Author: Krista Osborne

Most family violence in our society, movies, music and other media goes something like this: the man is intense and brawny, probably in a blue collar job wearing a white tank top and dirty blue jeans.  Oh and he smokes. The female gets swept off her feet. She is more beauty than brains and is completely helpless to his pure masculine charms.  In fact his controlling behaviour is seen as passionate and loving at first.  If they have children, then they are dirty and unkempt, probably a lot like orphan Annie and Oliver Twist.  The violence happens only during a fight.  She probably did something to bring it on or it happened because he is the epitome of evil.

I believe as a society we like to treat family violence as some sort of caricature of reality.  Offenders are often seen as one dimensional angry men.  Victims are weak, defenseless women.  This way it is easier to distance ourselves from the reality of family violence which from the outside is much harder to identify.  Our ignorance helps us pretend that it won’t happen to us or the people we love.  We are, after all, smart well adjusted people that are capable of deep, complex emotions not like the victims I described earlier.  If family violence were to affect us we would take action to stop it.  Or so we like to believe of ourselves.  The reality is that we often are unaware of it or choose to ignore it.

The real face of family violence is the face of your neighbour, or your child’s friend at school.  It is the older lady that you see in the grocery store and sometimes the high school jock. I know many of you won’t believe me but the successful, confident professional woman you see at your doctor’s office is as likely to be a victim as the house wife around the corner.  The guy who coaches your son’s hockey team could just as easily be the victim as his wife.  The A student is as likely to be a victim as the drop out.  Family violence does not discriminate even though we often believe that it does.

How do I know this?  I know this from years of working with it. As a therapist, crisis worker and most recently by serving on the Board of Stop Abuse in Families, an organization that strives to end family violence by supporting families.  Statistics are available but they may underestimate the scope of the problem as many people are ashamed to admit that it is part of their lives.  People who live with the reality of family violence are not weak or pathetic.  They often stay because of love, or at least what they think is love.  Violence, whether it be controlling behaviour, verbal put downs or physical and emotional assaults often is intermixed with closeness, attraction, connection as well as emotional and financial dependance.  That is what makes it so complicated.

Many people ask why victims don’t leave. After all, wouldn’t you?  How can you leave your child’s home if you are a senior living on a fixed income or have health trouble? How can you leave your spouse if you know that may mean losing your children?  I wish I could answer these questions but I can’t.  The answers are unique to everyone.  I do know that their reasons are not mine to judge.  Their situations are far more complex than I could possibly understand without some pretty long conversations.  Minimizing their choices and telling them what to do is pretty abusive if you ask me.  They don’t need anyone else pushing them around.

If you or someone you know suffers from emotional, financial or physical abuse, know that there is help out there and people that understand.  In the Edmonton area you can call SAIF Society or the Crisis Support Centre.

November is Family Violence Prevention Month.  Share this article or these links with your family and friends.  In order to stop the abuse we first need to start talking about it.

Roughly 3 years ago on a beach in Mexico I had the privilege of saying “you may kiss the bride” to one of my favorite couples.  A few months earlier, one of my best friends asked if I would officiate their wedding ceremony.  You see, many Canadian couples that get married in Mexico have the legal paperwork done in Canada and then have the ceremony for friends and family on the beach.  So I needed no qualifications as legally they were already married.

When I agreed to do the ceremony I was overwhelmed with the responsibility.  You see my friend Trina had talked for years about how magical she wanted her eventual wedding to be.  I really didn’t want to screw it up.

I spent a lot of time pondering what makes a good marriage.  Was it love, attraction, respect,  or luck?  In my experience a good marriage is all those things but in my opinion those are not the base.  What I have come to believe is that commitment is the base of a good marriage.

I was married once before in my early twenties.  He was a great partner, a moral person and a smart man.  It didn’t work out.  Not because I didn’t love him, that I didn’t respect him but because at that stage in my life I was incapable of understanding what commitment really meant. I let my goals and my dreams take priority over my marriage.

I see this in therapy sessions with couples.  One or both of the couple feel that their individual needs are more important than the needs of the couple.  For a marriage to succeed, both partners need to be all in.  Often by the time a couple comes to therapy, one or both have already started thinking about how life apart would be better.

The difference between couples that work through problems and those that don’t is very simple.  The ones that make it refuse to see divorce as an option.  At some point both of them decided to stay together and commit to it rather than use a potential divorce as a weapon. “If you (fill in the blank), I will leave.”

