Grace Unfolding | a journey in womanhood

Time 2020-11-14 08:03:06

Web Name: Grace Unfolding | a journey in womanhood

WebSite: http://graceunfoldingblog.wordpress.com

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Unfolding,Grace,journey,

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1. It s easy to sink into the idea that your child is a burden. I mean really, when you re parenting alone, you re in the grind day-in-day-out. You don t get a chance to just be yourself, and if you do, it s probably in a work-place setting because your kid is in daycare/school and you re trying to support your family. You re the one up in the night. You re the comfort. You re who the kid takes their anger out on. You re the safe space. You re the cook. Cleaner. Nurse. Mom. Dad. Friend. You name it. Of course we feel burdened being everything all the time. BUT!! This does not mean your child IS a burden. It means you need a break.2. Secondly, your child need not be a burden to other people. When we sink into feeling like our kids are a burden because we are so emotionally spent, we assume the child is a burden to other caretakers as well. This is simply not the case! Children are the light and love of the world and there s loads of people who would LOVE to have your child for a few hours, day, or weekend. Your child is a blessing to you (which I know you know), so it s time to start thinking of your child as a blessing to other people as well. Instead of I don t want to inconvenience/take advantage/be annoying, let s change the brain conversation to sound more like, how dare you keep that magical child all to yourself all the time? Share that love child with the people who need that type of energy in their life! 3. You have your own unique talents and gifts, and you have an OBLIGATION to the world to share them. Gifts are meant to be given. We are here to be of service to each other. You simply cannot have your child(ren) with you 24/7 and also be capable of discovering your gifts and then figuring out how you re going to share them with the world. When you overburden yourself with responsibilities unnecessarily, you are doing a disservice to everyone around you! You need time to be you. To hold space for your god damn self. To breathe. To follow your dreams.4. Your child(ren) is/are watching you. What message do you want to send them? That motherhood is equal to martyrdom? That asking for much needed help is shameful? That being a parent means not having your own life? Or maybe you want to teach them that life should be rich as hell even if you re a single parent. Teach your kid(s) that moms are badass. Teach your kid(s) that parents are real people. Teach them that the world doesn t revolve around them. Teach them to follow their dreams no matter what. Teach them that you can have a full and wonderful life and that being a parent doesn t take away from it, it only ADDS to the richness of life.5. BUT CAITLIN, WHAT IF PEOPLE THINK THAT ________ BECAUSE OF TAKING TIME AWAY FROM MY KIDS/ ASKING FOR HELP TOO MUCH etc transform fear into consequence. When you ask for help, you are being vulnerable. IT BLOWS! Often, I m more inclined to crawl into a hole and pray for death than ask for help. If you relate to that, it s probably because asking for help resulted in emotional abuse in your past. But you have an obligation to force yourself to ask for help despite the fear. Look for the right people who want to help. When you ask, you accept that a) maybe they can t this time but will another time b) maybe they re not into that c) maybe they ll react badly. Accept the consequence as possible and fear disappears (or at least takes the back seat). Then, make note of people s reactions and remember that it s about them, not you. If your worst fear comes true and they either insinuate or straight up accuse you of being a bad mom / lazy / what ever, you just make a note that they can t be trusted with vulnerability and you won t ask them again. For the record, this hasn t happened to me. The only family I live near is @mindful.bloom and we help each other out sometimes, not all the time. We both also hire people or call on favours from our tribe (highly recommend finding one of these, remember it takes a village ). However, I know some of us have super toxic family members who wouldn t think twice about calling some of you amazing bright lights lazy/entitled/ you name it. I ll just say this: just because they re family doesn t mean they re your go-to help, and just because they re family doesn t mean your magical babies will grace their presence.6. A great way to ask for help that feels less shitty is to TRADE! Let s bring back a trading culture where goods and services are the exchange not money!NOW GO ASK FOR HELP, DAMNIT!!! Do some self care, lay on the couch ALONE and cry your eyes out with relief, eat a whole bag of Doritos and then regret that you wasted