The 4th Saturday

I keep hearing the phrase “this is an unprecedented time,” which I think sums up how we’re all feeling. We don’t know what the next steps are because we’ve never experienced anything like this before. Sometimes I find it hard to think positively. I find it difficult to cope with the unknown in general, and with so much that is unknown right now, I feel genuinely scared some days. Like everyone else, I miss my freedom. I miss going to work, spending time with my friends, and hugging my family. I do know that I’m privileged to be able to be comfortable at home with food in my cupboards and Netflix to cuddle up to, but that doesn’t mean I don’t miss the way things were before and fear that they might never be the same again.

This week in order to curb some of my extra energy I focused on walking my dogs, taking in some of the cool spring weather we had and working out a way to support some of the local businesses in my community. I also played too much Animal Crossing and slept in too late. I’m trying to find balance but I feel like I’m often on a teeter-totter tipping from routine to a sedentary lifestyle depending on the day. I have days where I feel guilty for wasting my time. I have days that fly by and I’m left wondering where it went. I didn’t know how much I rely on a regular schedule, but without one, I often don’t know what to do with my days.

I woke up early this morning with a plan to explore the Island and support some local businesses, and try to feel some of that normalcy I had been missing. It was our first-week shopping probably 80% local. We bought delicious ice cream from Truckin’ Roll and chicken and turkey products from Larkin Bros. We visited the ADL giveaway for PEI potatoes, milk, and cheese. Finally, we stopped at *Blue Ribbon Pet Supplies* to get our dog food.

It made me feel good to give the support I could today. Everyone was so gracious and I was sincerely thanked multiple times for the support. I also experienced Islanders following social distancing guidelines. I had tears in my eyes seeing how organized and careful everyone was. I was floored by the generosity of Islanders while receiving my ADL products. Regular people just donating their time and food to help others. We had a beautiful morning enjoying our Island and it’s hospitality.

I guess what I’m trying to say is try to find as much joy as you can through this difficult situation. You can still make memories and find happiness doing simple things like buying groceries or taking a drive, maybe you just have to find a way to do things a little differently to get there.

Keep washing your hands and staying home as much as you can!

 

**Side note about Blue Ribbon: I highly recommend shopping at Blue Ribbon for your pet needs. I was blown away by the customer service I received. Right away they asked what I was looking for, what kind of dog I had, and made a couple recommendations on brands/bag sizes. They also automatically carried my 50lb bag of food to my car, which was unexpected.

**Second side note: Many local businesses require pre-orders in order to meet physical distancing guidelines. The ones I shopped from this week accepted e-transfers which was really helpful in ensuring we stayed 2 meters apart.

 

 

 

A little good

There’s a darkness deep inside me that my mouth can not control.

It seeps, and it creeps, and it crawls. It spreads right to my core.

It boils on the inside and it bursts out of my lips. Stinging my next victim with words I can’t take back.

Why do I do this? Why can’t I think?

Before I speak, why can’t I remember that there’s still a little good?

Sometimes it’s not all about money.

She said “sometimes it’s not all about money” as she tried closing the door on a relationship turned toxic.

The world said back to her “but sometimes it is and you can’t do this by yourself. You need someone to take care of you, that’s more important than being happy.”

So she stayed and she was sad, but she pretended to be fine. She had money and things to fill her life instead of her dreams, which she put on hold for a long time. Even though there was another paying for her home, more often than not she felt very alone.

She decided one day that enough was enough. It was her time to be happy.

She left most of her things behind, after all, it was just stuff. There was only one thing that mattered to her at all, her dog, who he even kept for awhile.

But she got her pal back and in her tiny apartment, she found a home for the first time. In finding her home, her heart opened to new and true love. She finally felt free.

Now, she’s tackling her goals, but not with some hurdles. She’s learning to budget but making plenty of mistakes in the process. Her credit may be high, but her heart is much higher. She’s dreaming again and she feels pretty hopeful.

Once again she repeats “sometimes it’s not all about money.” Sometimes it’s about the smile on her face and the flutter in her stomach. It’s the twinkle in his eyes and the warmth of his hand. It’s the way she trusts him with all of her soul. She knows that he’s got her, but most of all she knows she’s got herself.