I am not opposed to divorce.  That is a personal choice.  There are lots of good reasons to end relationships, violence, abuse, unhappiness or differing values. It is a horrible thing to have to go through and sometimes it is necessary.  The marriages that are worth the fight are the ones that have a firm sense of commitment.  I am lucky enough to have one of those marriages.

Recently I have been reflecting on my marriage.  My husband has been on an adventure of a lifetime.  He fulfilled his dream of running for City Councillor.  It was a crazy few months of knocking on doors, flyering, shaking hands and kissing babies.  Okay, so he didn’t actually kiss any babies because that would be creepy, but you get the idea.  I have had many opportunities to watch him shine and be the proud wife.

I started this journey with the cliche “behind every great man is a great woman.”  As cheesy and condescending as the cliche is, I saw that as my role.  On the days I was knocking on doors I would often stand behind my husband with the intent of letting him take the lead.  This irritated him.  He told me again and again to “stand beside me.”  We would tease each other and on the next door I would instinctively stand behind him again.  And so the conversation would circle for hours.

When I think back to the ceremony on the beach I think I missed one crucial point.  The foundation of a good marriage is commitment but the joy of marriage is watching your partner’s dreams come true.  It isn’t about supporting him in his goals.  It is about standing beside him with the same goal.

“Don’t let people rent space in your brain!”

This is likely the single best piece of advice I have ever been given.  I wish I could remember who said it to me.

It could have been my father.  He used to share with me all sorts of expressions his father would bestow on him like “when I was knee high to a grasshopper” or “flatter than pee on a plate.”  I have never understood when the appropriate time would be to refer to pee on a plate and its flatness.

It may have been one of my clients.  I often get nuggets of brilliance from them.  Someone told me once that grief is like “the puzzle of who you are gets smashed on the ground.  All the work it took to build your life falls apart and you spend the rest of it putting it all back to together in new ways.”  That’s pretty insightful if you ask me.

The saying could have been from a colleague or friend.  I wish I could remember because people rent space in my brain fairly regularly.  When I get pissed off I let them take up residence in my head.  I think and rethink whatever it is that is getting on my nerves.

Anger is a tricky thing.  It is not an emotion that stands alone.  There is always something behind it.  It can be fear, sadness, loneliness, and most often hurt.   Most of the time when people are angry they don’t know why.  Others can often see the reality more clearly.

Anger is often a reason why people show up for therapy whether it be couples therapy or individual.  It has a devastating impact on lives and relationships.   Spouses are mad at their partners and think it is my job to fix their partners so they stop pissing them off.  Therapy never works that way.

Some people are mad at their parents, neighbors, friends, children and sometimes the world in general.  Regardless, they want someone to fix everyone else.

Anger is never the core of the issue.  It is always the mask that covers up and protects people from the real issue.  When this gets out of control it is easy to spot.  We have all seen it.  A person unwilling to listen, a friend unwilling to hear another point of view and worst of all a chronic victim.

So why do I let people rent space in my brain?  I guess for the same reasons the rest of us do.  Fear, sadness, loneliness, and hurt.   So today I am evicting the unwelcome angry residents in my head so that I can make space for the people, places and things that will help me see the real issues or at least be worth the mental space in my head.

Today a six-year-old boy died in my community.  Like every other day he woke up and got ready for school and now he will never come home.  There are no words that can make that any easier to digest.  The reality is raw and unimaginable.

All I can feel is a pit in my stomach and a complete void in my chest.  I can’t even begin to describe the feelings.  My heart breaks.  I can’t help but think of the family, of a mother that doesn’t get to feel her child’s arms again or a father that won’t get to feel the breath of his son’s whispers against his cheek.  I think of the first responders whose job it is to save lives and how they couldn’t this time.  I think of the teachers and how they will try to keep everything as calm and relaxed throughout this day and how their hearts are breaking too.  I think of the bus driver and how this will impact his or her life forever.  There will be plenty of time to ask questions and look for answers but right now my heart breaks for everyone.  I think of the friends of that little boy and how this will be the first time for some of them that they will experience loss.  I wish we could protect children from that inevitable reality.

Finally, I think of my community.  At times like these we all grieve.  There will be crisis workers in the school for the teachers and students.  Victim Services will be in place to help the family as best they can.  They will hopefully have family and friends to share their devastation with.  As a community in the immediate aftermath there is little we can do.  Not yet.  As a community all we can do is show some compassion and wait.

