Posted on Sep 17, 2019
The recent-past Provincial Election and notification of an upcoming Federal Election has got me thinking about betrayal. In my line of work, betrayal is a common concern—usually in the context of intimate relationships—but sometimes other types of relationships as well. It’s difficult to unpack political betrayal because it is less tangible, less personal. And yet it feels very personal because it relates to our core beliefs and values.
I confess that I am struggling with guilt at not voting in the Provincial Election. It feels like a betrayal of the Famous Five ( Emily Murphy, Henrietta Muir Edwards, Nellie McClung, Louise Crummy McKinney, Irene Parlby) who fought so hard for women to be counted as persons and hence have the right to vote. There is even a striking statue on the grounds of the Provincial Legislative Buildings in Winnipeg.
I also believe that my vote should count and matter—and voting for the sake of voting does not support that belief. There really was not a candidate I wanted to vote for. It wasn’t laziness or apathy. It was a conscious decision NOT to vote for a person or platform that I didn’t trust, or believe in, or perceive he/she represented my vote. I want my vote to count for the things that matter to me. And in the last federal election, my vote for what mattered to me was betrayed. Trust in the fabric of democracy itself was shattered let alone the elected representative who made empty promises.
I will not vote for someone—anyone—just because it is the “right” thing to do, because women’s right to vote is hard won. So is my right to consciously, yet quietly, boycott the political circus. My sense of betrayal is so deep, I have become jaded and cynical about politics, parliament, and our version of “democracy.” Evidently, my values are not in keeping with the majority. And as we all know, majority rules.
Well, sometimes fairness and justice means the underdog should have his or her voice heard too. As I do not trust a political party or politician to adequately represent me, why would I vote for one? Our current political system is archaic and deeply flawed. Parliamentary practices are based upon antiquated tradition (like yelling to drown out the words spoken by the opposition) and not common sense, common courtesy, collaboration, and basic human dignity. It is based upon power plays. How is that democracy?
In a democratic society (and
with the marvels of modern technology), I would like to vote on the individual
issues. I would like my vote to count and my voice to be heard. That’s after
all what the Famous Five fought so hard for—to be heard—and to have the basis
in place to be heard. I don’t feel my voice is being heard with my vote in the current
political climate. In that sense, my individual vote does not count or matter.
It only elects an official.
I am not trying to demand an
audience for extremist views. I simply want human dignity upheld—for everyone—not
the way our power-playing system benefits from it. Common sense says everyone
should have access to drinking water, affordable housing, nutritional food,
education. Not just for the select few who vote “right.”
I don’t want to start a
political rant as I know “no one” is listening and/or cares about what I
passionately believe in—it won’t get votes or win popularity contests. But I
guess I want to express my views on betrayal—which were affirmed in a news clip
just prior to the provincial election. I am not the only woman to feel betrayed
and unrepresented by current options. It was also affirming to hear a clip
about how men and women perceive political issues differently—in essence how we
vote—but for both genders it comes down to trust.
Can I trust this candidate (and/or in the political party platform) to adequately represent me or my concerns? And the answer, for me, is NO. Even if I did hear rhetoric that reflected my concerns, I would be extremely hesitant to vote because of being burned. I trusted someone’s promises to make changes in this country that became hot air. Not only that, but money left the country to educate women in developing countries. I’m all for that—but not at the expense of our own Canadians—male or female!
I will not be taken in like that again. The actions of the candidates must indicate their interests. What does their track record show? What are they already involved in? What change have they supported or created? Most political performers are just that—performers. I have yet to see our political system perform sensibly. If that’s what democracy means—power plays, popularity contests, and performances—then I’m not interested.
My vote means too much to me to
be wasted on a rigged system. Just because the majority rules, doesn’t make it
healthy or even in the best interests “of the people.” There is that charming
saying about followers of the masses: sometimes the ‘m’ is silent.
