I feel calm, relaxed, carefree, and loved - much like any normal kid should feel. I only feel this way when I’m at ‘la cabine’ with my grand-parents. Grand-papa would come pick us up at the end of June in his burgundy coloured station wagon and drive the 45 minutes to the log cabin he built with my father many moons ago. My grand-maman would be waiting for us in the cabin’s small living room, which doubled as the dining room complete with wood stove that made great toast in the morning. The cabin was built in the early 1970s using logs, tin for the roof, and pink insulation. The cabin sits on a parcel of leased land for a 99-year term. The small structure contained a small workshop for my grand-father’s tools, a main area, 2 window-less bedrooms, a loft with several mattresses on the floor for when my cousins visited, a small kitchen, a tiny bathroom (illegal because he installed a septic tank for my grand-mother because she didn’t want to use the outhouse). The kitchen also co...

 PTSD is a bitch. When you live and breathe it daily, you don’t know any better. It’s like being born with a headache; you don’t know you have one until it’s gone. As a teen, Big M told me I was moody and depressed – a typical teenager. She also told me daughters and mothers never get along in the teen years, which is also totally normal. Uh Huh. As a young adult, I knew more than anything that I would never be a parent. Ever. I didn’t know how to relate to children, I’d never spent any time with children, I’d always been surrounded by adults; but mostly, I believe children were a burden. Deep down, I knew I’d be an abuser. I was terrified to be alone with children. I assumed I’d be a sexual deviant and if I wasn’t, I’d probably just beat them black and blue. When I told my family every time they joked to “wait until youuuuu have kids!” I was always met with shock and mild horror that I didn’t want to shoot watermelons out my vagina. I don’t think those living outside my family u...

al·le·go·ry / ˈ al ə ˌɡ ô r ē / noun noun: allegory ; plural noun: allegories a story, poem, or picture that can be interpreted to reveal a hidden meaning, typically a moral or political one. Today’s post comes as an allegory… my blog is ‘being watched’ so I don’t 'antagonize' anyone. I’ve given this a lot of thought….Welcome to the Green Forest! Nose in the air Papa Bear can smell him from several kilometres away… “Ma! Ma!” Mama Bear had been enjoying the fermented blueberries “she’s sleeping,” he says to himself when she doesn’t respond . Papa Bear sits in wait for the Badger to approach. Badger:    Hello there! Papa Bear nods in greeting, he’d just finished some of the mushrooms those caribou were eating before they completely lost their heads! Badger:   Hello there! He says again Papa Bear:   Yup, hi, how can I help you ? (Papa’s trying to stay focused and ignore the matrix of lights all around him); the Badger is the law in these parts Ba...

Neall was not a bad person; he just wasn’t the guy for me. While we were married and our marriage was crumbling, I’m not proud of how I acted at times but in fairness, neither was he. Neall had a really good heart, he had empathy and compassion. Neall’s biggest problem was that he wasn’t motivated. Neall suffered a lot of trauma in his own childhood also. In my early 20’s, I didn’t even know I had suffered trauma so I was not able to recognize the signs in him, let alone myself. Neal grew up in Southern Ontario, he was adopted and had an older adopted sister. His parents provided a nice loving home. His mother was a TV personality in the 1970s with her own yoga TV show while his dad worked in HR at a manufacturing plant. Neall recalled feeling happy until one day his parents divorced. His father had an affair with his assistant and left his current bride, a successful and well-respected Jewish businesswoman for his Catholic assistant. Neall remembers feeling hated and like his new ...