Author: Krista Osborne

I have seen extraordinary people do extraordinary things in my career.  A few years ago I got to be there when one of my clients finally got the courage to tell his mom that he is gay. I sat there during this incredibly intense conversation and watched as this boy’s life changed in front of my eyes.  From that day forward his life was going to be different.  Not necessarily better, but more real. He wouldn’t have to pretend anymore to be something he was not.  I still tear up when I think about those moments.  I cannot believe that he trusted me enough to be part of it.  He wanted me to be there to help him find the courage to talk.

There is the other side however.  It wasn’t a Hollywood moment.  That day I watched her life change too. It was a process of grieving that she had to go through that she didn’t ask for or expect.  Her feelings were complicated, dynamic and she had a right to them.

I know it is not a scientific survey, but as I scan my memories of the clients I have worked with over my almost 20 years in helping professions I can tell you that a large percentage of the people I work with identify as a sexual minority.  I have found it quite alarming. Statistically speaking the LGBTQ population is small compared to the general population, therefore it should only be a small part of my practice. It is not.

Our society has come a long way towards acceptance.  Gay marriage is legal, not something I expected to see in my lifetime. Gay couples and relationships are becoming more present in the media. Ontario even elected a gay Premier with little or no attention given to her sexual identity. She was judged based on her politics.

Even Albertans, stereotyped for our intolerance, have accepted sexual identity and equality as a human rights issue at least legally. A few years ago I had a particularly “redneck” couple bring their effeminate son to the gay pride parade “just in case he turns out to be one of those.” Not eloquent but genuine. They wanted him to know that they accepted him. There are times that people surprise me. I am so glad.

This brings me hope. I wish I didn’t have to talk to another client struggling with how to tell their parents about who they find attractive. The reality is that kids are still kicked out and disowned over something they cannot and should not have to change. What also brings me hope is that many of the families I have worked with have been supportive and unashamed of their children.  A dad of a transgendered client I worked with once told me “I just want her to get out of bed and do the dishes every once and a while.”

As far as we have come, we have further to go. I often deal with the aftermath of bullying, trauma and anxiety stemming from the treatment of LGBTQ clients. If it wasn’t still a huge issue in our society, I wouldn’t see it so often in my office. It makes me mad.

Recently I was invited by a parent of one of my clients to attend the PFLAG meeting in St. Albert. The group has only just begun its work in this community.  PFLAG stands for Parents and Friends of Lesbian and Gays.  It is an organization available for friends, family and other allies of the LGBTQ community.  It was an honour to sit and listen to these families’ stories. If you or anyone you know would like to support or be supported by this group, you are welcome to go as well.  I learned a lot in the two hours I was there about how far we have come and how far we have yet to go.

PFLAG St. Albert’s Facebook Page 

PFLAG Canada’s website

***while the spirit of client stories are genuine, the details are changed in order to respect their confidentiality***

I was 15 years old when St. Albert was shaken by the deaths of an entire family.  A young man my age systematically shot his mother (Susan, 41), step-father (Maurice, 46) and two sisters (Islay, 12 and Janelle, 10) at their family home in Valleyview.  I did not know the murderer, nor will I name him.  He did go to a school in St. Albert just down the street from mine.

It was the summer between junior high and high school.  In September I went to school with people who knew the boy. Even that seemed inconceivable to me. I was one degree of separation from a murderer. Somehow that made me feel responsible. It was the first time in my life that murder seemed so real.  It was the first time in my sheltered life that something like this happened in my community. In many ways I feel like I lost something of my childhood in those moments when those people, people I never met, died. Years later I worked with Maurice’s sister. I felt privileged to be able to share what her brother’s death meant to me.  Their deaths were not meaningless.

There were other events growing up that also had a similar impact on me.  In junior high, the father of one of the girls I went to school with died.  I recall the girls crying in the bathroom and I remember being perplexed because most of them didn’t know him. I understand better now. In high school one of the girls in a younger grade died in a car accident while heading back to school from McDonalds.  I still think of her whenever I make a left hand turn on the corner of St. Albert Trail and Sturgeon Road.

