,

Goldilocks


Stretching

I’ve been doing a lot of stretching lately. I reunited with yoga classes after a couple years’ hiatus and I’ve been using all of my stubbornness to attempt to stretch my motorcycle season to its limits. Though I’m still not sure if my refusal to put my bike away is proof I’m an optimist or just delusional. Either way, stretching has been a theme.

Over the last few weeks of consistently showing up to yoga and working on my stretching has made it so I can relax into poses that used to feel tight and awkward. But the act of stretching is all in the tight and awkward. Finding your limit and going slightly beyond it, so you can discover a new limit, and maybe a more comfortable pigeon pose in the process. 

My biggest personal stretch goal lately has been creating with my voice. Getting out from behind the text and ink that I usually use to portray my thoughts. The space in which I can share with a level of distance, a space I have grown very familiar and comfortable with. I knew it would be important for me to take this step into the realm of the auditory, but I also knew it would be super uncomfortable. Anytime I heard my recorded voice on videos I cringed and tried to drown it out with disgust. Embracing using, hearing, and sharing my voice was no natural process for me. I started recording small things on my phone memos and making myself listen to them, at least something every day. And, just like bending to my toes, consistent practice made it easier. 

Another hurdle with stretching that we often have to overcome is embracing that we are doing something we don’t have talent or skill in. Being okay with being a beginner. Doing it anyway, even though I know nothing about audio interfaces, mixing tracks, or pop filters. We often get stuck thinking we should be skilled to do the thing we want to do, instead of just letting the want to do it be enough. I’m not trying to be a professional spoken word poet. I’m not trying to compete with professional recording studios. Being kind with yourself and clear that you are just doing this thing, you’re not making some declaration to yourself or the world that you are creating THE BEST of this thing. 

It’s easy to get stuck in a mindset of believing we know our limits and the extent of our capabilities. We often think if we haven’t done something yet that we cannot do it. It’s easy to get there, because ours brains usually have a hard time imagining things we haven’t done yet. And, even if it can imagine it, it often makes the wrong prediction of how things are going to go. Pile onto that all the self doubt and criticism you’re holding with you around your hesitation to do this thing, and it becomes pretty difficult to convince yourself it will be anything but a failure. Plus, we all like knowing ourselves, even if that means being sure of what we cannot do. The more we can let go of our beliefs, and embrace the ideas that “I’m not sure how this is going to go” and “I’m not sure if I can do that”, the more the uncertainty opens the door to possibility. 

What I’ve found so far in my process of creating with my voice is that I have already learned so much more than I anticipated. There was so much I didn’t know I needed to know. That meant a lot of time sitting in questions and finding information, letting it be okay that I didn’t know and being open to stretching to embrace uncertainty and learn new things. Which meant stretching my patience too. It’s frustrating when you want to do something and yet you don’t have the tools or skill yet to start. I’ve been getting much more tolerant of my voice, now I record while listening through headphones, and I’ve even found myself enjoying the process. I love creating in this way, it’s a challenge yet it opens up so much more creativity. Word choice and fonts can only go so far; prosody, intonation, and pitch can take it that much further. Sure making mistakes while recording a six minute poem is much more frustrating than fixing typos, but it’s a process that is feeding me with exactly what I need right now. 

If you don’t stretch how will you ever know just how flexible you are?

Here are my first two attempts at Spoken Word Poetry. Please follow along on YouTube if you’re into it! Fierce Love <3 



Fractions are Confusing - Pancakes with Syrup

October 18, 2021

Have you ever done the math wrong? Miscalculated..So you think you're further along in a journey than you really are? Or you misjudged what the journey would truly entail? Or perhaps even forgot what the whole fucking point of it was anyway? 

When I was a little girl there was one morning I was awake before my parents and I decided I'd make everyone pancakes. I had never cooked pancakes before but I knew I loved eating them and my family would love it - plus I had already checked and could see there was a full Aunt Jemima bottle staring back at me from the top cupboard shelf. 

