My friend who is going through a tough time who knows I have been in a roller coaster of challenges, took the time to send me the most perfect reminder video. It’s from Simon Sinek, talking about his experience with a friend who was struggling.

I highly encourage you to look him up on Instagram and watch this video, I will try to link it below. Yup I cried, what else is new?

The fear of our vulnerability and our pride gets in the way when we are struggling. We feel like we “should” be able to handle this life, that our superpower will be able to uplift us. Let’s be honest even on a good day, none of us truly can!

The hardest thing we can ever text is I need your help, I need to talk to someone, I need you.

From me, you usually get something like how are you? Whatcha doing? Sorry it’s been a while, what’s your plans? These are my catch phrases, as I am always evaluating whether I speak the words that are the depth of my thoughts.

I struggle to say hey I’m in a deep emotional depression state and don’t know how to get out. I am fragile right now, how do I get my power back to get through this?

The action of the friend sending this reminded me, I have community. I have people that I can say do you have 8 minutes?

The video was shared and this became our new Wolfpack code as well. This way all hands are on deck, everything else can be stopped, put in the background, the work, the chores and we can say, heck yes I have 8 minutes, I’m here for you.

I encourage you to watch and share the video with your people, your community.

The world can stop for a while to hear the voice of a loved one, don’t miss out on the best part of life, “Them”.

Life can change too fast in a blink.

Thank you Simon for sharing this, let’s all change our too fast world and support those around us. Do you have 8 minutes?

https://www.instagram.com/reel/C5_MYFquR4z/?igsh=OWw0MDh0eTJpZHNx

Love always from the constant learner, the Woman in Process

It’s never too late to start over, sometimes the self critic in our head likes to tell us that we’re incapable of it. Physically, we might be broken, mentally we may feel betrayed, angry, and fearful of not finding our way back.

Sometimes it’s just that first step, that first thought you put into action, the first goal you set for yourself again.

It’s been 13 weeks, and sometimes the future is just looking grey; sometimes I think it’s because it’s not written yet, sometimes it’s the bleakness of my own head, sometimes it’s the pain consuming my energy.

Each week I’ve been trying to do one small task item to start rebuilding who I was and who I’m going to become now.

This week, I’m trying to add a bit more movement, I have new exercises to work on rebuilding my arm, and I’m trying to quiet Gladys down with a small walk.

To go from running outside through the trees with my dog, feeling the wind in my hair and that determination of being able to do multi reps with the weights, the mentality of being in my own body and head and getting lost in those moments are what I’m missing the most.

So this week, my small task is trying to re-create or I should say create a new moment by losing myself in the things that I can enjoy and the modified movements.

I found that playlist that always made my feet want to move harder and faster, to push it. I took myself downstairs to my gym, that alone is a workout in itself. The feeling of just returning there gives me hope.

I may be in my pyjamas, but I stepped on my treadmill for the first time and immediately started to cry. It’s interesting how we grieve after a severe injury trying to put those puzzle pieces back together, as though a piece is missing and lost. Wondering if the piece will return one day when you least expect it.

The music was thumping, I still have to hang on, but one step in front of the other and I’m farther than I was yesterday.

I am the tortoise, slow steady meticulous thought into each movement. One goal, each day and I guess we will see where this process takes me.

As always love from the journey filled Woman in Process

Please be advised this story will make most women close their legs and cringe.

It was an icy Friday morning in January and it was so cold; temperatures with the wind chill had us at -57.

I had just returned to work from running the errands needed for them, those temperatures don’t stop us from having to deal with the day to day. Then in a moment my world changed and life completely changed and went into a standstill for me, life around me continued, without me.

It was like being held for ransom. Now normally I don’t share a ton of details on what created the challenges, but to let Gladys have her true introduction I will need to. Gladys the floor is yours.

Now before I tell you who I really am, let’s set the stage and walk you through that morning.

Mrs. Jones was walking into the building and she has this thing with mats and cracks. Always step on a mat and don’t step on a crack. This is one of the ocd sayings in her head for safety, how did that work out for you Mrs. Jones?

The mat was right at the door and one step in and that was it. It was like being part of the scene in King Kong going down. I know you can picture this. Mrs. Jones right leg went forward into the Russian splits, her fingers and arm trying to take balance to hold her and her upper body turning her into a yoga contortionist and trying to turn to the moon.