Closest to home was when a good friend of mine lost his father. His dad killed himself in the family home after struggling with depression. I can still hear the sobbing of his sister’s grief from the very first funeral I ever witnessed. I recall vividly the feeling of tension as the minister talked of his death while trying to avoid talking about how he died.  It was this funeral that solidified what would become the basis of my career.

Even after years of study and multiple Degrees I still have so much to learn.  Not even a year ago I felt compelled to write a blog about children and grief after Thomas Wedman died while crossing a street on his way to school. It was the only thing I could think to do. It still doesn’t feel like nearly enough. I still find myself hugging my children tighter before they head off to school.

While many other tragedies happen all the time around the world, it is the ones that are closest to home that remind us of our own mortality and the fragility of the lives of the people around us.  We often judge our own and other people’s reactions: “I didn’t even know the person”, “Why am I so sad?” or “How come she can’t get over it?” Feelings are not always easily understood.  Sometimes they are just there.

My daughter was very upset the other night while reading a book with her dad. The main character, a cat, died at the end of the story.  My daughter was inconsolable.  She said to me, “The cat isn’t even real, why am I so sensitive?”  We spoke of how the book brought up for her the worry she has about how she will feel when our precious cats die.  They are 14 years old and aging quickly.  The concern is understandable, still I am proud of her empathy.

Like many of us, I have spent the last few weeks following the story of the O’Brien-Liknes. The tragedy and grief will impact that community for generations just as I think of the tragedies in my childhood. These events change people, in good and bad ways. My heart goes out to the families involved and the community that supports them. It is these moments that connect us in the most visceral ways. It is proof of our fragile yet undeniable humanity.  It is about our grief for them but also about our grief for ourselves.

My son and I were reading the final chapters of Charlotte’s Web a few nights ago. He lay quietly with his finger in his mouth wiggling a loose tooth. At one point I stopped reading and told him that twisting it was usually more effective than the back and forth motion he was so valiantly attempting.

I returned to reading. I get to the point in the story when Charlotte tells Wilbur that she hasn’t the energy to return with him home from the fair and Wilbur desperately tries to retrieve Charlotte’s egg sack from the rafter so that he will be able to have a piece of her with him back at the farm.

My son looks at me. “Mom it’s just a story, you’re okay.” He says this so sweetly but I can see that he is a bit shaken by my tears. He then returns to his wiggling and I continue reading. My son, as is the case with many kids his age, has always been a bit worried about death. He knows that people die and isn’t impressed with the inevitability of it. I was apprehensive about his reaction to this part of the story. I was tired and looking forward to some quiet time. I had no desire to freak him out. I am also not a parent that shelters my kids from the hard stuff in life, so I read on.

She never moved again. Next day, as the Ferris wheel was being taken apart and the race horses were being loaded into vans and the entertainers were packing up their belongings and driving away in their trailers, Charlotte died. The Fair Grounds were soon deserted. The sheds and buildings were empty and forlorn. The infield was littered with bottles and trash. Nobody, of the hundreds of people that visited the Fair, knew that a grey spider had played the most important part of all. No one was with her when she died.

I stop to await my son’s reaction. What I got was something I never imagined. He looked at me with the biggest bloody grin and yelled, “I pulled it out!” He then proceeded to jump off the bed and run into my daughter’s room to tell his father.  After a quick photo session and a happy cuddle, he told me, “I’m so happy I have tears.”

Recently I have been struggling with some big decisions about where I want to take my career. My practice is growing, so are the piles of laundry and the dust bunnies. The way my family needs me is changing. My son is going into Grade 1, my daughter wants more and more “girl time” and my husband is thriving in his new career. They are changing too and I have no desire to miss it. It is time to simplify.

Change is inevitable. I recently made the decision to quit a job I love. I quit it for all the right reasons and it was time. I will miss working with the teens at the hospital and my talented supportive colleagues. Mostly I am scared as hell. Change is hard because it is unknown and uncomfortable. Relying primarily on my private practice to pay the bills is a bit difficult to fathom. Yet here I am, taking that big scary leap.

Since I started my private practice two years ago I have been wiggling that tooth, waiting for the time to let go of the old to make room for the new. I hope I can approach this change with the reckless abandon that my 5 year old embraces the hole in his smile. The blood was only a minor distraction from his end goal. Still there is always time to reflect on change.