This was no elaborate recipe I was attempting, it was the box of premixed batter that you simply added water to. Easy enough instructions that I could read. Just two ingredients, three steps. Add 1 cup mix, add 3/4 cup water, and combine. Seemed simple enough. Now, I should explain, this was before I learned what fractions were. So when it came to where the recipe called for 3/4 a cup of water, I thought it looked a bit funny. I wasn’t sure what the slash meant and it seemed odd they'd make the numbers smaller. But I was determined so I took my best guess and proceeded to add somewhere between 3 and 4 cups of water to my measly one cup of pancake mix. 

By the slopping watery mess in the bowl, it was pretty clear I had made a mistake and now had a problem to sort out. So I did what I could at that point - I added more mix. 

There was no method to my madness, I simply dumped mix out of the box into the bowl. And despite most of the mix finding its way to the surrounding countertop instead of the bowl, my mixture still ended up too dry. So I did what I could at that point- I added more water.

And back and forth I've gone, more mix, more water. Until I finally felt like I had gotten on top of the situation. It seemed pretty good, nothing gravely out of proportion. Maybe some clumps here and there, but nothing I couldn't smooth out with a fork. I took pride in my giant bowl of pancake batter, it was a long journey to get to that point.

While standing there in my messy kitchen stirring my bowl of batter, I had forgotten. So preoccupied with the efforts of mix and water and stirring and everything it took to get this batter. Caught up in the feelings of having overcome my batter battle, I failed to see that there's actually a bigger mission here. I still have a shit ton of pancakes to cook. 

As I’m recovering from the recent exasperating realization of having so much work left to do, I am starting to see that the real pay offs might still be yet to come too.. the whole point of making pancakes was to eat them and share them after all. As important as it is, batter is not enough. It's pretty damn hard to enjoy, let alone share, a meal of uncooked batter.

So I’ve grabbed my spatula and I'm hunkering down for a marathon in front of the frying pan. 

The same desires I've had all along pushing me forward, with a new hope/suspicion/realization/freedom/permission/knowing that I not only get to cook, but to take my place at the table. Just as I imagined as I set out on my pancake mission as a child. Contrary to the messages, sugar is actually a good thing. And I've been assured that it's not just me who has a sweet tooth - apparently everyone wants pancakes. Guess it's a good thing I made so much batter.

If I can truly hold that there's nothing innately wrong with this amateur pancake chef, aside perhaps from lacking some math skills, I can let go of the assumption of being undeserving of such things or incapable of it. I could regain the simplistic goal of that little girl, operating with the belief that wanting pancakes and sharing them with loved ones was obvious, justified, and enough. 

It took me a long time to make that batter and now it's unknown how long it'll take to cook it all. I’m sure I'll burn more than a few in the process. I’ve come a long way, but to be honest I still climb countertops instead of dragging over chairs, and I still guess at math problems, especially while cooking. Clearly I’m still stubborn enough to be committed to the mission, and perhaps just bold enough to reap the delicious rewards awaiting. 

Grab the maple syrup and I'll meet you at the table.

 

Want to listen instead?

I’m trying to use my voice more, so this is one way I’ve decided to take the vulnerability risk and do so. So if you’d rather listen than read, you’ll probably be able to find that option from now on - just don’t expect it to be any more edited than the writing though :P


Sometimes Nightmares Come True

July 18, 2021

A week after the bear visited my trailer the first time, I went back there on my own to prove to myself that I can face my fear. That I can be on my land and enjoy it, even if I was being cautious about how far I was venturing. I was even making fun of myself for sticking to the driveway. Keeping my back to the trailer - my safe place. I had spent the week reading articles and buying supplies, testing myself on what to do and rigging things onto a walking stick. I realized it was logical to be wary but also if I was prepared there wasn’t much likelihood that I’ll actually be in danger, according to the research. I took pictures of being all prepared and tough, sharing them on instagram. I even wrote a blog post about how I need to be brave enough to give up the nightmare so I could keep living my dream. And then I went to sleep. 