your mommy time shitting them out, work your business, write a book, go on a hike, see a friend for coffee, exercise, journal, lay down and admire the silence in your home, WHATEVER! Just. Do. It. On the seventh day we woke up in Looe. We were right near the coast, and could see the ocean from our campsite, which was located just out of town, substantially higher in elevation than the town itself. We got ready, packed up all of our stuff (since we didn t intend on returning), and drove back down the hill, parked in a day-parking lot, and walked to town.View from the campsiteLooe is similar to Totnes. The buildings are old, the streets and sidewalks are narrow and paved with interlocking brick, and people walk along the roads more often than the tiny European vehicles squeezing down the corridors.Streets of LooeWe browsed around for a while, walking in the general direction of the ocean. (If in doubt, always travel towards water). I noticed Looe is a bit of a tourist town upon realizing the number of souvenir shops with beach toys set outside the doors of the store to tempt young children like Tristan. I said no to every single one, and reasoned that neither of us had room for that in our backpacks.We stopped for coffee (because, priorities and when in Europe drink all the coffee). Afterwards, we continued to weave through the streets, which seemed to be converging at a large bay that was acting as a gentle entryway to the ocean.It was lunchtime by then, and there was a fish and chips restaurant right in front of the stairs leading down to the sand. Apparently, it was low tide I d assume the water filled up to the stairs during high tide. At that moment, however, people sat on the oversized steps enjoying each other s company and taking in the view. The rocks were sharp, dressed in ocean plants now hanging listless, and boasted tiny tidal pools in their dips and crevices.Low Tide in LooeLooe BayOnce the fish and chips were in hand, we walked down to the sand to find a spot to have a small picnic. I noticed that no one else was eating down on the sand, and didn t think anything of it Until I tried to set down our food. Immediately we were SWARMED by seagulls. One nearly bit the finger supporting the flimsy edge of the cardboard container, and took a chunk out of the container and a fragment of a fry. I waved my arms and yelled at them, to which they responded defiantly by taking turns jumping forwards and back challenging my resolve. I shouted and laughed, saying to Tristan, Come on babe! We can t sit here! We ran back to the steps where the locals were relaxing, and found a trio laughing at us. I joked that I d noticed no one else was sitting down on the sand to eat, and now I know why. All of us laughed about the commotion together.Tristan decided he was full and went down to the sand below the steps to play. He pinched in on some adults building their own sand creations. Within 5 minutes, he d destroyed something that appeared to have taken a lot of time and care to build, and thrown sand in the people s faces. I believe that children need to have a chance to test and respect boundaries with other people before parents interfere so up until then I d been watching the situation play out. Finally, I retrieved Tristan. One of the women in the group said to me, apparently disgusted, He s a nasty little ginch idn t ee? I smiled, shrugged, and didn t argue with her.Tristan soon destroyed the creation by the man to the rightOnce we finished eating, we walked down towards the water. Tristan quickly made a new friend to run in the waves with, and insisted that he undress to be able to swim. I wondered why on earth he wanted to swim, as the water was quite chilly (so much so that I barely wanted my feet in it, with pants rolled up). I didn t argue with him, and pretty soon he was in his undies. The two boys looked like brothers Tristan s long, straight blond hair blew in the wind, and the other boy s long light brown curls bounced as he ran. Both raced into the water towards the waves, then back onto the sand, over and over.The mother and I chatted and talked about the life of mother s raising wild boys like ours. They had been there longer than us and were leaving a while later. Tristan and I walked over to the craggy rocks lining the left side of the bay. He climbed around and we both collected shells (mostly barnacles). Once Tristan was dry enough, I dressed him and we started to head back. The tide was coming in and the sun, getting lower in the sky.On our walk back, we stopped for a snack at a quaint cafe serving traditional foods as well as trendy health food items. I ordered the Cornish cream tea, which is a traditional snack of the southern coast in England. Cornish cream tea is comprised of orange pekoe tea, a biscuit, clotted cream, and jam. There s also such a thing as Devon cream tea. The difference lies in the order you dress your biscuit