It was ugly, the pain at that moment was ugly. Pop! Mrs.Jones was trying to keep her brave mask on, the nothing phases her, but this time she was hurt and it was showing. Her facade was broken, she is human after all.

All the jibbering, comments etc. was in the background. For me, I was in agony and was trying to get her attention. I was sending all the signals, she was close to fainting, throwing up or pooping herself. Have I got your attention yet? Hey lady!!! It’s me Gladys!! Can you hear me?

Maybe she doesn’t hear me loud enough? I know, I will just keep getting louder to get her attention, she has to hear me at some point. Hey, Mrs. Jones how about that line you always use about hearing and listening, do I have your attention yet?

I am laying on an exam bed and they are checking out Mrs. Jones. Hello, can you hear me? Can someone hear me, it’s me Gladys, I need to tell you what is wrong with me, helllooooooo!

Are these people that hard of hearing? I hear Mrs. Jones walking through the accident and at this point I am very swelled up, along with all my sisters and brothers of the region. Wait, ouch! What’s with this poking? Oh darn, that’s not good. Pop!

It’s been 13 weeks since that day and I have spent a good portion of time screaming at Mrs. Jones while she lays in bed. They put one part of me back in, I have been so swollen, in pain which means Mrs. Jones will be hearing about this cruel treatment. I need restitution!!!

My swelling has subsided some, but we still have lots of issues. My brothers and sisters have been through hell and trying to learn to function again slowly, me I keep squawking. I figured if I do, maybe we can get to the bottom of what is going on.

Mrs. Jones is trying to walk again but she can’t get very far before I start yelling. Slow down lady!!! She has the Golden Girl shuffle happening, but still she is hurting me. I stand my ground. It’s like being the ruler, “Thou shall not pass”. This power is so intensifying! I question if I ever give it back to her. 

We have seen our doctor, we have been going to treatments non stop for physio and amen we talk to Dr. C. I know she will help me! A female specializing in me, she will hear what I have to say.

It didn’t take long and boom, we now have a bigger plan to start getting more tests done, to find the damages to me!! I had to keep squawking, but they finally heard me. Me, the part of your pelvis that you took for granted, me with my brothers and sisters united that control a huge part of the bodies organs, me that can give you joy or pain.

At this point my power is strong, and we will see if I can be overthrown and un-crowned by Mrs. Jones, the battle has begun!

I am Gladys, I am ruler of the underground, ruler of the netherlands, ruler of your Vagina! And you will listen to me!

Signing off now- Byeeeeee!

It was grade two and there he was, my crush, he was my everything. Little did I know that crush was going to extend all through grade school, junior high and into part of high school.

As we aged and time grew on, he was what I “dreamed” I wanted in life as a boyfriend. We talked lots, told jokes, spent lots of time laughing in classes, always sharing my fruit roll ups and here I was watching him be enamoured by this dark haired mean girl. I guess I wasn’t his type, then he moved.

It was only one town away, but in small townland twenty minutes, a half hour, meant you probably would never see them again, except an occasional run in.

My tastes changed, I was growing up and always in my head I spent time comparing people I would meet with this person and still in a sense of idolizing who I “thought” he was. At one point I even dated someone that looking back could have been his doppelgänger. I had a type.

Last night he came back into my dreams and since the accident I seem to be having a lot of playbacks of what certain times of my life consisted of good and bad, memories of people and challenges if I could have a do over, would I?

There I was mesmerized like before “my someone” that I somewhat created in my head over the years. As I met people he became my, let’s call him my loveometer, so I don’t use any names.

In comparison-land people were either not funny enough (I have always loved to laugh), not smart enough (no idea on this one as his marks were never great) or not nice enough (for some reason I deemed him as the nice boy next door).

I would reject people based on these and a few additional items.

Many, many years later I had run into my crush in my adulthood and spent an evening with friends reminiscing of our youth and times that were far behind us.

We laughed alot, told stories of the silly things we had done and then I had finally said I had this crush on you all through school.

The response I received was, I know and I liked you too, but you were too put together, too perfect and very intimidating. You knew what you wanted (I had no clue), what you wanted to become (didn’t complete that path and felt like I was floundering) and the direction you were going (Nope not a clue, most days was flying by the seat of my pants).