As a community we often forget about our children in times of loss especially the ones not directly involved.  We try to protect them with hushed conversations or avoidance.  We tell ourselves, “They don’t need to be a part of these things” or “They are too young to understand.”  These types of reactions often have unintended consequences.  Loss is an inevitable part of life.  Talking to your children about it is crucial in helping them cope with that fact.

With this in mind I wanted to offer some suggestions on talking to children about grief:

• Be Honest and Factual.  Children need to know they can come to you for the real answers.  If you lie to them, they will learn to look for answers elsewhere.  If you don’t know the answer, tell them that.

• Ask Questions.  It is a good idea to understand what they have heard and what they understand.  That way you can fill in gaps and correct false information.

• Don’t give them more details than they need.  People often ask me about age appropriateness of grief conversations.  I say you should be talking about it as soon as it is relevant in their lives.  Accidents like this make grief relevant to them now if they live in this community, even if it is only because they see you reacting to the events. Your child will let you know how much they need to know by asking you questions.  When they don’t need to know more they will change the subject.  Gory details are only necessary if they ask and want to know.  If they ask about details ask them why they want to know then be honest and factual.

• Use Clear, Concrete Language.  Phrases like “He went to be with God” or “He is sleeping” may make us feel like we are easing the trauma for the child.  Children are not good at abstract thought and usually take these things literally.  It can confuse them and make them more afraid.  Use language that your child can understand depending on their age like “his body stopped working” and “he died.” 

• Talk about feelings, including your own. If you are upset while telling your kids, that is okay.  If you’re angry, it is okay to share that with them.  If you respond openly and honestly then they will learn that their emotions are okay too.

• Move the conversation forward at their pace.  Kids absorb this stuff at different paces.  The conversation may be quick and matter of fact or quite detailed.  Either is just fine.  Your child will tell you when it is time to move on.  You need to follow their lead.

• Make them feel safe.  The reality is your child wants to know what this all means to them.  Ultimately they want to feel safe.  Giving your child tools to help them feel safe is important.  You can’t promise that it won’t happen to them but you can help them see that they have some control in the world. 

• Tell them you love them.  It feels good for us to say and for them to hear.  So tell them until they are sick of hearing it.

When my children come home from school today we will sit down and have a conversation about loss.  We will talk about a little boy that had a devastating thing happen.  We will talk about how we feel about it and how the boy’s family may feel.  We will cry then we will do what we can to make my children feel safe and loved.

Then we will play.  I will hug my children tighter tonight reminded how fragile life is and hoping that this never happens to us.

Krista Osborne, MSW is therapist specializing in issues of grief and loss. 

I’m a Taurus.  When I was a preteen that meant something to me.  I would read horoscopes religiously looking for clues about who I was and what the future might bring.  Mostly I wanted to know if the boy of my dreams had a crush on me.  The predictive power of horoscopes I have long stopped believing in.

My astrological sign does still have some value in my life.  It is a pretty good description of my personality.  I am stubborn as a bull.  My stubbornness is my nemesis and my greatest friend.  After a pretty serious whip lash injury almost two years ago I learned just how awful a character trait stubbornness can be but it is also what got me through it.  After the car accident I continued to take my kids to the park, work, clean, and do almost everything I did before.  The difference is that I usually ended up in severe pain.  One time I remember crying in the grocery store cause I couldn’t make the grocery cart turn the corner at the end of the aisle or my daughter and I both crying at the park because I couldn’t push her on the swing.  She was 6.  I could no longer carry my then 3 year old even though I continued to try.  It was awful but I continued to push through.  I didn’t think I had a choice.

Tauruses can also be stoic.  I don’t think anyone but my chiropractor really understood how bad it was.  I don’t think I understood until he would use some tough love and stern words.  It is like I needed his confirmation that I was actually hurt.  I didn’t trust myself to know if I was exaggerating or making it all up.

In therapy with clients I encourage people to embrace their feelings rather than avoid them.  Pain is one of those feelings people try to avoid.  People will create all kinds of chaos in their life to avoid the most painful parts of themselves.  Usually this causes more devastation in the long run.

One of my clients recently told me that when he is in physical pain he visualizes how his increased heart beat and rapid breathing bring all the healing powers of his body to his injury.  He focuses on the pain and imagines all the oxygen and white blood cells racing to the injury to heal it.  I asked him why he doesn’t do this with his emotional pain.  He couldn’t tell me.  Just like I can’t tell you why I have the opposite problem.  I embrace my emotions and ignore my physical pain.