Wilbur never forgot Charlotte. Although he loved her children and grandchildren dearly, none of the new spiders ever quite took her place in his heart. She was in a class by herself. It is not often that someone comes along who is a true friend and a good writer. Charlotte was both.

 

Mindfulness is one of the therapeutic buzz words of late. Basically there are various tricks, exercises and techniques people, therapists and yoga instructors use to help you become more present in the moment. The focus is on the here and now. The idea is that the more present you can be in the moment the less unproductive anxiety, fear and trauma a person will feel in the present. We can’t change the past, or predict the future. We can only control ourselves in the present.

While the buzz around mindfulness therapeutically is relatively new, mindfulness in not a new concept. This idea has been around forever.  There are quotes in the Bible, from ancient philosophers, gurus, shaman and Buddhist teachings all connected to this idea of mindful living.  You only need to look at your Tumblr account, Pinterest or Facebook page to see a deluge of inspirational quotes that try to encourage people to be more present in their lives. You would think that given my profession, and my education that I would be able to grasp this concept.  But I don’t think I really got it until today.

A few months ago I found myself drowning in people’s sorrow and stress. This is an occupational hazard.  Empathy is an amazing tool of my trade but it is one that has sharp edges. Like a knife, empathy can cause wounds and even scarring if you are careless.

I needed some “Me” time. This led me to Niagara Falls. For the past few days I joined my husband on a business trip. He is at a conference and I have five full days with no responsibility, no kids, no cleaning and nothing to do but be. Like most of us I rarely just hang out with me, doing whatever I want to do. Life is busy. So hanging out with me is a great exercise in mindfulness. It is hard to avoid yourself when no one else is around.

Yesterday I was invited on a wine tour. I spent the day walking through vineyards and wineries hearing all about the history of wine in the region, and all the hours of labour that goes into making a bottle of wine. It wasn’t until I was in the basement of winery standing next to a barrel of wine that I was overcome by the grandness of it all. That is when I experienced for the first time mindfulness.

I was uniquely privileged to be in that place at that moment in time. Many years of work went into not only the wine that was in the barrel in front of me but into my life as well. The past is what brought me there.  I was born into and remain in a place of privilege in this world.  Not everyone can afford or has the ability to tour a vineyard.  Many people struggle to make ends meet or struggle with other things that make a wine tour seem preposterously out of reach. By luck, circumstance and some hard work, I am not generally one of those people. By most of the world’s standards I am doing well. I am not wealthy but I am also not poor. I am in a happy marriage with a wonderful family that all are doing reasonably well. In that moment with my hand placed against the wine barrel instead of feeling guilty about my fortunes I felt overwhelmed with gratitude.

That moment wasn’t just about me. In fact it had little to do with me in many ways. That wine went through years of growing, stirring, and fermenting to bring it to that barrel.  There is a history almost as long as human history that went in to the creation of that barrel of wine; so many people with so many different stories. Some of the stories are happy and some are tragic but most of them I will never know.

The future also became alive to me in that moment. Three hundred bottles of wine were in that barrel.  If all went well that wine would be part of other stories. It will be a part of the celebration of an anniversary or part of friends reconnecting over a glass of wine.  It will be used to relax and enjoy an evening or it will be used to calm nerves. It may even help console heartache or incite the rage of an addiction. The potential of all those stories were contained in that barrel and in that moment I was merely a witness.

Mindfulness isn’t just about breathing, reflecting or appreciating the present.  For me it is also about recognizing and embracing the past and the future in the moments of my life.  So with my hand on the barrel I said a silent blessing for everyone that will drink those bottles of wine and a thank you to all those people that contributed to making it. For that moment in time I felt intimately connected with them all.

In case you are wondering the barrel was a red wine from Pilliteri Estates, likely a pinot of some variety. It should be available in 2-5 years.     

It isn’t the streaks of grey hair starting to pepper my brown hair. It isn’t the rushed and too often scolding tone I use with my kids when they are lollygagging out the door. It isn’t even the obvious family resemblance I finally recognized when I mistook my grandmother’s drivers’ license for my mom’s on a family visit to my grandparents home. After that mistake I poured through old family pictures of my mom’s childhood and realized that aside from the changes in fashion someone could have mistaken my mom for me. It is my hands that convince me that I am turning into my mother.