 

 

 

 

 

I wish he would’ve hit me- 2

WARNING: This post might be triggering for women or men who have suffered from abuse. This post might also be very hard for my family and friends to read, but it’s important for me to write this. I want to share my experience so that maybe I can help others.

He never hit me, but he left some deep emotional scars that I’m not sure will ever heal. I have sadness in my heart all the time now, even when I’m happy. It’s like a tiny, painful itch; continuously scratching it’s way to the surface the second something good happens to me. It comes out in the form of insecurities and misdirected anger. I lash out at the wrong people, and it’s cliche to say, but especially at the person I love the most.

The pure and innocent feeling that joy used to bring me is tainted now. I look for problems. I pick fights because something is broken inside of me. I look for warning signs that aren’t there. I search for dark secrets or deceitfulness that doesn’t exist. I blow up small issues because I’m so afraid I’ll find myself in the same situation, years down the road and that I’ll have been powerless to stop it again. I constantly push the man I love to his breaking point.

I’m afraid I have become like my abuser.

I see his personality and his mannerisms in the way I speak now. I spent too much time with him. 8 out of 27 years is a big chunk of life. It was a pivotal moment too. The time when I went from a teenager to a full-blown adult. He shaped me and molded me during the time that people consider their prime years, so I often catch myself saying and doing things that I used to hate when he said or did, but I think I catch myself too late.

I think I laugh like him now. Sometimes I feel cruel because I think I make fun of people the way he did too. I think I’m less patient and less motivated now. I always have to be right because I was always wrong for so many years. If an argument doesn’t go my way it shatters me and I spend hours analyzing how the other person could possibly think they were right. All this starts to make me wonder if he was abused the way he abused me, then I find myself sympathizing with him and that makes me sick.

The other day I met my boyfriend after work and he was having drinks with his friends. I really wanted to go home because I had a rough evening at work plus I hadn’t seen my dogs all day and I felt bad that they were cooped up in the house. He said he’d have one more drink and then we could go. His friends ordered another round and did that thing that friends do when they say “oh come on just one more”. Something in my face must have told them that I was angry. They started poking at me saying “come on Mack, he’s always with you. Let him have one more”.  I said to them I didn’t care what he did but I had to go home to my dogs. They knew he wouldn’t stay without me because we’re still at that precious stage in our relationship where we want to spend all of our time together. One of his friends accused me of being controlling. I started to try and explain our relationship, but I did more harm than good. After we left I broke down in the car, sobbing. I haven’t cried so hard in a while.

Maybe it was just the mumblings of a drunk guy not wanting the party to end or maybe that’s just who I am now.

I wish he would’ve hit me.

WARNING: This post might be triggering for women or men who have suffered from abuse. This post might also be very hard for my family and friends to read, but it’s important for me to write this. I want to share my experience so that maybe I can help others. I started to think about writing something the other day after an incident reminded me of where I was and why it was a bad situation. Like when putting ketchup on bacon can make someone angry enough to cut you down.

I wish he would’ve hit me. That would have made leaving easy, but he didn’t. He never laid a hand on me in anger, except for that one time when he pushed me out of the way because I had pushed his buttons just a little too hard. What he did to me was worse, because no one could see how he cut me down. My family had clues, but my friends had no idea. I didn’t have to hide how he treated me because it was so unbelievable, I didn’t believe it myself. I thought that’s how love grew. Eventually, I shuddered at his touch because the idea of being intimate was no longer exciting, but it scared me a little because he didn’t have boundaries. I thought that’s how love was supposed to be, that eventually “no” didn’t matter anymore. I pushed myself to the far edge of the bed each night, was cranky, unlovable, and prayed he’d just fall asleep. Sometimes, it wasn’t always like that, but most of the time it was. Like when he told me my hopes and dreams were stupid and unattainable. I needed to be more realistic.

He turned my heart to stone. I wasn’t funny without him because I stole all his jokes. My 5 years at university didn’t matter and were a waste of time. I should learn to put my time in at a company instead of jumping from dream to dream with no direction. I hadn’t been told I was pretty in 6 years. I stopped spending time with my friends because he didn’t like them. He told me they were wishy-washy. Maybe some of them were, but I know now that was my decision to make. He told me my dad’s military accomplishments were nothing to be proud of because he never fought in combat, but he would never know what my mom felt like to raise two small children on her own while my dad was away providing for his family. And we would fight. About my family, the dog, the food I never cooked right or the dishes that still had spots.