one district does jam on top, and the other, cream. I can t remember now which is which. Clotted cream tastes like a crossover between whipped cream and butter, with a spreadable consistency and dreamy smooth texture. It holds it s shape on a hot biscuit in a way that neither of whipped cream or butter would be able to.Cornish Cream TeaWe walked back to the van and left Looe for Plymouth. I wanted to see about having the rear view mirror fixed, and Plymouth was the closest larger center where I might hope to find some help. I d arranged to couch surf that evening with a young woman named Kaz. She resided in a small apartment with no parking spot, so I parked the van in a parking lot meant to serve those visiting the theater. The gentleman on duty for the garage allowed me to park overnight and assured me it was safer this way since the garage had video surveillance.Kaz served us supper, I did the dishes, and then she took us for a walk. By this time it was almost dark out, but Plymouth was beautiful even in the dark. She was passionate about her city of residence, and told us all about the dramatic navy history, and took us along the street with the best art boutiques (which we didn t visit, due to the time). Kaz is a bit of an awkward creature with a really big heart. Her words were deliberate and thought-through, but she seemed more at ease while she chatted about the things she knows and loves.After catching up on the wifi back at her apartment, Tristan and I went to bed. He d slept in the car and was wide awake, so we tossed and turned in the bed for a while. Kaz lived in a 2 bedroom apartment with one room strictly dedicated to couch surfers. She could probably make money hosting people through Air B B instead, and I mused over how much she must appreciate the visits of couch surfers to do all of this for free.Tristan breathed heavily as he slept beside me. I lay awake wondering what the hell my plan was for the mirror the next morning. Finally, I fell asleep to the sound of late-night traffic in the downtown of Plymouth.Save We woke up in Dartmoor early in the morning a while after the sun had risen, around 8am. I was pleased to note that we d slept through the night without disturbance. I slid open the side door to the van, threw on some sandals, put T s velcro runners on him, and went outside. Beside the van, there was a small patch of grass. Morning dew glistened on the leaves. As we took turns peeing, I noted tiny sparkling cobwebs and all different species of plants growing amongst the grass some I recognized and some I didn t. We walked to the nearest farmer s gate and looked out onto the moors. It was serene, peaceful, and vibrant green. I wanted to see further, and stood on the step on the side of the van. A light mist shone in the morning sun that stretched across the hills for miles. The moors felt like a distant memory that I d either downloaded from ancestors or else experienced in a past life.The camping spot we d been escorted to was on the main road into the National Park, so finding our way out was easy. After we d eaten breakfast, we left to head into the nearby village of Totnes. I d chosen this entrance to the park (there are many, and several that would have shortened my drive the night before) because of its close proximity to Totnes, a place where a few of my ancestors had lived.Into the village we went, and were lucky to find a parking spot in a lot that allowed us to park for the day for a small fee. We walked to the downtown, which was about 15 minute away, mostly up hill. Tristan and I stopped at the first cafe we found, one that boasted vibrant gardens, eco friendly business practices, and healthy local foods. On the bulletin board by the front door there were countless of adverts for everything from reiki to yoga to music. I m in the right place! I mused.We bought some snacks, and while I slurped at the best hazelnut late I ve ever had, I took advantage of the wifi to update everyone of our whereabouts.Up the road from this cafe was a museum about the history of Totnes. We toured around it and caught a glimpse of the type of life my ancestors had lived in this town. A part of the exhibit boasted Totnes as a center for alternative healing modalities, health food stores, and all sorts of other hippie type interests.I was right!I mused again. Additionally, we visited St. Mary s Church (the main church in central downtown that boasts a tall tower, second only to the castle), the town hall (which housed an amazing 1000 years of history), and the castle. The castle was built atop a huge man-constructed mound so as to provide a sweeping 360 view for miles in every direction. After all, castles were meant to be the main protection of an area, so they must have the best view of the land to see potential threats approaching. The castle itself was basically a circular stone wall with a grassy center and a second level