Intimidating…..why? I was strong, I was vocal and I could handle life, that’s how he saw me.

By the end of the evening and seeing how this person changed after wobbly pops, it was time to end our kumbayas and return to my world.

He was my “Jake Ryan” of my world (Sixteen Candles), and a nice guy, he even had that fabulous hair.

It’s so interesting how our brains develop, thoughts evolve, we can turn our one thought into something of value at that time and base our entire lives off of it.

I am still working through what was the dream and reminiscing teaching me. Was it my value? Was it how I thought others perceived me?

At this time I am not completely sure, but Mr. Jones and I have some good laughs as we share our memories together and what we were like in our youth.

I am truly grateful for Mr. Jones as we are eight weeks in from this accident and unfortunately there is no timeline on when and if I will fully recover. In the meantime he continues to try to help me find my optimism, as some days he says he has never seen me this beaten down.

Maybe I am just preparing for my next level, my next quest. I turned 50 a few months ago and am sitting here redesigning what that means, what do I think the next 50 years of life will be?

Options are endless….

Love from the dreaming, exploring Women in Process

There is always a moment when you are sitting on the loo contemplating life. How you got here? What is the lesson and thinking, no pun intended this may be a shitty idea. By all means it may be, but right now in this moment this is what you have.

One thought, one outlook or so you think, and you seem to judge yourself, trying to rationalize is this right or wrong. What if it’s neither? What if the world had no real right or wrongs, what if the world was one endless cycle of change, of opportunity, of desire.

I like to think it is.

The challenges at this moment might not be a challenge, but an opportunity to slow down, to change a thought and change the ripple in the pond.

And here is where the next story will begin.

This new journey is on the change of my season. My season of thoughts, my season as to who I thought I was, and who I am going to be; a discovery of a new trail, blazing into the darkness on the path and emerging into the light (I hope).

Who knows what I will find, yet the theory of self discovery and the discipline to keep going is what is pushing me down this route.

I feel like I am in my own Whodunnit . Who killed off Mrs. Jones and why? What was the insight, the theory? Who had the most to gain and what discoveries are made? What will be the final conclusion and was it worth the chance and experience? Did someone get away with it?

We each have our own stages of transformations, coming out of the cocoon wings wide, full of colour, full of life, full of opportunity.

The seclusion, the quiet and the discomfort at this time seems to bring it all to the forefront. We may find we don’t like ourselves much at certain points of our lives, we may find we had became harsher than we thought we were, we may find that we felt misunderstood or was scared of sharing who we really are.

Whatever the reality is in the discomfort, I have to keep digging, keep persevering and keep challenging the toughest moments.

So today I leave you with a question. When was the last time you let yourself sit in the darkness in the discomfort, no distractions? Who did you meet?

As always love from the magnifying glass carrying Woman in Process

A cool breeze whips around my face and I’m having a hard time believing this late in November, we have no snow.

I am mesmerized, taken a back by the beauty of this full moon, feeling as though it’s dancing in amongst the clouds, each of them, taking their turn leading and twisting the other one around, the playful habits in the sky. I catch my breath and as I stand here I’m thinking about how far the journey has been. The moon, beckoning as a new opportunity of what is next to come.

I ran inside, and immediately got Mr. Jones to come out and see this beauty, Venus to the right, stars to the left. You you can see the brushstrokes in the sky, just as the artist would have been dabbing at their paint, and hearing the stroke of the swish of their brush on their canvas. Stroke by stroke, the life being created, the brightness and fullness of the moon, feeling as though it’s just a reach away.

Life has changed so much in these years, each week, the body giving you new challenges as age starts to come on a little stronger. The mind unraveling the items that had you scared and set back. The moon representing the new opportunities and hope for what’s to come.

Reflecting back, I am always stunned to have made it this far. Somewhere along my journey, strength and determination had been such a strong foundation, that even though I had no idea where I was going, I had faith and it had led me to here, the next chapter, a new chapter, and happily a continuing chapter.