He put ideas in my mind that I didn’t believe but eventually accepted because his personality is strong and mine is weak. I would forgive him and forget because I was comfortable, I could buy nice things, and I loved his family more than they’ll ever know. But this isn’t love. Feeling sad, worthless, and lonely in the company of another was a warning sign I ignored because 4 years, 6 years, 8 years is too much time to throw away. I watched friends get married and have children, with a tiny itch in my heart knowing I wanted that too but pretending I didn’t for him because when I was 20, I made the mistake of saying I didn’t want that, but at 27 maybe now I did. I was deceitful for changing my mind. I thought I was on the right track, and that I’d never find anyone who would treat me better. Who could possibly love me as much as him?

Control isn’t love. Changing someone to fit your ideal isn’t love. I was never the person he wanted. I think he simply saw someone who was easy to influence and manipulate. Maybe he didn’t know that’s what he was doing but that’s what he did to me. I spent so much time under his thumb that I still dread going home some evenings even though I know I’m going home to another. The drive home sometimes is just too similar that I slip back into those thoughts. I see small glimpses of my personality shine through, but I know I’ll never get it all back. I know I’ll never be who I was before I was abused. It’s difficult for me to say that word, but regardless of what anyone says or feels I know, that’s what it was. I know that now that I’m in a proper, loving relationship with a man whose dreams are bigger than mine and who tells me we can achieve anything together. I’m with a man who tells me I’m beautiful every day. I still feel shattered. He asks me from time to time if I can forget that other man, and I think I can.

It’s hard to imagine a time when I can erase all the bad things he did to me. They were often so small, that the silliest things will remind me of that time, and I’ll get a pang in my heart. A shitty little feeling that maybe I’m ridiculous or not good enough. I start to question how this new, amazing man could love me as much as he says he does. I wait for the time when maybe he changes his mind or suddenly his personality will change. It hasn’t yet, and I don’t think it will, but it’s hard not to worry.

A little about my anxiety

Recently, I was diagnosed with OCD, depression, and social and general anxiety. I always knew I was an anxious person and I often described that as my defining characteristic. I’m in a constant state of worry. Most people worry, but for me, I literally worry myself sick. When my anxiety is at it’s worst I can’t eat or sleep. On the outside looking in I’m sure I look fine, but on the inside, it feels like hell. I can’t settle unless everything is where it should be both physically and figuratively. I’m constantly rearranging and reorganizing my house and my life. The hardest part about it all is the toll it sometimes takes on my relationships.

I’m constantly striving for perfection, even though I know it doesn’t exist. I beat myself up if I make a mistake or forget something, because of this, I tend not to forget anything. I store the smallest details and analyze them over and over in my mind. This is the biggest problem for me because I hang on and hold grudges over silly things. In a heightened state of anxiety, I will explode. Many people don’t know this about me because I keep that side of me locked up from my friends and family. All the things I store inside come flooding out whether in anger or sadness. Diego receives the brunt of this and we often have giant discussions or arguments because I unleash all of the things I’ve kept hidden onto him. Sometimes, as a joke, he calls me a dementor. It’s true because I really can be. Usually, seconds after I’ve blown up I realize how stupid I’ve been, but it’s too late the damage is done. I’m so thankful I have a patient man in my life, but my anxiety causes me to worry that one day it will be too much for him.

I’ve also started to realize I can be too much for my friends and co-workers. I have this need to unload on them if I’m feeling particularly stressed. I know this isn’t ok, but sometimes I can’t help myself. It all comes spilling out. I feel like if I don’t tell my friends a lot of details about myself that I’m lying. I never want anyone to feel I’m deceiving them. I never want anyone to look at my social media and assume I have a perfect life when in reality I create a lot of turmoil for myself. I’m a very honest person and staying true is one of the most important things for me.