interior terrace, which provided an amazing view of the entire city and the surrounding countryside.St. Mary s ChurchTotnes CastleView from the castleThe gentleman from the night before had told us to head to Looe. When a local person gives you instructions in the middle of your breakdown, you should listen So, we went to Looe. I easily found the campsite he d spoken of and checked in. I was surprised first by the fee to stay at the site (I believe it was 18 pounds or over $30CAD per night). Camping in England isn t really like camping in Canada. There were no fire rings, the pitches were quite small and were located on landscaped grass, with little wildlife except that which lay beyond the boundaries of the entire camp site. On the other hand, there were giant washrooms with real toilets and hot showers, an indoor pool (not kidding), a club house with an arcade, bar, restaurant, and entertainment area which was home to nightly family-friendly entertainment, among other things.We made ourselves at home and chatted with the neighbours. T went swimming at the indoor pool (in nothing but underwear, since we didn t bring swim suits), hung out in the club house (Tristan ran wild dancing and playing with some other boys), and then we did laundry. The washing machine ate my money, so in the end I washed all of our stuff by hand in the sink with dish soap. It worked well enough and I hung the laundry to dry on the lawn chairs and up on paracord inside the van.On a stroll around the campsite, we met a couple named Sue and David and their dog Veda. Sue is an empress level power bitch, and she doesn t give a single fuck. She s a middle aged woman who refers to her partner David as her toy boy (David doesn t seem to mind) and has lube sitting out on the table as casually as the mail lying next to it. I saw her the next morning walking the campsite chatting with every person she ran into wearing nothing but a beach scarf; large breasts swaying with her large conversational gestures. She lives the summers at the campsite with David. They enclosed the awning area of the camper and Sue decorated it to look something like the whimsical faerie shrine of my dreams. On the wall, she d hung the same bird clock as the one we have hung in the volunteer room at the nature center, which chimes the hour with the call of the bird the hand is on. Sue and I have a shared love of oddities. I admire her for her unfiltered self-expression and lust for life, and she admires me for my bravery. We agree to come visit again the next day.On this night I sleep soundly, feeling like I have a right to exist here and that maybe I ve made a friend on this island. Tristan at a playground during a rest-stop for food and gas. Day four Tristan came down with a wicked chest cold. He was coughing almost relentlessly (sometimes to the point of tears) and very lethargic. This was perfect, however it might seem. Taking a toddler overseas, the child is almost sure to fall ill. The best you can hope for is that the illness is short-lived and arrives on a day when nothing is planned. This is exactly how it worked out for us. My Auntie Pam took Tristan and I to the local health food store. I spent $80 CAD on this-that-and-the-other natural remedy. We went to the real pharmacy and grabbed a bottle of cough syrup as well.After administering all of the remedies, Tristan seemed almost instantly to begin to improve (ever so slightly). Pam treated us to coffee and baked goods, and then we checked out a local playground. When we got home, Tristan spent the remainder of the afternoon and evening sleeping and watching TV while he recovered. For dinner, Pam cooked a beautiful steak and kidney pie a British meal that I d heard my mum talk about but had no memory of trying. Pam insists it s easy to make, so I might just try it at home.I hoped against all evidence that Tristan would be well by time day five rolled around. Day five would be another day of seemingly insurmountable challenges that I d lined up for myself. Day five, we would venture to Greenwich, London, to pickup the van. Greenwich (pronounced gren-itch) is east of London, and the camper van place is located in an industrial area.Day five. We woke, Tristan seemed much better than the day prior. I d say I was surprised, but he had no option but to be better, and I was glad that his body and the universe had risen to my expectations. I packed up all of our stuff into the backpacks. My pack was even heavier than before, thanks to the small bag of liquid remedies for Tristan and two blankets that Pam had gifted me to use in the van. The blankets were rolled up and hanging from the bottom of my backpack and my daypack was clipped on top as before. Last time, the pack had felt manageable. This time, I was careful with my posture because I felt like I might just keel over or break under the weight of it. Again, I carried the carseat in my arms and