After over a year of a variety treatments, I started to feel better.  Now I get stiff in the area and I need to stretch it out all the time.  But I learned that I had to listen to my body and sometimes that means slowing down.  The car accident taught me that I need to treat my aging body better.  I needed to start prioritizing my physical health.

So I started to run.  Like any good Taurus I jumped in.  Stubbornness and perseverance are intimately connected.  I signed up for a race and started training hard.  I ran every other day increasing my distance.  My pure determination is an excellent personality characteristic.

I loved running.  I felt great.  Until one day I didn’t. I started dreading running, and started forcing myself out the door thinking it was a phase in my training.  I was stiff and my muscles hurt.  I thought if I ran through it eventually it would get easier again.  My last run was torturous.  Every step of my 9 km was a huge effort.   So I decided to consult my chiropractor again.  He gave me the look.  The look that says.  “Krista, what the hell were you thinking?”  and “Stop being a schmo.”  Yet again I am injured and didn’t know how bad.

The problem with a Taurus is they are too stubborn to ever learn.  The good news about a Taurus is that they are too stubborn to ever give up trying.

 

 

The first funeral I ever attended was the funeral of a friend’s father.  I will never forget the sound of my friend’s sister sobbing throughout the service.  It was an excruciatingly painful sound that expressed her devastation more accurately than words ever could.  She was only in her early teens.

I was in high school and had very limited experience with death.  A group of us decided to attend the service to support our close friend.  We didn’t know his dad but we were all in shock.  Sadly this meant that none of us called him for days after his dad died.  We were too immersed in our own reactions to be compassionate enough to pick up the phone.

His dad had killed himself and I don’t think any of us were mature enough to digest the magnitude of what that meant.  At the end of the service I could barely even mumble out condolences or a hug.  To this day I am ashamed that I didn’t reach out to him more.

My friend’s father had decided to end his life and leave his children to grieve.  I can’t even imagine how bad things have to be and how worthless a person has to feel to make that choice.  As a parent now I can’t even fathom it.  He had his reasons and I have no desire to judge them.  That isn’t the point. The point is that there are other options, in that moment he just couldn’t see them.

Over my years working in suicide prevention and suicide bereavement, I have heard everything from “that is selfish” to “they didn’t deserve to live if they are gonna throw it all away like that” or “they are going to hell.”  Regardless of your personal values and belief systems, I have never found these statements very comforting to suicidal people or to the survivors they leave behind.

Making dismissive statements is a way of simplifying a problem and deluding ourselves into believing it couldn’t happen in our lives or to the people we love.  We like to believe that we are better parents, friends, or family than those “other people” and therefore a suicide won’t happen in our lives.  Well sadly it can.  As a society I believe our lack of compassion is part of the problem.

According to Alberta Health Services: “Suicide is consistently a leading cause of death among Albertans. Suicide claims more lives annually than other more openly discussed issues such as motor vehicle collisions, AIDS or homicides.”  In my career as a therapist I can tell you that most of the people that walk into my office have thought about it or attempted suicide at some point in their lives.

My friend’s father killed himself.  It started a chain of events in my life that lead me to the work I do.  Even though I didn’t know him, his life and death have value to me.  Over the course of my life I have had the privilege of talking to survivors and walking with them in their grief journey.   I have spoke to people who have lost children, partners, sisters, brothers, parents and friends.  Most of them believed it couldn’t happen to them until it did.  The aftermath of a suicide is devastating but one of the things these people have taught me is that their loved ones were more than the last few minutes, hours or days of their lives.

They were people with families and friends that had rich and meaningful lives.  They meant something to those that loved them.  While many struggled with depression or alcoholism or were victims of abuse, there were also times in their lives of great joy and connection.  They were more than their final decision.   Their lives had value and shouldn’t be judged entirely by those painful moments.  Their death was a tragedy and sadly an avoidable one.

Suicide Awareness Week begins on September 8th.   Take a moment to educate yourself on the warning signs of suicide or get help if you need it by checking out the information at the Crisis Support Centre.   Join the Support Centre and the Canadian Mental Association in their annual Lift the Silence Walk on Thursday September 12, 2013 from 4-7pm at Edmonton City Hall.    Shame is the disease, and courage is the cure.