Even as I type these words, I recognize my hands not as my own but as my mother’s. The length of my fingers, the deepening lines on my knuckles and even the occasional patch of eczema do not feel like my own.

When I was born my mother was just over 30, about the same age as I was when I had my children. One day I was tucking my daughter to bed and rubbing her back when I recognized the age of my hands. That is when I noticed it. That is when I saw my mother’s hands. The hands she used to tuck me in at night. The ones that she used to pat me on the head or gently nudge me out the door to school. They are not the hands of my mother now but the hands of my childhood. They were caring, strong, firm and often tired but they were always there.

These time shifts happen more and more often for me as I watch my children grow.  It is in these moments that I see the full picture, the generational dance.  I often flip flop my perspective.  For example, my daughter is at the age now when I encouraged my stay-at-home mother to get a job in a fabric store. She was and still is an amazing seamstress.  So when I saw the Help Wanted sign, I was convinced it was her destiny.  That started her successful career in retail and management for the next 8 years until she decided to go back to her dream job, raising me. My mother will tell you that I wasn’t so appreciative of my suddenly constantly present parent at 16. My brothers were already well on their way in the world. So I got a lot of attention that I wasn’t used to.

It works the other way as well. I see myself in my daughter. She looks so similar to me at her age that it is at times like looking through a window into the past. This is both comforting and terrifying. It is a glimpse back to a happy time in my life but I know her teenage years are coming and life wasn’t always easy on me during that time. I’m not naive enough to believe that life will only ever throw her softballs.

Being in the middle generation is a gift. I have never felt better about who I am or where I am going. I know how beautiful I am in every way that matters. I have earned my grey hair and my stretch marks. My wrinkles, while reminders of the slipping away of time, are also tributes to a life I am proud of… well for the most part.

Like anyone there are things I wish I could change but it is impossible for me to have a low self image. My daughter is the most beautiful girl in the world in every meaning of the word and at least in appearance she is a reflection of me. That is something to feel good about. If I can’t feel good about myself now, what will she think when she recognizes parts of me in herself later. I want her to see the beauty in that.

The benefit of the strong genetic resemblance is that I also have the benefit of seeing where I am going. My mother has a beauty of which I am not sure she is aware. Her grey hair and soft eyes show wisdom, stubbornness and intense loyalty. I hope that I continue to grow into her beauty. Her hands are more wrinkled now but they are just as strong and caring as they ever have been.

So to my mother and all the mothers out there. Happy Mother’s Day.

Dear Friend:

I know you don’t know me.  That doesn’t really matter right now.  What matters is that I know that you are out there.  You think that you are alone, that no one can see your suffering.  Maybe that is because you hide it.  Maybe you were taught to be brave and suck it up.  Or maybe you wear your emotions on your sleeve and people have become tired of listening.  Maybe no one knows that this time you are in big trouble and it feels like no one cares.   It is often hard to make people understand.   Sometimes it doesn’t even feel worth the effort.

Perhaps you can’t even trust yourself to know what is real and what is some misfiring of the neurons in your brain.  Maybe you are paralyzed by anxiety and fear.   Perhaps you feel like you are drowning in a pit of darkness and can’t find the way out.    I don’t know your circumstances.   I don’t where you are or where you came from.  I don’t know what is happening for you.   You may be down on your luck, maybe you lost something or someone close to you, or maybe there is no logical reason at all.

What I do know is that you are not alone.  Canadian Mental Health estimates that 20% of people will struggle with their mental health at some point in their lives.  That means that although your situation is unique, there are others suffering too.  That also means that there are others out there that have found their way through the other side of their illness, others that can inspire you if you give them the chance.

For some it has gotten so bad that they wish to end their own life.  I hope that is not what is happening for you.  If you have thought of suicide then that is a warning sign that you need help.  You can’t do this on your own.  I hope that you tell someone.  It may be hard to find the right person or find the courage to start talking.  But I hope that you try.  And I hope that you keep trying until you find someone willing and able to help.