Tristan carried his own daypack.Pam dropped us off at the train station. When she watched me put on my backpack, she was utterly horrified and insisted I would break my back. I didn t disagree with her, but we were about to miss the train, so I quickly hugged and kissed her and ran down the stairs with Tristan to the platform.The train took us into London. I found myself again in the mayhem that is Victoria Station. This time, I was ready. From there, we took 2 subways and 1 city bus. When I stepped onto the bus, I was ready with coin in hand. The bus driver looked at me with confusion and told me I needed a pre-loaded plastic card to pay for my ride. Thankfully, he took pity on me and let us ride for free.Off the bus, it was a 5 minute walk in the sweltering heat under the weight of my bag. I was one of those moments when you soldier on while uttering a silent mantra Don t think about it don t think about it don t think about it. The camper van place wasn t obviously marked. The business name on the building was different from the one on the website, and I actually walked right by it twice. The five minute walk turned into fifteen. I strode into this building, hoping it was the place. Exhausted, I threw my bag down on the couch in the waiting area, visibly perspiring. The woman at the counter was shocked to find out how far I d traveled by train, subway, bus, and foot I made the same joke as usual, referring to myself as a pack mule.She took all of my paperwork, that I proudly presented to her. I signed papers and she gave me the keys. After explaining how everything worked, she wished me luck and went inside. I setup the carseat for Tristan and loaded our stuff into the back. Then came the moment when I would sit on the right and drive on the left.I took a deep breath and started driving. It wasn t so bad, and I was only going around the corner to get gas and groceries. I struggled for a moment to park the van in the right spot to insert the gas pump. I successfully paid with my visa and the grocery store was close by. The parking spots are as narrow as the lanes on the road, so I parked far away from the doors.We filled our cart with produce (to attempt to be healthy while living on the road), and all of the European luxuries that aren t available in Canada. I bought the best butter, the best cheese, deli meats, jams, fresh baked bread, and then regular road-trip snacks such as yogurt, cheese strings, granola bars, and chips.The van was as-advertised but not exactly as I d pictured it. It was quite a bit older and well-used. It wasn t a camper van originally just a cargo van. Everything that made it a camper van had been custom built. There were curtains for the windows. The very back was a 2-compartment wooden storage area. I cleared out one to serve as storage for our clothes and bags. The other was filled with cooking supplies, including a stove. A table-top folded up out of the back of the van, to be a surface to cook on. I put the two lawn chairs in the second row in front of Tristan. The sliding door to the second row had a 2 2 foot area of floor space, perfect for moving about or changing inside the van. There was a little electric cooler that ran off of the battery and/or solar power.The second photo was taken several days later after I d hung laundry to dry but you get the idea. Once the cold food was in the fridge, I turned on the satellite navigation, included in the van, and started our trip to find our first camping spot.The thing about SatNav, is it doesn t do like google maps and take you on the shortest route. I actually made it onto the motorway by accident, but the SatNav directed me off of the highway and back into the city. Trusting blindly, I followed the directions. 45 minutes later, I realized it had lead me into the late-afternoon traffic of central London. In a moment of panic, I turned on google maps (costing me $10/day) on my cell phone. I was horrified to find out where I was and also to realize there was no use in trying to get onto the motorway. My best bet was to continue to follow this route until I made it out of London and onto the westbound motorway.The streets of London are narrow as any other place in England, but with far more traffic. It was bumper-to-bumper almost the entire time. Other drivers honked at me with frustration at my ability to turn right in unfamiliar intersections with confusing lines drawn all over the pavement. I kept thinking these lines are trying to tell me something I m just not sure what. I was caught in a stand-still inside of a round-about. All of the vehicles inched along, impossibly close on either side. My windows were rolled down; I didn t have AC. Today would be the hottest temperature for this day in September on record.Suddenly, I heard a startling CRUNCH out my left window. I looked over and was completely horrified to see the wing-mirror of the car to my left grinding