A time where I have decided to cocoon myself to spend the time back on my own self discovery, bending and wielding time to being in the moment and slowing it down. Taking in each moment of darkness of the early hours, the quiet sounds a house makes, the trees, the breeze, the thankfulness you have in your heart. Listening to each breath and picking up the words of the inner monologue as they decide it’s time to put pen to paper.

He is much kinder to me now. If seemed somewhere along this journey I was able to tame the monster he was on my shoulder and now, even he, is in more awe as life develops. Needless to say, he does squawk once in a while, but his endless digs, no longer creates the combustion it once did. He was even relishing in the moment of the moon.

Silence…

No longer do I feel like someone is trying to push me underwater trying to drown me, squeeze the life from me instead it’s stillness; laying in the water floating, just being… and then I hear one comment from my reformed monster, welcome to 50.

This year I will celebrate my 46 birthday. For some it won’t seem like a milestone but for me it demonstrates resilience, determination and the ultimate focus and freedom.

As I write this I am sitting in a cushy robe and waiting for my appointment at the spa. Some people need quiet and I feel the need to start writing to ease the pain in my soul.

The sound of the fire beside me, mesmerizes my thoughts and changes my breathe to a very slow, inhale and exhale. Exhaling all the wounds and scars, exhaling my self doubt, exhaling my fear.

Many many years ago I was hurt, like everyone else. Relationships change, the people you thought you knew are not what they seem to be and the clarity and focus you learn becomes all you have to move forward. I buried that hurt, and now years later I have it waking me up, hitting me in the face as though it just took place.

This time of year, 23 years ago I found out I was pregnant. Not something that was going to happen to me, I thought; not because of choice but because of body mechanics.

At the age of 16 I had my doctors appointment and was told the likely hood of that to ever happening was nil. Imagine my surprise when I found out I was.

The catch was the journey was going to be one of aloneness in my head, my world was not going to be what I thought, but it became better, I just didn’t know it then.

23 years later as I find out that my daughters biological father passed a little while ago, I am breaking open the cookie jar and working though all my emotions and challenges; removing another bandage, and working on sealing that gapping wound.

The wound of abandonment; being alone on the journey of growing life, building faith that I could provide for her, building a future for the two of us and being blessed with more family than I thought would happen.

It was the start of my outline, like the preparation for how my novel would end, how I wanted my journey to end.

I was picking my ending first; choosing what I wanted for those ten little toes and ten little fingers. Holding her hand and knowing I would do anything for this little one. I was going to be brave, I was going to keep moving forward and I was going to give her the best that I could.

It challenges me that she never met him, (his choice), that the choices he made still have consequences for others and that I can’t just get angry at him because he won’t hear the words I have to say and it would just make me feel worse.

So let me try it this way. Regardless of how angry I was, how hurt I was, how disappointed I was in you; I’m going to forgive you.

I’m forgiving you because you didn’t get to see those moments of true love from her; the unconditional love she taught. Her first steps, her first piano lesson, her first soccer game, her first day of school, her graduation. You never saw how kind and incredible she is, how smart and intellectual, how trustworthy and friendly.

Your choice to not make her a priority built a bridge for someone else to be there. Someone that can proudly wear the badge as father, someone who may not share the same blood, but shares the same tears when she is hurt.

I forgive you for failing her, because there were others who helped pick her up. I forgive you for choosing a different life and missing out as you will never know all that it means.

I forgive you for abandoning us when we needed help because it made me stronger and more determined than I ever thought possible.

I forgive you for making me guarded and for the walls my husband had to break down because it made our marriage strong.

I forgive you for not trying. I forgive you for keeping family from her, from hiding her, from running away from responsibilities.

Today I forgive you but I also forgive myself. I forgive myself for the guilt I felt every day you never made contact. I forgive myself for judging every decision I made. I forgive myself and release myself from the prison in my mind.

I thank my husband for being her dad, for merging families, for showing us that our blended life could be great and challenging.

I thank him for the patience he had when I struggled with my hurt. I thank him for letting me grieve in my way now and for understanding my pain that became fresh and raw again upon finding out about your passing.

I thank those that helped me raise this incredible human, and those I know will watch over her when I am not there.

I thank God for blessing me for the journey, for giving me an incredible gift. I thank my daughter for molding me into what I was suppose to be; her Mum.

Love and forgiveness from The Woman in Process