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Posted on Aug 5, 2019
My best intentions included writing
two blogs this summer for July and August. However, the months of June and July
were quite a roller coaster for me. Thus, it is my goal with this blog entry to
share as much of that ride as ethics and circumstances allow.
Quite frankly, I’m not sure where
to begin.
I just re-read last month’s blog which ended with, “I’m tired of being a human punching bag. Which is another way of saying the Universe is guiding me to make some changes.” I will try to give you some of the background; but words really do fail me. Let me start by saying: my world was shattered on a Friday afternoon mid-June when I received an ethics complaint against me. Yes, I was as much in shock as you, my dear reader, may well be. I didn’t even have time to recover from this blow to my system, when on the following Monday, I received a response in my divorce proceedings that attacked the very fibre of my being.
As you can well imagine, I went into a tailspin. My functioning was limited to what I absolutely had to focus on—such as my clients. There wasn’t much else. The divorce situation was addressed first—and I broke the cardinal rule I teach all my clients: Don’t Get Sucked In!—by defending myself for all I was worth. Fortunately, I made a corrective measure before final documents were sent. Whatever I said in my own defense would have fallen on deaf ears and had nothing whatsoever to do with negotiating a settlement. When I got my legal bill, I had a twinge of regret, of course, for the extra work I made for my lawyer.
Once the divorce proceedings were
dealt with (not finalized yet, but getting closer), I had to return my
attention to the ethics complaint. The week of leaving it alone was definitely
the right move as I was in a better frame of mind to address the points
presented. That, too, took many rough drafts before the final response was submitted.
In an interesting turn of events, that complaint has since become a badge of
honour because it now represents something I was doing “right”—advocating for
maintaining family bonds—rather than doing something wrong.
These two attacks upon my
personhood also served another purpose: they prompted me to do another personal
and professional assessment. Later in the evening after receiving the ethical
complaint, I declared that I was done. Done with counselling, with advocating
for others, with going above and beyond. In those overboard, defensive
declarations there remained a kernel of truth in that it forced me to take a
closer look at what I want out of life and out of my profession.
I am done with over-extending myself. As well, I don’t have the wherewithal or fortitude for advocacy work. My sensitive nature is not covered in a resilient turtle shell. As passionately as I believe in attachments and connections, I am not the person for those particular therapy “trenches.” I am, however, well suited for trauma and abuse recovery which remain my principle passions.
So it got me thinking, how do I live my life to its fullest potential and be more personally fulfilling? And it occurred to me that I will get more out of my life if I focus on trauma therapy rather than try to be all things to all people. I cannot save the world. I can’t even make it a better place to live. But I can ease some of the suffering that surrounds me.
Add to all this turmoil — the disruption of my personal solitude as my housing situation is changing. Gone are the peaceful views of forest and occasional grazing deer. The dogs can no longer run and play as they please. It has been replaced by the ongoing development of more cabins. There goes the neighbourhood.
So, I’ve been searching for a new place to live, and dare I say, retreat. The gears are grinding away to combine the ideas of trauma recovery and retreat. Maybe Barb’s Bunker: a Place to Retreat for Recovery of Hope and Healing. There will be continued grinding of gears on that one for awhile. A location is in the works, but can’t be revealed at this time. And it will be a solid year before there will be anything resembling Barb’s Bunker. But it feels good to dream again and plan for the future. And all because my world was turned upside down and shaken like a snow globe. Hopefully soon it will feel like it has been set right again.
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Posted on Jun 17, 2019
So. Where to begin? It’s been an interesting week; and I’ve
been mulling over this blog for a couple weeks now, without gaining any solid
traction. There are a few things I want to say; but I’m unsure how to piece it
all together or put it into words. Funny how thoughts can be like that: flashes
of inspiration or insight keeping just out of word’s grasp.
My musings began by thinking about the tight integration
between how we are parented and how we relate to the Ultimate Transcendent
Being (Creator, God, Universe, High Power, Author of the Cosmos, Big Bang,
insert your preferred label here…).