into my wing mirror, which was now bending backwards. My mouth was open in utter shock, my gaze drifted from my mirror to the face of the other driver, equally shocked.At that exact moment, traffic flowed. He left the roundabout to the left, and I left it going straight. I knew I would never see him again and wasn t about to get murdered by stopping traffic to get his insurance.I kept driving, glancing every few moments to my mirror. The body of the mirror was bend backwards on it s hinge, That s okay, I thought, I can turn it back. The mirror within the body was bent unnaturally up and to the left, now reflecting the clouds. I hoped it would be okay to bend back, too.I sympathized with a cab driver when I found myself at a stand-still again. We chatted through open windows. I told him I was new and this was my first time driving, that I d found myself here by accident. He comforted me, told me I was doing great, and that we were almost out of it. Then tires started rolling again.A few hours later: redemption. I followed the signs to merge onto the motorway. I hollered in celebration, TRISTAN! WE RE FREE! WE MADE IT! We accelerated to get up-to-speed, windows still down.Suddenly, I heard another startling sound from my left window. My eyes shot over. Like slow motion, I saw the mirror body SPRING back into it s right place. The velocity of the snap-back caused the mirror inside to be SHOT out of it s rightful place, flying onto the shoulder and smashing to bits on the pavement. I sat, stunned. I couldn t believe this was happening. Similar to the man who d bent the mirror in the first place, I knew I d never see the mirror again, either.I was upset and fearful for a moment, and then busted out into a hearty laugh. This occurrence was absolutely ridiculous, what else could I do but laugh about it and carry on without a left wing mirror?I d spent so much time in the grocery store and traffic, we didn t have time to go to Pagham or Avebury (our first potential stops). I knew that Dartmoor National Park was the only place in England I could camp for free without a reservation. It didn t look far on the map, and decided to bomb right through to camp in the park for our first night.We drove for hours. Despite being on the motorway, it still took longer than I d anticipated. We didn t arrive in Dartmoor until after sunset.The entryway to the park was very unlike National Parks in Canada. There was a small bronze plaque on the side of the road, and the way was lined with tall, thick, ominous, foreboding hedges. I couldn t see anything at all. The road was windy. The person I d consulted with on couch surfing about parking here said there were obvious gravel parking spots. All I could see were the small pull-outs intended to allow oncoming traffic to pass, since this was a narrow one-track country road. I drove and drove until I came to a four-way stop.I had 4 options: left, right, straight, or turn back. Overwhelmed with fear, I decided to turn around. The corner was so tight, that my 3-point turn became a 21-point turn. I cried as I inched forward, back, forward, back. Another driver pulled up to the stop sign I d just been at and rolled down his window as I finished up my turn.I rolled down my window. He asked if I was okay. I gushed at his concern. I spewed out a sad story of being a little lost, confused as to where you re supposed to wild camp since all I could see was hedges. The local man and his passenger took pity on me. Follow me, he said, I ll show you a place to park. He escorted me straight through the four-way in the direction I d been going to a pull-out that was slightly larger than the ones used for passing, lined with boulders. He told me this spot was quiet and safe to stay until morning. If anyone checks on you, he explained, they re just making sure you re okay. He assured me the locals were friendly and didn t mind respectful campers. I thanked him and found myself alone again, in the dark with Tristan.I took a deep breath, remembered I had headlamps and flashlights in my pack. We took those out, got changed in to pajamas. The van had a series of plywood boards with handles that were meant to lay out over the storage compartments as a bed. I set up the wood, and then the similar sized cushions that made up a mattress. Because of the car seat, I couldn t spin around the second row of seats like it was meant to, to make the bed a full-sized double. It was only a foot and a half shorter and didn t figure it was worth the hassle.We got out the sleeping bag liner, the two blankets Pam had given us, and a bag of clothes to use as a pillow. I held my boy close to me, who was handling the situation much better than I was. I asked him, Tristan, do you feel safe? He answered, Yes mum. I wallowed in my fear for a moment. It s a strange feeling, falling asleep somewhere that you ve never seen in the daylight. What surrounded us? All I could