So here is the scene… I am sitting in a brutally hard chair in the front of a starkly lit room with 25 therapists staring at me with excruciatingly empathetic looks on their faces.  What I choose to believe was empathy may have more likely been relief.  They were all likely saying a silent prayer of gratitude that I volunteered to be the guinea pig during this demonstration.  It was terrifying.

The trainer was sitting in front of me.  He said, with what I can only describe as an indifferent tone, “Tell me about something disturbing that happened in your life.”

Now the purpose of the demonstration was not to dive into my childhood trauma or emotional pain.  Although in that moment, I’m not sure I believed him.  He just wanted to set up how an EMDR therapy session would start.  I didn’t know how far he was gonna take this demonstration so I was more than a little nervous.  I had no desire to be reduced to a sobbing mess in front of this group of strangers and professional colleagues.

Anyone who knows me personally knows that tears come freely to me in personal situations.  So in front of this crowd I am painfully aware that, like most people in the world, I have unresolved stuff that may come flooding to the surface in the hands of a good therapist.  This man is a well respected and very talented EMDR therapist.  I was convinced that he could see right into the darkest depths of my soul.  The shame was in the back of my throat.

For those of you interested, EMDR stands for Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing.  In many ways the therapy sounds a lot like voodoo witch magic.  It isn’t.  I have been very skeptical but I have heard enough positive things about it that I sought out the training to help me make up my own mind.  It is a protocol for therapy that focuses on resolving trauma and anxiety.  I love having new tools in my therapy toolbox but I don’t always like the work I have to do to learn the new skill.

Sitting in front of the room reminded me of what it is like to be vulnerable.  Vulnerability is an unnerving experience for most of us.  Being vulnerable usually makes us look at our shame up close.  This was a good reminder of what my clients must feel like when they first come to see me or what many of us are experiencing at this time of year.

The beginning of September is a time of year that many of us are facing new adventures: school starting, work schedules, the change of seasons and getting back into a routine.  This can bring excitement for some, anxiety for others and a mix of the two for most of us.  It is a time of year that many of us are vulnerable and are ashamed of that vulnerability.

I believe that vulnerability is the key to happiness.  I remember the first time I saw Brené Brown’s TEDTalk on shame and vulnerability.  If you haven’t seen it, it is 20 min well spent.  Basically she speaks about how the difference between people that live their lives with all their heart and those the struggle to find happiness.  The difference is that people who are the happiest and most content are willing to embrace vulnerability.  They are willing to experience and share their suffering as well as their joy and celebration.

I see this everyday.  The people whom have the courage to dive into their grief, abuse and loss history are the ones that find their way.  They deal with their emotions head on.

I have talked with people with far more trauma than I could ever handle and they do fine.  I have seen some that buckle under seemingly mild stress.  The difference is not bad luck or crappy life circumstances.  How we deal with trauma is complicated.  It all depends on our life experience, attitude and DNA.

Vulnerability is like Teflon.  It helps the crappy life experiences just slide off.   Shame is like honey.  It makes everything stick. How do we produce more Teflon?  It is a good question.  One that I try to figure out daily with clients.

I know that vulnerability is contagious.  After I got off that hard chair, someone else got on it.  Watching people be vulnerable and watching that person experience acceptance and  safety as a result catches like a common cold.

Sadly, shame is contagious too.  Our society shames people all the time.  We are never good enough, smart enough or skinny enough.  Either that or we are too good, too smart or too skinny.  The infection happens through our words, ridicule and gossip.  We infect our coworkers, neighbors, family and worst of all our children with it.  Instead of reaching out for understanding, we push each other away, especially those people that are different from us in social class, race or ability. It is easier to say “that is your problem” than “tell me more”.

How can we stop the pandemic?  We can all try to be more vulnerable.  Embracing your own vulnerability will not stop bad things from happening and will not be even the least bit comfortable but it will spread and help us all be more human.  It will help you live a better life.

Today I sat on on a brutally hard chair in a starkly lit room and I am better for it.  I hope the others in the room are too.

Like most adolescents of the 80s, there was a time when I wore copious amounts of blue eye shadow.  In my middle school years I was pretty typical in that regard.  I also had a very bad perm, one that matched my two best friends at the time but was never quite as perfect.

Like most adolescents I tried hard to fit in.   I’m not sure when that changed but it did.  Maybe it is when the fashions changed from spandex and body suits to oversized sweatshirts from Coconut Joe’s or Neon Vuarnet fashion atrocities.  I’m not sure.