I’m sorry.  I’m sorry for what you are going through.  I am sorry that our society doesn’t understand and that makes it harder on you.  People like to pretend that they are strong and that somehow protects them from what you are going through.  What they don’t understand is that mental health has nothing to do with strength.  It has to do with life and living.

We all get wrapped up in our own lives and forget to check in with those we love or make space for people, like you, that are hurting.   Everyone struggles at times.  Sometimes our society forgets that one day it could be them.  It can and will happen to some of them too.  I hope that once your journey takes you to a better place that it will help you be compassionate about other’s hurts.  Change can only begin when we all have the courage to do things differently.

What you are going through does not make you weak or pathetic.  It does not make you less than anyone else.  It makes you human.  We often assume that others have their act together and that their lives are better than ours.  We often assume that they have it all figured out.  As a therapist, I can tell you that people are really good at pretending.  They have problems too.  You just can’t see them.

In the course of my career I have seen many people struggle with mental illness.  I have seen people come back from some devastating places in their mind.  It has filled me with hope.  I have hope for you.

I hope that one small step at a time you too will find your way to a better place.   It won’t get better quickly.  It will take time and determination.  You will need to be patient and understanding with yourself and others.  Some days will suck and others will be tolerable but slowly I hope that you will find peace and eventually joy.  This will come in time, for now I hope that you will continue to have the courage to breathe because that is the first step.

I know that you are out there.  I hope that for now that is enough.

Sincerely,

Krista Osborne MSW, RSW

Individual and Family Therapist

 

If you or someone you know struggles with mental health and you need immediate help contact the Edmonton Distress Line or connect with Canadian Mental Health Association.

This article was first posted in May of 2013 on the United Way Alberta Capital Region Website as part of their 2013 Mental Health Week.

When I first became a pregnant, I worried.  Like most new parents I had the concern. “What if something is wrong with my child?”  For many people Down’s Syndrome, Cerebral Palsy among other disabilities are at the forefront of their concern.  We all want our children to live happy, healthy or productive lives and worry that these conditions could put that in jeopardy.  These are real issues and real worries for parents but I have found that mostly the fear comes from a lack of understanding.  In my work I have had the pleasure of working with people with many types of disabilities.  I found that children and families can thrive with many challenges given the chance and a little acceptance.  After all, no child is perfect and everyone has things in life to overcome.

While I know these words to be true, if I am being honest there was one thing as a mom-to-be that scared the heck out of me.  I was petrified of having a child with autism.  The idea of having a child that I couldn’t relate to or that I couldn’t communicate with scared me silly.  The whole reason I wanted to be a parent was to connect and mentor a life with all the joy that it brings.  It was all about me and what I wanted as a parent.

I remember when my children hit their 2nd birthdays and were talking, socializing and behaving more or less “normally.”  Working in Mental Health I knew that most severely autistic children show signs of social and emotional delays pretty early.  So I felt like my family was in the clear. It was a huge relief but also one that I felt ashamed to admit.

It was about this time that I started working with families in a psychiatric setting.  In my interview I was asked what types of issues did I feel the least comfortable working with.  I said “autism.”   I told them of my discomfort and how I planned to address it.  I think I may have had some lame answer about being open minded and willing to learn.  Really I was freaked out.  How could I help families with children cope with something I didn’t understand?  How could I be any good to someone that was dealing with something that scared the heck out of me.  I got the job and thankfully I learned.

Quickly I was working with families of adolescents with autism.  I realized how my own preconceived ideas about the challenges of these families was very wrong. It is easy for us to think of autism as the child freaking out in the grocery store, or the child in your kid’s class that seems to just start screaming or worse yet punch your kid in the nose.  Autism can be all of those things, or none.

Some children with autism can be stubborn and have extreme temper tantrums when things fall off the rails.  This can create fear and judgement from society as a whole.  Many families I have worked with have had Children’s Services called when a well meaning but uninformed neighbor called to report what they thought was an abusive parent when the parent was actually trying to calm their child down.  This is an extreme side of autism.  More often than not these families find a way to manage and understand each other’s needs just like the rest of us.