Even with years of therapy, a long and winding faith
journey, and deep self-recovery work, I still struggle relating to the
Transcendent Being via any masculine reference, whether it be Canadian
Aboriginal’s Father Sky or the westernized Father God. I continue to mentally
back away from that imagery.
And then it struck me that God doesn’t care what name is
used, God is simply thrilled to be on speaking terms with any human: whether we
refer to the Ultimate Presence as our Rock, Fortress, Shield, Mama Bear, Mama
Eagle, Mother God, Mother Earth, or any imagery that helps us connect. God isn’t
bothered by any of it…but humans are.
My sister recommended a documentary series exploring the
development of Christian Art within its context of history, political
movements, and culture. That’s the sort of information that should be doled
out—not doctrine or dogma. Very enlightening series based in the supposed Dark
Ages. I can’t share all the gems here, but it was very informative. The key
“take-away”: humans have always been drawn to a fluid understanding of the
Ultimate Being, needing both female and male representation.
As intriguing as the historical perspective is, it is also
terribly disheartening to have a bird’s eye view of how political figures have
influenced the evolution of religion—so much so that it hardly resembles the
simple origins.
From politics to parenting, our perceptions of the Ultimate
Being are just that—perceptions, maybe even allusions. Sometimes, I daresay, delusions.
Subconsciously, God becomes a demanding authority figure, a fairy godmother, a
magical old wizard, a powerful force to be reckoned with—but we don’t actually
visualize those images. We dress them in more culturally acceptable costumes. So
our experiences with God become extremely frustrating when our wishes (aka
prayers) aren’t granted, political forces aren’t abolished. Our demands are not
met, we pout, and God yearns to connect and comfort.
And therein lies my problem. When using male language, I do
not relate to God in any positive ways. In fact, I withdraw. So I approach from
another safer angle, and am met with connection, comfort, instruction, guidance.
God doesn’t care. God will morph to be my safe place. Maybe I should start
referring to my Higher Power as the Shape Shifter (with only pure motives).
Here is my tie in for all these musings. Never take
parenting for granted. It is so important with long-term implications. Not only
for how we relate to the Ultimate Being, but also others and most importantly
our Selves. If we do not reflect back to children what we see in them, and if
they cannot see themselves in adults, they grow up to be very confused and
rudderless. They expect the world to function a certain way. And when it
doesn’t co-operate, they don’t have the skills to navigate difficulties nor to
spread kindness and well-being wherever they go.
Oddly enough, I learned that Christian Art reflects humanity
more than any divinity…and that my sensitive soul seems out of place in this
world. I really do feel like an alien on this planet when kindness is rewarded
with meanness. I’m tired of being a human punching bag. Which is another way of
saying the Universe is guiding me to make some changes.
The Dark Ages: An Age
Of Light Four Part Series – Timeline – World History
Documentaries https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M4o1dc41r28
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Posted on May 24, 2019
I am conflicted about what to write this month. I began by writing about my Mother’s Day experience. However, that wormed itself into the abortion/adoption issue which morphed into human equality. I initially titled this blog Mothers & Mentors; but mentors were all but forgotten in my first draft. Then I took a meander down memory lane as I worked on crafting a 50th birthday card for my brother. And I realized how much I miss the relationship we once had, plus all the adventures we shared. The thread of all these musings? Attachments.
I went from sharing a personal experience, to sharing thoughts on a tender topic. However, as passionately as I believe in human equality, connection, and compassion, social media is not the platform for changing the world. And quite frankly, the world doesn’t want to change. So I considered my intentions for communicating. I get quite discouraged by the discourse, or lack thereof, in “popular controversies.” I cannot change people’s minds; but I sometimes think I can educate people into changing their minds. After all, education has changed my mind on several occasions. However, one’s mind has to be open to be changed. As long as we have closed minds, no amount of education will make a difference. Compassion is also a necessity for change.