Maybe it is the day in high school when I spent 45 min on my makeup to get it just right and my then best friend said to me, “You look like you aren’t wearing any make up.”  Something in me changed.  Why on earth was I spending so much time on my appearance just to look the same as I did before?  So somewhere in high school I stopped wearing makeup and opted for the comfy look of jeans and t-shirts.

I wish I could tell you that this was purposeful, a rebellion against the norm or some feminist stance on societal norms of beauty.  Really, I think I was just too lazy or perhaps suffering from a bout of depression.  I enjoyed sleeping in more than the ritual of getting ready.  Also I got cheap.  After working part-time while in school I found I’d rather spend my money on other things.  That hasn’t changed. Beauty products are expensive and I’d much rather go out for East Indian food than dish out the cash for a manicure that I’ll just have to have redone in a few weeks. 

So I have gone through life more or less makeup-less.  I would put some on for the occasional special event, a wedding, a graduation or some other celebration.  Over the years I have had several girlfriends that try to encourage me to “just wear a bit of mascara” or “a little lip gloss.”  “It will make a big difference.”  They are well meaning friends and lovely people but it just isn’t me.

I was a bridesmaid in my mother-in-law’s wedding this past week.  I enjoyed the camaraderie of the girlish routines.  The pedicures, the makeup and the hair.  I love my in-laws so hanging out with them is never a chore.   I even find it fun to put on another persona for a day but it still isn’t me.

I have struggled to explain this to women.  I always hear the adages of it being “important to look your best” and “people judge you on your looks.”   I’m not such an idealist that I don’t know that this is at least partially true.  But it is only true because we all agree that this is the way it should be.  We are the problem.   Or maybe this is my subconscious way of trying to justify the wrinkles in my clothes (I also don’t iron).

Many of my clients tell me that after they have lost a loved one or when they are struggling through a rough time they loath one question.  That is, “Hey, how are you?”  Mostly because people don’t actually want to know.  They are just making small talk.  No one wants to hear… “Pretty crappy,  my brother just killed himself and I’m thinking that there is no point to life anymore.”  All they want to hear is “Fine, how are you?”, if they even wait long enough to hear a response.  When people need compassion and we often don’t have time to give it to them.

We as a society have found many ways to not mean what we say and to cover up who we really are.  This is why I have decided that I value authenticity above all other attributes in myself and the people with whom I choose to surround myself.

Many of the women I love dearly are much girlier than me.  They are beautiful women that take time and pride in their appearance and I love them for it.  They are authentic in their own ways.  It is good to be challenged by them.  I, however, chose to do it differently.

No one will ever convince me that I look better with makeup on.  I love how I look.  I love that when I’m tired, people know it.  I love that when I have cried tears of joy or sadness, you can see it on my face for hours.  To me that feels authentic.  It is who I am.  As I age, I expect that people will be able to tell I’m getting older.  I am also okay with that…well most days.

Being authentic is the example I want to set for my daughter.  I strive to be authentic in my words, my actions and my appearance.  Some days I am better at this than others.  It is like all things in life: a work-in-progress.

So yes, you will see me dress up occasionally and I will enjoy it.  But mostly you will see me in clothes that I like and that I am comfortable in, without makeup, just being me.

I am useless at dinner parties. Partially because I am a bit of a closeted introvert, I prefer the comfort of my own home to most things. Being social requires a lot of energy especially with people I don’t know. At dinner parties or other social gatherings the dreaded question inevitably gets asked.

“What do you do?”

This question, while fairly common among introductions, is one of the more difficult for people to answer. If you are a stay-at-home parent who doesn’t feel that society values your role, or a person who doesn’t like their job, or a person who loves what they do but feels judged by others because of their choice of profession, this question can minimize how you define yourself. What about someone who recently lost their job?

In my case when I am asked the question I am never entirely sure how to answer. I am a mother, a wife, a volunteer, a friend, a daughter, a sister, and most recently, a dog trainer. I do all these things but this is not what the asker actually wants to know. They want to know what I do for a living. I understand that the asker is only making conversation. They are just trying to get to know me. In fact, I often ask the question myself.

So when asked “What do you do?” I am always honest but then I brace myself for the response. My answer usually has one of two impacts on a conversation. It stops it dead in its track or I end up making someone cry. I am a social worker. Not the kind that takes away children, not the kind that has boat loads of money that I can give to the poor. Neither of these kinds of social workers actually exists.