I woke suddenly to his massive presence, sniffing me through a small, open window to the right side of my bed. Instantly I was on full alert, my heart pounding in my ears and chest collapsing in on itself. It’s pure darkness out in the woods, especially since it’s been too warm to have an overnight fire. I couldn’t see him so there was no way to tell how close he was or whether he had broken through, so I bolted off the end of my bed to the other side of the trailer. I could tell he was still outside, so I hurriedly closed the windows on that side, while trying to listen to where he was. 

Then the motion detector light came on, and showed the massive black bear walking now on the front side of the trailer, around the corner where I had bailed to. The same bear who had visited before. Knowing he was there, I rushed back over to close the windows still open near the bed. And though my blood was still rushing through me at an intense speed, I had a moment of relief. I even remember considering whether I should try to photograph him again during this visit. I was scared from what had happened and the close encounter of him being near an open window while I was asleep - but I thought I was safe now. I thought the danger had passed. But that relief was short lived, and it soon turned into a terror I had never experienced before, and one I’m sure I will not forget.

Not a second after I had the last window closed, I was eye to eye with him. It was that moment I knew my life was in danger. I knew he was here for me. He stared at me, his massive face up to the window. He had gotten up on a table outside, one that is connected to the trailer just below the large horizontal window. I still don’t know how that table held a bear that size, he was no small bear. The videos we have of him from the previous week show him at 3 feet tall on all fours. 

I knew from all my research that I needed to scare the bear off. I knew loud noises should keep me safe. Since I was worried about bears out on trail walks, or to be honest even sitting around the campsite, my supplies were all next to the door. It’s sadly ironic that it wasn’t outside that ended up being the danger, but I am thankful that due to this it was all in one spot, and I knew exactly where it was. 

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Even though I knew my supplies were close to the door, I still couldn’t see anything in the dark. I frantically found a light on the ceiling, and then grabbed the airhorn I had for that exact purpose. Holding it right up to the window I blasted the horn until it was empty. He didn’t move. He just looked at me. 


Other than the noises of sniffing, clawing, and ripping things up with his mouth, he was silent. Completely silent. He wasn’t being defensive or aggressive, he was focused and silent. He had decided I was prey, locked in on me in an intensity that is unmistakable. I remember reading about bear encounters and attacks, with the different instructions on what to do in each case, thinking it all sounded very complicated. Wondering how I’d know if he was trying to kill and eat me versus trying to protect himself or scare me etc. Well, I can’t speak to the other types, but when it comes to a predatory attack there’s no way you’ll be confused - if you even get any chance to consider it, that is. 

I decided I needed to give it everything I’ve got to scare him off, so I screamed and banged my fists against the trailer. He still didn’t move. He just stared into my eyes. And then I could hear a blood curdling scream come out of me, in desperation I banged on the glass in front of his face - accidentally breaking the only barrier between us. The next moment is a blur. I remember hearing the clash of broken glass, I remember seeing him staring into my eyes, I remember him moving forward. I grabbed the bear spray, pointed it at his face through the hole in the window and sprayed. I sprayed until his face disappeared and I heard him scurry off the table.

Because I had to turn the light on to find my supplies, it was now impossible to see outside. All I knew was that he wasn’t in the window anymore, for now. I didn’t know if he was gone. I stood shaking near the window, with the bear spray in my hand. It was at this point I noticed I was bleeding all over the floor. I was so afraid to keep standing there so close to the opening to where he was. But I was also terrified to move, to step back from the only defensive strategy I had. I quickly grabbed my phone and called my partner, Syoma. After google let me down with failing to know the pronunciation of his name - to which we’ve decided maybe I should just change his name to Ted for such circumstances - I managed to dial him. 

It was good to hear his voice and he was on his way to me within minutes of my call. But he was at least an hour away. I didn’t know what to do. Even the weekenders had left at this point, so I knew there was no one around me for miles. And worse yet, I’m over a ten minute drive from a real road, one with a locked gate at its entrance. I usually love how remote my land is, that night I thought it would be the death of me. I was on my own. Practically naked, my skin exposed, nothing to lessen the impact of his claws and teeth. I imagine what the bear was thinking as he stared at me, sizing up the prey before him. Staring down at this flesh that was clearly scared and already bleeding. 