I’ve recently started taking a couple of different types of medication to help my mind settle. I particularly was having a difficult time staying asleep. Each morning around 3am I’d be jolted awake by my thoughts and lay in bed unable to fall completely asleep. My new meds have helped me to sleep deeply. Having more sleep has helped me to keep a little more calm through the day, but by the time the evening rolls around I’m usually as anxious as always. It is difficult for me when I’m not working to spend time with my friends. When I finish work I like to come home and spend time with Diego and our furry little family. He feels like a haven for me. If I have a good day or a bad day I can always depend on him for a laugh or a good chat. Usually, on my days off I relish in silence and try to enjoy what little peace life offers me. My job isn’t particularly stressful at all, but like anyone else, I stress about money, relationships, past mistakes, and this feeling like I’m always running out of time. The days I spend at home, enjoying my own space are so few but it feels like the only time I feel okay about where I’m at in life.

I’ve worked damn hard to get to where I am. This past year I’ve completely taken back my life. Sometimes I feel like I’ve lost a lot of time. As I approach 30, like anyone, I wish I had more, but I deserve to have moments where I can feel proud.

Love from different countries: Mexico

In August I went to Mexico for two weeks to meet Diego’s family and enjoy a much-needed vacation after almost two years without one. I spent most of my time in Mexico City, but I was fortunate to visit Puebla and Acapulco.

Before my trip to Mexico I had never been outside of Canada and the U.S. I had never been somewhere that the principal language wasn’t English or French and I had never been a minority. Having exciting adventures is important, but I think the most important thing you can do is visit a country where you are a minority. For me, it was overwhelming at times to feel so different from everyone else, but also to not be able to do basic things for myself like order my own coffee. I was even afraid to visit the restroom at one point during my trip for fear someone would ask me something and I wouldn’t be able to understand. I can be shy in new situations so I relied heavily on Diego. I started to feel guilty because I was constantly asking him to do things for me because I was so scared I would offend someone by saying something the wrong way. Towards the end of the trip, he started encouraging me to say basic things in Spanish, and I even ordered my own drink at Dunkin’ Donuts with his help.

Most of the Canadians I know visit places like Cancun when they go to Mexico and I don’t know anyone who’s made a trip to Mexico City. I’m so thankful that I was able to experience more than just the resort-side of Mexico.  Mexico City is beautiful and has a rich history. I visited a famous castle, fed black squirrels at a park, learned about how Texas once belonged to Mexico at a museum, kissed Diego outside of an art gallery, and bought souvenirs from street vendors.

I tasted the most delicious food in Mexico City. My favourites were tacos al pastor and huevos rancheros, both which I crave regularly. I learned that adding lime makes a lot of things taste even more delicious and salsa is just the Spanish word for sauce. I tried everything I could and I don’t think I’ve ever eaten so much in my life. I have to be honest by the third day I started to crave “plain food” because everything is so rich in flavour. I also found out how dependent I am on carbs and fat when I realised I was getting headaches because I hadn’t eaten bread or anything greasy. On the fourth day, I caved and bought some much-needed chicken nuggets.

I didn’t spend too much time outside of Mexico City but the most notable trip away was to Acapulco. I spent four glorious days with Diego and his dad at a resort there. It was one of the most memorable trips of my life and the most gorgeous place I’ve ever seen. Before Acapulco, I had never felt warm ocean water or been taken out by a powerful wave. It was my first taste of a real vacation and when I look back at my pictures it all feels like a dream. I often find myself feeling something like homesickness for Acapulco. I don’t think I’ll ever have a trip that feels so magical again. I can’t even find words to describe how good I felt there. It was definitely a once in a lifetime kind of high.

The best part about my trip to Mexico was the people I was able to meet. Everyone was so warm, inviting, and easy-going. I’ve never been so quickly accepted into someone’s family before. Pretty soon I couldn’t believe these people had ever not been in my life.

 

Love from different countries

I met Diego at the English school I used to work at and it was instantly love at first sight. As cheesy as it sounds, I knew from the moment we met that he was meant to be important to me. He is confident and outgoing which are characteristics I admire in a partner but don’t possess myself. He is warm, inviting and a friend to all. I instantly pictured him at family gatherings with my dad, which to my surprise, he quickly became a part of. We fell fast and hard for each other. We’ve been inseparable ever since, spending our days laughing at cartoons, dancing in the kitchen, or taking our dogs to the park. I often tell people that he is the missing piece to my puzzle. He is the exact opposite of me in every way, but it helps us both step out of our comfort zones.