I work in mental health. Even worse: I am a therapist! Nothing gets people all clammed up and sweaty more than talking to a therapist. It turns into a love me or hate me scenario. People often worry that I am analysing them and can see into all their personal shame and misery just by looking at them. I can assure you, I cannot see your inner demons. I am a good therapist but not that good. Other people at parties see me as a source of free advice. A crowded room that usually involves alcohol isn’t what I call a safe therapeutic environment. Either situation ends up being awkward for all involved.

One occupational hazard I suffer from is that I am not good at small talk. I usually ask the questions that socially we are taught not to ask. Mostly because I am more interested in how someone is coping with their life than how the Oilers’ prospects are doing. This is why I am useless at dinner parties.

The gifts of my chosen profession far outweigh the few awkward social encounters that I experience. The gift of my profession is that as a therapist I see people deal with the worst life has to offer but that is also when I see human nature at its best. I am honoured that my clients share their most intimate secrets with me and while I am not able to share these amazing stories with you directly I can share how these stories have impacted my life and how I live it. That is what I hope to accomplish in this blog. Hopefully you will be inspired the way that I am.

I have learned that the joy of life is in the little things, the moments that you miss if you aren’t paying attention. Joy is how my son’s giggle sounds like a series of hiccups if he really finds something funny or how my daughter describes how her first pair of dangly earrings feel against her cheek. Life has a way of providing us with answers if we just listen. So I am listening.

***This Blog originally posted on www.stalbertgazette.com on August 12, 2013*** 

Every August long weekend my husband’s family gets together at their family plot of land.  Every year the kids go nuts with their distant cousins and every year someone gets thrown off the hammock when the little ones decide to use it as a swing.

Every year someone takes on the job of making the kids a pinata. In years past we have had traditional pinatas, monsters, Wild Things, and one of my favorites was H1N1 which was a pig with a medical mask in honour of that year’s pandemic.

This year I decided to take on the task.  Not really out of desire.  I took it on because no one else had come forward yet and I guess I felt like it was my turn.

I come from a family of creative people.  My Dad is a talented woodworker and a life long photographer.  My mom is an accomplished seamstress and an inspired quilter.  My brother is an animator with an impressive resume including many motion pictures.  My brother spent his childhood with his nose in a sketch pad.  So as you can imagine I was never labeled as the “artistic one.”  In fact for years I was pretty  sure that my brother filtered all the creative talent out of my share of the gene pool.  My middle brother and I didn’t have a chance.

Until a few years ago the extent of my creativity was painting the walls of my house a different color.   I took up painting with acrylics for a while.  When I told a professional painter about my desire to try painting but my complete lack of talent he asked me when was the last time I painted.   I told him likely when I was 8.  His advice was this.  “Why would you expect yourself to paint better than an 8 year old?  Now go paint like an 8 year old.”  At the time lots of friends were having babies so I painted some children’s paintings for them.  It went well until I started wanting to paint more grown up stuff.  I got frustrated and eventually stopped.   Again I felt like I’m no good at this.

A kid’s pinata seemed like the perfect project.  A temporary piece of art that will thrill the kids regardless of what it looks like.  After all it is the candy they are looking for not the artistic merit of the delivery device.   So the kids and I went on a hunt for inspiration.

For those of you that don’t know me well I have an irrational love of a witty green frog (see my previous article Life Lessons from a Frog).  So my choice of pinata is not very surprising.  My kids and I scavenged for ideas and materials.  I procrastinated for days.  But once the creating started I got totally into it.  The process was oddly cathartic and restful.  Although watching my creations get destroyed ruthlessly by sugar obsessed children with a bat was mildly disturbing, I am pleased with the results.

Human nature is creative.  We are driven to create things, problem solve and expand our comfort zones.  When we push ourselves we can feel uncomfortable but when it works out we get a strong sense of pride and accomplishment.  It helps to stimulate our intellectual, emotional, physical and spiritual sides all at the same time.  That helps us feel integrated and whole rather than disjointed and incomplete.  It helps us find balance within ourselves.

So here is my hope.  I hope that everyone tries something creative today.  Whether it be sculpting your mashed potatoes or painting a masterpiece, take the time to do something silly, creative and maybe even pointless.  No one has to know or show it off with pride.  Who cares? Just do it.  You will feel better for it.