Which brings me back to attachments. If we adhere more strongly to our beliefs then we do to people with, compassion and empathy, we completely miss the point of life: connection. We cannot connect if we are judging, focusing on right versus wrong. Life isn’t black and white. But one can never go wrong with putting people ahead of agendas. And if you do think in black and white, then you are missing out. I know. Because I have been there—on both sides of the coin—the judging and the judged. It does not bring people together or ease anyone’s suffering.
So, in the spirit of sharing for supporting those who
suffer…
I had a surreal yet visceral experience this past Mother’s Day
during a walk in the woods with two fur babies: I talked to my two miscarried
children. I have never done that before. Oddly, a Mother’s Day first for me.
Even asked them to say hello to their grandmother for me.
As profound as the experience was of connecting with my
somewhat imaginary children, it was very peaceful and soothing. I didn’t want
to have children; so I was very conflicted about being pregnant. And yes, I
will admit relieved when I didn’t carry to term. However, there is an
unbreakable bond that forms when one conceives (knowingly or unknowingly). On
Facebook I posted: Whether you have lost children by choice or by tragedy, know
they are caring for you from the other side and you are loved.
These unborn souls have no resentments. It is like they are
still in their purest form. The world hasn’t had a chance to twist perfection
yet. And I believe they understand that they were not meant for this world.
They do not hold a grudge about being aborted (forced or natural). Now, this is
where my blog goes awry; and I veer off-course by going cerebral instead of
remaining personal.
When I stay with my own experience, I sense deep sadness and
grief; not for my miscarried children, but my own insecure childhood. I wish I
could glibly “move on” into adulthood; but it is much more complicated than
that. Education and compassionate presence from caring souls have helped me understand
my lived experience and find ways to cope; but it’s a struggle to know that it
will always be a struggle. All because of the lack of healthy attachments as an
infant, child, adolescent, and young adult. This is why I am passionate about
human equality and connection. I do not want others to struggle like I do.
I also understand today’s sadness a bit better as I miss the
inexplicable bond I once had with my brother. In our culture, we take bonding
for granted and/or are ignorant of its importance with its long-lasting effects
of both secure and insecure attachments. And what it means when we lose those
attachments. My most secure attachment was with my brother. The second was with
my dog, Gracie. I am grateful for the bonding that has developed with my (half)sister.
I do not develop bonds easily; and when they are lost, it is truly devastating.
If I could have a single wish granted, it would be for the
world to grasp the importance of human bonding and connection. I would like to
think the world’s ills would be greatly reduced by that subtle change. In the
meantime, I will continue to pursue spreading compassion and connection in
whatever ways I can, and live with the disappointments. For that is the nature
of Life: an intricate dance of joy and sorrow.
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Posted on Apr 13, 2019
Attended my fifth Colin James concert a couple of weeks ago (including the acoustic guitar duets with Chris Northey way back when in a small venue that allowed me to sit in the third row—nearly close enough to make eye contact); and he never fails to impress. So I was a bit puzzled by my melancholy mood the following day as it felt different from the usual post-excited, exertion crash that comes with Chronic Fatigue Syndrome territory.
Listening to his 1990s upbeat big-band-sound CDs only
generated a bittersweet sensation. As I mulled this over, my brain began to
make connections. There was the nostalgia of reconnecting with a college buddy
which of course brought a bit of reminiscing from our young adulthood. What we
would have told our younger selves! In that cosmic quirk of old friends picking
up a long-lost conversation as if no time had passed, it was like travelling
through a worm hole that holds past, present, and future concurrently. Like
there was some energetic thread tenuously holding it all together. But I
digress.
My ah-ha moment came when my brain associated this event
with the last time I attended a Colin James performance. I even commented on it
to my concert companion. A little more than two years ago, I was struggling in
my unraveling marriage and told myself ‘hang in there’ until the Colin James concert
in March. And somehow I did.
Unbeknownst to me, the Universe was conspiring to help me
make huge changes in my life and preparing a path for me. Arrangements began
falling into place, and by June there was a solid plan to implement when the
time was right.