Two creatures, in the middle of the night, both acting on survival instincts of our own. The Department of Natural Resources told me the next day how there isn’t much food in the woods at this time of year, that the bear was probably desperate and tired of eating greens. It was abnormal behaviour for a bear to go after a human, but it seems pretty logical to me. I am a strong, fierce woman who lifts weights, but in the wild, especially unarmed, I know I am no match for an apex predator such as the black bear. If he’s hungry, and I’m there, it makes sense he would try to eat me. I tried to convince myself otherwise the week before that, reading through countless articles about how rare it is and how taking the right actions will matter. Hopefully from now on those things will ring true, but it’s pretty clear they don’t always.

I called 911 with another cellphone I had around, while keeping Syoma on the line. I couldn’t bare the the utter loneliness of disconnection. I have never felt so alone as I did those terrifying moments at the window with that bear. I remember begging Syoma, and later the 911 operator, to not hang up on me. Not that either of them were planning to. I knew I was still alone and their voices were no protection, but it certainly was a comfort. 

911 had my coordinates which was some relief, but they weren’t on their way. The operator got Department of Natural Resources on the line, who assured me since I sprayed the bear he would be long gone. I couldn’t see outside to tell them otherwise. I considered turning the light off but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. And it’s probably for the best, being helpless and not being able to see anything didn’t seem like a good trade for potentially being able to make out where the bear was. Not long after DNR hung up, when I was waiting to be connected with the paramedics for my hand wound, I heard the bear again. I remember screaming he’s back” “I’m going to die. This time the operator got police to head my way, still unsure what they were going to do about the locked gate. The paramedics talked to me about my hand and told me to try to stay quiet and hide out of the bears’ sight, but keep near the window and ready to spray if he attempts to enter again. 

That night I wasn’t thinking about how this changes everything. How I’m losing my happy place. How I’ll never sleep here alone again. I wasn’t thinking about my lost dream. I had one focus. Not dying. I would have traded any dream for that. I just desperately wanted to survive this, and I had little expectation that I would.  

I stood there, hearing the bear right on the other side of the trailer wall, not being able to see anything, but staying vigilant - watching the window to be ready to spray if he moved closer again. The terror still sends a shiver down my spine. I was terrified of dying, but even more so of the excruciating pain and horror of being bitten and mauled by such a powerful creature. So alone, so far away from any help, so helpless in the face of this beast, I didn’t think I was getting out of there alive. I knew, if that bear wasn’t scared off by spray or screaming, he was set on getting me. To eat me. Maybe he was trying to find another way to me, or waiting for the effects of the spray to wear off or to regain his strength so he could try again. I knew if he wanted to, he could bust through any window here. Or even the door. They are smart animals, they can even pick locks. The trailer is no fortress for him. I know this intimately now. 

Many people assume the most dangerous situation you can be in with a bear is between a mother and her cubs. But in fact the most fatal attacks are those of lone, adult predatory bears that silently attack you in the hopes of making you their midnight snack. I’ve read countless articles about bears now, and the predatory behaviour was this bear to a T. He wasn’t loud or agitated at all, had his ears forward and head up, and he was locked into my eyes. Undeterred by any noise or show of aggression. He had already sized me up. The bear spray in his face annoyed or surprised him enough on his first attempt. I was fearing what would come next given there was no food outside to appease his hunger.

The 911 operator stayed on the line with me, trying to help me find a way through this. She asked me if there was any meat in the trailer, to which I responded “just me” (proving that my sense of humour is with me to the end). She asked me if I had any weapons or knives, trying to prepare me to fight. When the bear moved close and loud again, she asked if there was any other room inside the trailer. I told her there was a bathroom, and she told me to run there and hide with the bear spray. 