see in the dark were the hedges and the little patch of grass on the other side of the boulders from our van.I reasoned that we would wake-up and head out in the morning. The gentleman who d shown me the way recommended that we head to Looe. He knew of a good camp ground with activities for children. Looe was beautiful and found on the south coast of England.Now, we will sleep. Tomorrow, we go to Looe. Save[First of all, I d like to clearly state that there are various types of anxiety, many of which are very real mental health issues. Much of anxiety is fear based, and may be deeply rooted due to traumatic events, for example. Depending on type and severity, it may require medication/professional counseling. I am speaking on general, emotionally-related anxiety that is a relatively common experience.] One of the greatest lessons I ve learned from emotional anxiety is that it is simply a symptom of resistance. Our emotional body is ruled by the element of water: sometimes volatile and indubitably powerful, but mostly ebbing and flowing like the sea our emotional body kisses the shores of our physical world, easing into and out of our conscious mind not unlike the tide s response to the movement of the moon. Water is responsible for weathering and erosion. Water is submissive to containers and barriers, for a time. When passively restricted, it breaks down physical limits gradually. When energized, it is impossible to ignore. When there is a hurricane, you know it. So it is with our emotions. The emotional body will passively await the attention of our conscious mind. Self-reflection allows us to delve into our inner world: what needs my attention? What is important? Which of these thoughts are fears? How can I manage this?When we resist emotions, they wear at our psyche just as a stream gradually carves river into a landscape, or eventually into a gaping canyon. Anxiety is the ever-present reminder of unfinished business of the emotional body.When we resist emotions, they present themselves as anxiety until we pay attention to them. Anxiety is not an actual emotion. Anxiety is a state of being an alarming physical/chemical response to the neglect of the emotional body. The physical body tells us, Something is not right. For example, I am sad. I don t want to be sad. I try all day to feel happy, and by the end of the day I am anxious. I acknowledge anxiety. What emotion is hiding beneath anxiety? Ah, sadness. My old friend. I acknowledge sadness, invite her in, maybe I cry for a while, but the anxiety is gone. I am angry, but I love the person I am angry with. I don t want to be mad at them. I gloss over it and low self-worth sets in. Anxiety arrives: will it get worse? will they do it again? do they care? do they know? I acknowledge anxiety. What emotion is hiding beneath anxiety? Anger, fear, resentment. I spend time with these emotions. I ride waves of anger as I work through the complex relationship of fear, betrayal, and sadness that accompanies it. I calmly speak my truth to this person I love, and am relieved that they are happy to hear me out. Anxiety vanishes. I am frustrated. A decision needs to be made, and I am waiting on another person. I disempower myself with blame, and anxiety arrives. As time passes, anxiety worsens. I ask what lies beneath anxiety: frustration, insecurity, lack of control. I realize that everything is fine now. I have faith that the answers will reveal themselves in the right timing. I control what I can right now, and take responsibility for myself, thereby taking back my personal power. Anxiety disappears.Someone has placed an expectation on me. I want to please them, and exchange my self-sacrifice for the illusion of unconditional love. Anxiety arrives. As I continue to serve their expectations, anxiety worsens. I sit with anxiety and ask what is really bothering me: resentment, fear of abandonment, loss of personal power. I love myself first, so that I don t emotionally depend on their acceptance of me. I relieve resentment and take back my personal power by setting boundaries. Regardless of their reaction, I know I am loved, and anxiety has left. We must sit with uncomfortable emotions. When anger, fear, sadness, resentment, insecurity, or any of their relatives surge in like a tide, we must acknowledge their arrival and spend time listening to where they came from. When you refuse to greet them, they transform into anxiety impatiently waiting in a dark corner of the mind. Still visible in the peripheral perception of your life. Anxiety will build until it makes you shake, until you are physically incapable of ignoring it any longer. Practice self-love. Pause. Breathe. Look anxiety in the face. Ask: what are you a disguise for? Emotions reveal themselves. They re not the ones you prefer, but sit with them anyways. Feel them hard if you need to. Feel them for a moment, an hour, or a day. Feel them until