Diego is from Mexico City, which is one of the biggest cities in the world and I’m from a small town in rural New Brunswick, Canada. He grew up with everything close by, meanwhile, the closest city to me was a 30-minute drive away and home to just over 100,000 people. We grew up very differently which has made us see the world differently. Diego is from a conservative and Catholic background. My family is very liberal and mostly Presbyterian or agnostic.

We also have a seemingly giant language barrier.  When we first met we couldn’t really communicate with language, but I quickly learned how important body-language and facial expressions are in a relationship. I knew that Diego and I had a connection even if we couldn’t always communicate effectively with our words. Actions really do speak louder. For the first time in my life I had a man who opened car doors for me, gave me flowers, or brought me coffee at work just because he thought that’s what a woman deserves. I blame culture for the reason why he does the thoughtful things that he does. It’s no secret that most Spanish speaking countries are known for romance. Canadian men, from my perspective, don’t do these things, and if they do, as time fades, so do the romantic gestures. It’s interesting to see how valuable partners are in Mexican culture. Divorce rate reflects this as Mexico has about a 20% lower divorce rate than Canada.

I never imagined falling in love with someone from another country and I didn’t really know anything about immigration laws before I met Diego. Recently, we had to spend 6 weeks apart while Diego waited for his student visa to arrive. It was one of the toughest experiences of my life. We talked via FaceTime every day, but of course, it wasn’t the same. Waiting to see if the person you love will be allowed to return to the same country as you is heartbreaking. I often wonder if we’ll ever be forced to be away from each other again.

Mostly, I never imagined how big of an impact our cultures have in shaping who we are as individuals. I’ve spent a lot of time around people from elsewhere other than Canada and took Cultural Anthropology in university, but knowing someone on the level I know Diego, allows me to see new perspectives about culture. I’m your typical Canadian. Constantly sorry and polite to a fault. I won’t even ask for help in a store for fear of bothering someone. As Canadians, we learn from a young age how to do everything ourselves. From mowing the lawn to basic household repairs. Diego is used to living in a third world country where the disparities between rich and poor are enormous. There are more people living in poverty than not so there are many jobs that exist in Mexico that don’t exist anymore in Canada like people who pump gas or clean windshields for a living. There is literally someone available to help you with any task needed. For example, it costs very little in Canadian dollars to have a live-in maid who cooks all of your meals and cleans everything in your home.

Falling in love with someone from a different country has opened both of our eyes to new perspectives and ideas. I try to show Diego how to be more open-minded and he shows me how to be more reserved. I like to think as time goes on we will learn a good balance of both. I want to explore all sides of our relationship and what makes it different from finding your person in your own country.

 

 

The beginning..again

I’ve been working on a new blog site, but I’ve hit a bit of a wall. 

I want to start writing again, but honestly I have a hard time tearing myself away from Netflix in the evenings and chores on my days off. It’s tough to keep up with a hobby. About a week ago while trying to start the novel I’ve been wanting to write for the last 10 years I wrote a little something that I thought I’d share. 

My childhood was magical. I read Harry Potter and I really thought that I was a witch about to go to a faraway Hogwarts to learn spells, have a pet owl, and ride on a broomstick. I believed in Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny. I would stay up late and try to catch them, and my 6 year old self would have told you that I saw Santa once by my Christmas tree fixing an ornament. I rode my bike through the enchanted forest behind our house and came across a wicked being with a hooked nose and a wart every now and then. I would escape to the woods and pretend I was the kid from My Side of the Mountain. I would take my supplies consisting of granola bars, the latest novel I was reading, my dog Dax, and a blue bucket that I could collect pond water for drinking. I would sit by the pond, eat snacks and day dream the day away. I had barbecues and bonfires. I made snow forts and went sledding down the big hill at my elementary school. I was like Peter Pan and was convinced that I would never grow up. I thought those days would last forever. When reality came crashing in and the bus took me to middle school in town instead of my small school with no more than 100 children I was devastated. I don’t think I ever got over the feeling that I wouldn’t be 10 forever. I was a smart kid but I wasn’t ready for the next stage of my life. I clung onto Barbie dolls much longer than most and swore I’d never date a boy. But I did, and I did grow up.