On the other hand our society sometimes glorifies autism thereby dismissing the real struggles of the individuals and families that deal with the disorder.  The Sheldon Cooper, or Rain Man references come to mind.  Autism can be these things as well but often these are just our society’s way of dumbing down a real issue.  I have heard many people and celebrities talk about Asperger’s (a high functioning form of autism) as a desirable trait so much so that many try to self-diagnose their quirkiness as “Aspy”.  This isn’t a helpful view of autism either.

I believe that education is a helpful tool in acceptance and understanding.  So here is my meager attempt to describe what I have learned about autism.  Keep in mind that there are many experts out there on this issue and I am not one of them.  Here is what I have learned.

1. Autism has a vast spectrum of symptoms.  It also varies widely on its functional impact on a person’s daily life.  It can range from someone who is just “quirky” to someone that never speaks and has difficulty with daily functioning.  Some of the characteristics of autism include communication issues.  This can range from an inability to communicate verbally to a more socially awkward disconnect.
2. Difficulties reading social cues.  One of the more difficult symptoms to pinpoint is the difficulty with social interaction.  Some people with autism struggle reading social cues or understanding the subtlety of social interactions.  This can take the form of mild or odd interactions with people or in its extreme form a social isolation.  It is not that autistic people don’t desire social interaction, just that it can be difficult for them to understand.  They often struggle with sarcasm, reading facial expressions and boundaries.  This can lead to misunderstandings and uncomfortable interactions.
3. Repetitive movements. Many people with autism also have repetitive movements.  This is usually more pronounced in early childhood.  The extreme forms of these movements such as rocking, head banging or hair pulling often get noticed by outsiders.  This could be a way to communicate frustration or a way of self-soothing when overwhelmed.  Less extreme examples are more difficult to pinpoint such as mild rocking or twitching.
4. Developmental or emotional delays.  There are sometimes developmental delays or gaps in learning but not always.  One classic symptom of autism is a rigidity of thought and an obsessive nature.  This is where you can see some people with autism as quite brilliant in a particular area of life.  Some think very deeply about things and have extraordinary ways of seeing the world around them.  The effect is that some autistic minds are quite exceptional at one thing or another.  So some high functioning people with autism are often really talented or smart about science, math or other things that involve complex patterns.  This is often the more glorified symptom of autism.  It can be a fascinating and highly valued asset unless the obsession is with Pokemon or My Little Pony instead of science or math. The down side of the obsessional thinking is sometimes this leads to a delay in other areas of their life which can stunt their emotional and development maturity. 
5. Sensory sensitivity.  Autism also often comes with a sensory sensitivity.  The theory is that people with autism have brains that process information fundamentally differently.  Instead of filtering out useless information they process all the data coming in through their senses.  This means they can be extra reactive to sensory overload. Think of standing in a room full of screaming children for a few hours and you can understand what sensory overload means. New settings, unfamiliar routines and loud environments can be difficult and for some people with autism can lead to extreme emotional reactions. Mostly this is because they feel unsafe.

One client I worked with described his brain like a computer.  He was a Mac and he saw the rest of the world as PCs.  We just fundamentally work on different operating systems.  This is an analogy that often comes to mind when I am working with parents.  A Mac and a PC are capable of communicating with each other.  It can just be a bit glitchy.

I am not afraid of working with people with autism anymore.  A little understanding goes a long way.  People dealing with autism deserve compassion and understanding just like you and me.

Strangely I have found that it is not often the person with autism that has the problem with their autism. As they grow, learn and cope they can be content with their lives just like the rest of us. It is often the rest of us that have the problem with how their brain works.  We try to find ways to fix them or change their behaviours. In my experience, trying to fix anyone is not very productive.  No matter who you are and what your life challenges, change always comes from within.

If you are interested in knowing more check out Temple Grandin’s TED Talk on autism or visit the Autism Society of Alberta‘s website.

Volunteering is part of my DNA.  Growing up, my mother was always active in my school or part of a group of women quilting or knitting for a cause.  My Dad is an active volunteer as well.  Among his roles were Scout Leader, Habitat builder, Food Bank worker, and even once a Santa Claus.   I volunteer because I was taught that it is important.  I believe it makes me a better person and I believe in the hard work of building communities.  