As I reflect upon my situation two years ago to now, it
occurred to me that Colin James supported me in ways of which he is completely unaware.
His music and his lyrics not only energize me, they also comfort and encourage
me. Last night he played one of my favourites: Freedom. And I was able to sing along with renewed gusto. The only
way the concert could have topped its thrilling magic was if he had played Walkin’ Blues –whose meaning is of
course inexorably linked to Freedom
on my life journey.
Freedom: liberation from incarceration. So much more than
being freed from a physical prison. I felt held captive in a 20-year marriage
with manacles so imperceptible it took a powerful magnifying glass to find them
in order to release myself. Even stronger were the mental shackles: some of my
own making, others conditioned in my upbringing. A network of core beliefs and ingrained
negative thought patterns that became self-reinforcing, as they usually do, in
the long run.
Colin James helped me think outside the proverbial box of my core beliefs. Come to think of it, he also helped me to emote on a much deeper, more thoughtful, level by connecting me with the intense roots of the Blues, powerful both communally and individually. Most important, he helped me choose freedom. Freedom to find myself. Freedom to be myself. Freedom to live congruently with the beliefs I kept and new ones that I embraced.
I owe Colin James a debt of gratitude which I could never express, let alone repay. I thank him for being the musician, as well as the person, of integrity that he is. He plays a significant role on my healing journey toward integration and expression of Self. As I try to put this experience into words, it’s more of an ephemeral feeling than solid thought. And I think that’s the beauty of music and shared experience: meant to be lived in the moment and savoured upon reflection.
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Posted on Mar 16, 2019
Friday’s session with my trauma therapist ended on a
bittersweet note. It was a celebration of not only my therapy journey but also
the role he played. I could not have gotten this far without his gentle
guidance. In return, he felt honoured to join me on my journey and to bear
witness to my recovery and growth. As a therapist, I have also been privileged
to bear witness to my clients’ success and be the recipient of their deep
appreciation.
These conversations usually mark a transition from an ending to a beginning: the ending of counselling therapy overlapping with the beginning of the next phase of a person’s courageous journey of self-discovery and growth. What made Friday’s conversation different was the likelihood of a final good-bye.
You see, my therapist has been fighting cancer for a while now. And what seemed like effective treatment has taken a turn for the worse. Hence the bittersweet moment: a celebration of my success and the therapeutic alliance we formed coupled with a permanent ending—not just the usual “ext interview.”
Part of the ending process for therapy includes the reassurance that they can always re-access therapy if/when needed. I am glad that I am doing really well compared to when my therapy journey started and was steering toward the “exit” process anyway. Simply put, it is always hard to say such a weighted good-bye with the hint of finality—especially to someone who has had such a significant impact on your life.
In an interesting cosmic twist, my therapist’s legacy will endure
in my counselling room as I continue to pass on to my clients what I learned under
his guidance: to manage my anxiety, to dive deep, to come up for air, and to
not only persevere but thrive. His influence has been present in many a session
already. Now it will be with more poignancy.
As a trusted friend said to me, at least you had a chance to
say good-bye. Which is very true, and for that I am extremely grateful. How
many times to we say a final good-bye without knowing it? How often do we wish
we could have said good-bye, but didn’t have the option or opportunity?
So in an effort to honour the legacy and the final journey we all must make, transitioning from this life to the next, may the words of this Irish blessing go with him.
May you see God’s light on the path ahead
when the road you walk is dark.
May you always hear,
even in your hour of sorrow,
the gentle singing of the lark.
When times are hard may hardness
never turn your heart to stone,
May you always remember
when the shadows fall—
You do not walk alone.
I also wish you all a Happy St Patrick’s Day this weekend. May you wholeheartedly celebrate the love of life, family, and friends! Sláinte!
Wishing you a rainbow
For sunlight after showers—
Miles and miles of Irish smiles
For golden happy hours—
Shamrocks at your doorway
For luck and laughter too,
And a host of friends that never ends
Each day your whole life through!
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