I went to high school, then to college, and then to the work force. I moved on and away from the beautiful green and white house that looked like a barn. The one I called home for 12 years of my life. I can’t go to the pond with Dax anymore because she died when I was 22. As the years have gone on I’ve lost many memories from that time in my life. I don’t exactly remember all the details as I once I did, but I remember feeling free. I remember tossing my blond hair in the wind and singing Julie Andrews’ “These are a few of my favourite things” as loudly as I wanted to, because I didn’t care. I wish I still had a little more of that girl left inside of me. I wish her confidence didn’t die at age 11. I want to be able to live like my life is a musical again. Most of all I wish I could laugh and run and dance like I did back then. I wish I hadn’t let someone tell me that impressing others was the most important thing about life, because it’s not. At 25 I’ve found myself again, but I will never get those years back. The years that I could’ve spent enjoying things instead of crying over my weight, or some guy, or some assignment that does not matter anymore.

I find myself wishing that I could rewind time a lot so I could relive certain events. The big ones. The ones that somehow altered who I was. I’d go back to that dance and tell myself to get up out of the corner, to wipe the tears from my eyes and tell that hockey jock to F off. I would have fun and dance how I wanted. I’d wear my glasses and ignore anyone who said I looked nerdy with overalls on. I liked my overalls and glasses I don’t know why I let someone decide that I didn’t. I would go back and get good grades in high school and stop worrying about what everyone was doing on the weekend. I’d still be the center of attention but it would be because I was brilliant not because I was wild and obnoxious. I’d be a vet or a marine biologist like I always wanted to. I wouldn’t let my first love steal my shine and break me down to a weak little waif. I’d be confident and eat chocolate and watch a sappy film and move on. I’d still meet the love of my life in the end and we’d have an apartment and a great man to share our space with (the love of my life is my dog), but I wouldn’t have went through so much pain to get here because I would have been me.

Somewhere along the way I let someone tell me that being myself was weird and I should change.

What goes on back there? The question all dog groomers hate.

What goes on back there? Do you have some secret lair? A torture chamber? Why is that dog barking? Is he scared? Who’s back there hurting him?
These are the questions that all groomers hate. What’s going on back there are people loving up on your dogs. They’re back there bathing them, or giving them a bowl of water and a fluffy towel to relax on. There might be groomers back there joking around with their co-workers, just like you do at your job, and probably fetching your dog a treat. 

There might be dogs that are scared to come to the groomer because they’re not used to the experience. They might bark because they’re not kennel trained, or maybe they’re dog aggressive, or they have not experienced having their nails touched before. For dogs that don’t go to a groomer frequently enough its probably a lot like being dropped off with an alien whom you don’t understand and can’t figure out exactly what you’re expected to do. They think they’re being punished and don’t know what they’ve done to be separated from the people that they love. 

Your dogs don’t want you to leave them, remember you’re their number one. Most of the time when you leave they do just fine with us, even though they’d really rather they were home with you. Please remember that we can only do the best that we can to make your dog comfortable. If going to the groomer is a foreign concept for your dog, they’re likely going to be really nervous and might even do things they normally wouldn’t like bite, scratch, bark, or whine. 

No we don’t have a torture chamber out back. MOST groomers love dogs and would never do anything to harm their favourite companion. We’ve chosen to spend all day working with dogs even after being pooped on (and yes, we’ve all been pooped on).  Most of us own our own furry friend and treat all of our clients as if they were our own. 

This isn’t to say that accidents don’t happen. They do, but a lot less frequently than you’d think. We’re trained to use sharp tools to cut the hair of a moving target, who isn’t always the most cooperative client and doesn’t usually know how to sit still. Sometimes a head, or a leg, or a bum moves too quickly, but most of the time we know how to avoid any scratches or cuts. Matting is a major reason why groomers are accused of nicking a dog and most of the time it’s actually a mat that’s too tight and has been left too long that causes the redness. Matting tugs at your dog’s skin. It’s heavy, painful, and cuts off circulation. Reds bumps, swelling, infection, parasites, and scratches are examples of what mats can conceal. 

Dogs in good condition who visit a regular groomer every 4-8 weeks usually love their pet stylist. They’re often excited to see them. They might still be hesitant to leave mom or dad, however they are are ok with going to see their friend who does weird things to them, but also give them treats and lots of love, and after makes mom and dad really happy. That’s what it’s all about for us. We like to make dogs feel comfortable, healthy, and loved in the short amount of time that they’re with us.