So a year ago I found myself finishing off my time on the Board of my kids’ Preschool and looking for a new opportunity.  Then along came St. Albert Realtor Craig Pilgrim.  He asked me if I would be interested in joining the Board of SAIF (Stop Abuse in Families).  Now volunteering for the Board of such an important organization is way out of my comfort zone.  I am a grunt worker.  When I volunteer it is usually on the front line, like answering a crisis line (Edmonton Distress Centre), or as a counsellor (Walk in Counselling Society of Edmonton), delivering flyers, or coaching my kids.

What I don’t do easily is socialize or fundraise, two things necessary for a good Board member.  I suck at asking people for things. It is a painful and guilt ridden process.  For those of you that know me you will also know that my husband and I have been recently fundraising and socializing a lot more than I can comfortably handle. When Craig asked me to join the Board I was reluctant.

Being a Board member means that first you need to be an advocate for the organization that you serve.  SAIF is an easy organization to get behind.  They serve families struggling with violence.  They provide education to youth about healthy relationships. They inform seniors and the elderly about their rights and provide help when needed. SAIF provides individual and group counselling to people that desperately need a nonjudgmental support in their lives.  

Family violence continues to be a community secret yet it is a dangerously shameful reality for our friends, neighbors and even our families.  SAIF is an organization that seeks to dissolve the shame, empower victims and provide help to the perpetrators.  If ever there was an organization I would want to be a part of on a structural level this is it.  

So I answered the call.  Last September I joined the board.  Even though I feel totally out of my element, I felt like it would be good for me and that I had something to offer them. I don’t have wealthy friends to hit up for loads of money, I am a Social Worker after all!  I don’t have a lot of connections in the business world to provide much valued sponsorship to events and fundraisers.  So there have been many meetings where I feel like I am out of my league.

I joined the committee for the Red Shoe Gala, a fundraiser coming up on April 12th (tix still on sale).  The best moment for me was when I asked a local painter Samantha Williams- Chapelsky to do a painting for the Gala and she agreed.  I was so wimpy about it I asked her via Facebook with a “you don’t have to if you don’t want to” kind of comment.  I’m sure it was one of the most self-conscious, unprofessional asks she has ever gotten.  Good thing she seems to like me, so she agreed.

Recently the Board of SAIF decided to do a “100 Cups of Coffee” Challenge.  The idea is that the Board members will go out in the community and serve as Ambassadors of the agency by having at least 100 meaningful conversations about SAIF and what it does.  We are competing with the staff for a larger total.  As you might imagine, this sends panic up my introverted spine.

I don’t have wealthy friends, or lucrative business contacts but what I do have is YOU. So do me a favour, even though I hate asking, “Like” “Share” or “Retweet” this article and it counts as a cup of coffee for our challenge.  Even more important look into the work of SAIF and get involved yourself.  I am better for it and so will you be.

Have you ever had that dream?  You know, the one where you are standing in front of a hundred people and you are unprepared for the lecture that you are about to give?  Usually there is something humiliating happening like your zipper is undone or worse… you are naked.  For me the dream is that I try to talk and my teeth start falling out.  So every time I try to talk I have to pull out a few molars so that people can understand me.  Freud would have a field day with that one.

Have you ever had the dream where there is an emergency happening in your house and you can’t for the life of you dial 911?  Every time you try, the keys get stuck or you start dialing the wrong number and have to stop.

Or have you ever had that dream where the bad guys are hot on your tail and chasing you?  Sometimes they are zombies, Bigfoot, or just run of the mill faceless villains that are clearly going to kill or maim you if they catch you.

These dreams are pretty common in their themes even if they vary in their details.  Often when I have one of these dreams I wake up feeling more tired and more than a little freaked out.  I have one dream where my husband and I have a huge fight.  Often I find myself still very angry with him when I wake up.  Once I made him apologize for his evil dream self.  It just helped me let it go and we had a good laugh.

I am not a believer in dream analysis, at least not in the way Carl Jung theorized.  I think dreams are usually just distorted reflections of what is going on in our waking lives.  A simple example of how the mind and body are connected.  When I have one of these intense dreams it is usually a good indicator of my anxiety level.

Anxiety is an interesting emotion.  It is both physical and emotional.  Our palms sweat, our heart races and we experience a heightened sense of what is happening around us.  It is our body’s way of getting us prepared for what is about to happen.  Emotionally it can be intensely shameful, nervous or overwhelming.  It can also be as simple as a dull ache.