I grabbed my phone, both of the bear sprays, and ran to bathroom. I shut the door and locked it, only making a difference in my mind I’m sure. I sat on the sink, clenching the spray, sitting in the darkness listening to the bear outside. He was closer to the bathroom now, having moved from the other side where I was standing near the window. I could hear him messing around with something. I feared he was following my scent and trying to find a way in. There isn’t a window in the bathroom, but there is an opening from where an old storage cabinet had been. It doesn’t even have glass in it, it opens directly to the outside. And it’s only held by one small latch, a latch that opens from the outside. I kept one spray faced toward that opening and one toward the door. And listened. Listening to the bear noises and hoping I’d be rescued before the bear made another attempt. 

The police had called my partner and they met at the gate. The 911 operator was following them on GPS and kept telling me they were getting closer. I could still hear the bear next to the bathroom wall even when I started to hear their tires on the gravel road. 

And then the sounds of my rescuers got louder, I heard honking and vehicles in the driveway. After an hour of being sure I was going to die, I was still alive. 

Syoma was the first to get to the trailer, he told me the bear was gone and picked me up into his arms and took me to his truck. The police were looking out for the bear with their shotguns ready. I was scared to be outside in the darkness. It took a long time for my mind and body to register that I wasn’t in danger anymore. The paramedic came and carried me to the ambulance, telling me over and over “You’re safe now". They cleaned and wrapped my hand in the ambulance.

Terrified is one of those words I’ve used many times, and only now realize how incorrectly I was using it. It’s not that I haven’t been through hard times or truly afraid in other scary situations, but the visceral terror I felt that night was a whole different level of fear.

I realize I have some apologizing to do to my fear. I’m so used to it steering me wrong or holding me back. Not to say that if I did let it run wild it wouldn’t again - but there may be some amount of respect I’ve been missing when it comes to that part of me. That fear, the exact one I mocked and judged, probably saved my life. If that large window had been fully open - if I hadn’t half given into my “irrational” fear of wanting to close it before going to sleep- if I had woken up to the bear in that window instead of the smaller one, I wouldn’t have had a chance. The dragon likes to feel capable on her own, she likes to leave fear behind. She takes pride in not letting fear get in her way. And yet, it’s fear that helped her even have a chance to fight. 

I feel incredibly lucky to have come away from it alive, and so grateful to my rescuers. So grateful Syoma answered my call on my first attempt even though it was 2am. I’ve since listened to that call and it would not have been an easy thing to wake up to. He told me his own process of getting to me; weighing the need to get there fast, with the absolute necessity of making sure he got to me (and didn’t get into an accident from going too fast). I can only imagine how difficult that hour must have been for him too. 

I go between being in disbelief it even happened, to not being able to shake the terror I felt as my mind replays it. Noises at night are the worst, and I don’t know if I’ll ever sleep soundly alone again. It’s been three weeks tonight. The trailer still has a broken window. There’s still broken glass and my blood staining the floor. The bear spray containers are still sitting in the bathroom, their safety caps wherever they landed by the window that night. I have been back there but I could only stomach it long enough to grab some clothes and a few other necessities. 

I knew, even as I shook and cried the whole way back to Halifax in Syoma’s truck that night, that this would take a lot to recover from. I figured it would be hard, but I didn’t realize I’d still feel so incapacitated three weeks later.

My vision of meditating beside the brook didn’t include a shotgun in my lap. I can’t even imagine enjoying myself there anymore. Or even scratch enjoyment, I can’t think of it without fear rising in my throat. When I try to visualize being there around a fire or walking to the brook I start panicking. I’m holding on to hope that will change, but there is a lot of doubt that it will. It makes me sick and devastated and ashamed to think of giving up my dream out of fear, and yet at the same time it (currently) feels impossible not to. 

Sometimes nightmares come true. And I honestly don’t know how to hold onto my dream when I desperately just want to wake up.


When Fear Meets Logic.

June 27, 2021

I have a lifetime of experience dealing with irrational fears. From avoiding cracks, refusing to put my face in the water, and choosing death over a stomach flu, irrational fears are part of my existence. And therefore, knowing how to deal with them is part of my wheelhouse. From exposure therapy, identifying worst case scenarios, to reassuring myself it isn’t as bad as I feel it is, these strategies have helped calm my phobic mind so that I can go on with life.