Many of my clients come to me for anxiety.  I have a young adult in my practice that wore her anxiety like a badge of honour.  She used to tell me that she didn’t have to go to school because of her “anxiety” like it was a pet that needed tending.  Sadly many teens I work with find creative ways to avoid their anxiety rather than embrace it.  It can be debilitating without adequate coping.  My client now does public speaking talking to anyone that will listen about mental health and her journey into it.  She still has anxiety but so do the rest of us.

We often see anxiety as a negative emotion that we need to battle against.  I prefer to think of anxiety as a cousin to excitement and anticipation.  Even more than that it helps me to recognize what is important in my life.  If it isn’t important then I won’t be anxious about it.  If it is important then my anxiety tells me to stop procrastinating, get on with it and prepare so that I can enjoy what will hopefully turn into success or at the very least get what ever it is over with.

My best advice about anxiety: face it.  If you avoid what makes you anxious then you may be missing out on something really important.  Anxiety avoided can turn into a monster that will control you rather than the other way around.

So just like in my dreams, anxiety is a gift.  It reminds me to check my zipper to avoid embarrassment, reach out for help when I need it or run away when that is the only option.  Regardless of which action I pick I am the one with the choice.

For those of you out there that have a dog you know what walking outside in the winter can do to you.  It is a battle on the extra cold days.  Do you get up off your lazy butt and walk the dog or do you skip it and have the dog begging for attention and driving you crazy all night?  Some days the choice is easier than others.  Some days our dog doesn’t even want to go out because it is too cold.

Last year while taking my mutt for a walk on a cold day I saw the name “Murphy” in the most beautiful script written in the snow.  This wasn’t just any writing.  It was the kind of perfect cursive writing I remember reading on the chalkboard in my Grade 3 classroom. Mrs. Bailey had the nicest handwriting.

Other than admiring the penmanship, I didn’t really think much about it.  After a skiff of snow I figured it would be all gone.  Over the course of the winter, Murphy’s name kept appearing.  Some days the finger writing was every few blocks. I would sometimes find myself daydreaming about Murphy. I came up with some amusing dramas in my head. One story involved star crossed lovers that were communicating in code.  In this scenario writing Murphy in the snow was a signal that their parents were out for the night.

Some nights my thoughts were more practical. Was Murphy a first name or a last name?Some nights my thoughts about it were more melancholy. Was it some lonely teenager walking the street?  Was the signature a cry for help? Was it a sad senior walking around wondering if anyone was paying attention?  I am sure the stories I came up with had more to do with my mood than any reality out there. Still, I started to print my dog’s name beside Murphy’s just in case.

My husband came home one night after walking the dog and asked “Who is Murphy?” I laughed.  I wasn’t the only one intrigued by the mystery.  I naturally began to assume that whoever Murphy was also took a walk almost daily.  I began including the random strangers I ran into during my walks in on my elaborate story lines. It was fun to think that the guy down the street was really a spy.

When I was lucky enough to go for a walk after a dusting of snow I would casually watch people to see if they were the ones writing in the snow.  One day I caught the culprit at a distance with her finger in the snow. It was clear to me that she was trying to be sneaky. Then again I may have been victim to my own sense of drama at this point.

I ran to catch up and confront her head on. If by “head on” you think I mean I asked her by hollering at her from across the street you’d be right.  She admitted to the deed and I complimented her finger writing ability. We had a brief conversation about what she was doing and why. I told her how much I had enjoyed the mystery of it all. She and her partner laughed and went on their merry way.

I would tell you who Murphy is but truth be told I wish I never found out.  I prefer the mystery. I don’t want to ruin it for you. There is so much life in the mystery of things and we are all connected by the webs of our actions.

Murphy’s signature is out there again this winter.  Last week someone wrote in the snow over Murphy’s name “Who is?” That makes me smile. I hope someone else is on the adventure of finding Murphy. For the rest of us, never underestimate your ability to inspire others, even in the smallest ways.

Thank you Murphy for making the mundane chore of walking my dog an adventure. You brought me joy and that is always a noble endevour.  It is cold out there, I hope you stay warm.