And then, along came a bear. 

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I knew that it was likely bears were around here, but there’s a difference between knowing they could be, and having one looking through your window. I’ve gone hiking many times where bears are supposedly around and never have I actually seen one. I was freaked out at the possibility when I was backcountry camping on my own a few years ago, but it seemed like an exaggerated fear instead of a real possibility. Always figured they’d stay far away even if they were there, and I had it in my mind that they weren’t that big or dangerous. 

And then, along came a bear. 

Woken from a noise and my dog growling, I looked out the window and there he was. A big black bear. Much bigger than I had imagined they were. He stood on his hind legs to inspect the windows and door of the trailer, our faces a mere two feet apart as I peered out at him in fascination (and horror). He was pitch black and moved silently, like a predator in a movie. If it wasn’t for motion detection lights I wouldn’t have been able to track his moves. And this was without the added camouflage of the forest. My mind can’t help but imagine meeting him on the forest trails, with no window to separate us. I find myself replaying all the times I was outside here and how differently they would have gone if this bear was close by. There was one night I had to switch a propane tank at 2am, outside in the pitch dark all alone. I was shaking in fear, but I remember telling myself it was just silly to be afraid. Now I can’t stop thinking how stupid it was. 

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Like any good wake up call this event robbed me of sleep, and then haunted my dreams. It’s hard not to let this experience change everything. My mind can’t figure out how I can still have my dream and enjoy nature while the reality of bears exist. It was a needed reality check for someone who is living in the middle of nowhere, and I am grateful it was an uneventful event. It has allowed me to take more precautions, but I’m struggling to find a way to not have it take everything from me. 

Fear and I have a long history, but objectively logical fear and I have only had short flings which typically don’t require anything beyond taking action. My usual tactics don’t apply here. No amount of exposure therapy of something that is in fact dangerous is going to help. Identifying worst case scenarios with a real threat is just fuel for the fear fire. And attempting to reassure myself that it isn’t as bad as I feel it is comes up short every time I look up more articles on bear encounters. I’m used to fear being a reason that’s holding me back, and I’m equally as used to fighting through that to not let fear stand between me and what I want. But now, I’m trying to navigate what is “fear I should listen to” versus “fear I need to overcome”. Should I be walking the trails alone? Should I be stargazing at night? Are these things I should be trying to get back to, or just thanking my lucky stars that I got away with it when I did? 

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Often when I’m being illogical talking to others is helpful. I’ve noticed I’ve been searching for this comfort lately by sharing my experience with hunters and woodsmen and people in general - and they are certainly validating, but not reassuring. I guess there’s a part of me that wants to discover I’m just being irrational. That the fear I’m experiencing isn’t called for. Because I know what to do with that. I know how to fix it when the problem is me. It’s been a week now, and hundreds of articles, videos, and discussions later, despite my best efforts, it doesn’t seem like I’m the problem. 

You have to give up the fantasy to live the dream

“You have to give up the fantasy to live the dream” When I first read this a couple weeks ago it meant bug bites and ticks. Oh how I long for the days of ticks being the scariest creature in the woods. It’s a good reminder that to live a dream you have to accept the reality of that dream. If you can’t let go of the fantasy you won’t be able to live the dream. And I have made peace with that. Pretty hard not to when you’ve been living for a few months off-grid, without running water, during black fly season. 

When it comes to my black bear neighbours I feel I’m facing another side to this. I know there must be a way to live here and accept the risk and still enjoy nature. There must be some fears that should be listened to and others that can be mitigated with preparedness and luck. I’m not sure yet how to navigate which ones are what. When I first laid eyes on that bear, my mind started packing. I spent the week in town to gain some distance, knowledge, and bear spray. I’m back in bear country now, attempting to find my way through the uncharted territory of logical fear. Taking in the fresh air and the sweet smell of the woods as I whittle a walking stick I’m arming with an airhorn and bear bells. From my doorstep. And the new question becomes clear. 

Can I give up the nightmare to live the dream?


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