they are all used up. When we resist uncomfortable emotions, they stick to us. When we sit with uncomfortable emotions, emotions will flow through us and be released. Day three begins with Tristan getting all dressed up in his pink and blue plaid, linen shorts and button-down that makes him look very smart, according to every Brit that will see him this day. Totally worth it to pack this adorable outfit.We get our daypacks packed up with everything we figure we ll need for the day and head out. Auntie Pam drops us off at a nearby train station. We buy tickets and go to wait at the platform. The train is well over an hour delayed. The digital screen strung along everyone at the platform in a really excruciating way about once every 10-20 minutes receiving another disappointing update. Tristan and I stayed busy climbing the barrier wall that separated the platform from the wood and trying to pick the least dirty wild blackberries that we could find for a sweet snack.We make it to London. It happened to be a weekend so the trains/subways were packed. Tristan entertained all of the sweaty, disgruntled passengers around us by singing songs, touching strangers, and just being himself. It s a hot day in London. We ll hear on the radio later that this week broke record temperatures for this time of year (September 11th). We exit the final train stop and I head out to find the tour bus stop that matches the tickets I d previously purchased online.I don t make it far before I m approached a man who must be a monk judging by the robes he s wearing. He speaks little english. He gives me a golden medallion that portrays a prayerful deity and a plastic bracelet of black, circular beads. He says, Peace for life. Peace for life! I think, sweet! Thank you so much! I say to him, thrilled. No, you give money, the monk replies, less thrilled. He produces a grainy photograph that depicts a natural disaster somewhere in the world that s not here. He points to the photo, jabs at it repeatedly, You give money. I don t have any, I reply, I only have two pounds. Okay. Okay. He responds, disgruntled but not so much to lose the sale. I sign a crumpled piece of paper with my name and donation amount. I m still not sure what this is for. Should have seen that one coming, I think to myself.There s so many stops. So many buses. So many tour buses. We cross the street in various directions about 12 times before finally standing at a bus stop. It s clearly stated on a temporary sign that this stop is not currently operational. I wait anyways, hoping that a driver will take pity on us.He does. The driver breaks policy to drive us around the block to the proper spot to wait. We make it on our tour bus. Tristan naps. The guide tells us about all kinds of interesting things we would have never known had we taken regular transit, and on a far more interesting route. We re seated atop the double-decker with the sun kissing our skin and breeze keeping us chilly.The bus drops us off just near the London eye. We are crossing the bridge that faces the London eye, headed in the direction of Big Ben. This is why I chose this particular route: to see all the good stuff in one go. The bridge is littered with tourists posing for photos, taking selfies, taking pictures of other people, holding out selfie sticks. I cringe, I m not that kind of tourist, I think self righteously. I m gripping Tristan s little hand a little harder than I need to.We spend the day walking in every which direction with no particular destination in mind. Lao Tzu said, A good traveler has no fixed plans and is not intent on arriving, which is my motto for travel and also life. We see Big Ben, Buckingham Palace, and St. James Park.The Tour of Britain bike race happened to be on this particular day, so we watch the bikers go around a few times (incredible).Relatively early in the day, we realize we both need to use a washroom. I d started my menstrual cycle just the evening before, and know that I ll need to empty my diva cup sooner than usual. Tristan just has to pee. The thing is, in London, there s no bathrooms anywhere. It s absolutely crawling with humans in central London, and I can imagine it wouldn t be at all practical or affordable for small businesses to offer restrooms. We walk and walk and walk in search of a bathroom. I see a sign for public restrooms that points down the stairs to the subway tunnel. I follow the signage through what feels like a labyrinth only to discover that this particular washroom is completely shut down: the door is literally chained up.We make it back into the daylight, and we choose a direction to walk at random in search of a place that looks like it may have a restroom. We stop for a while and watch the bikes. Later, we stop to take a picture with some war memorial statues. We still need to use the toilet, but distraction sets in as time goes on and the toilet still has yet to reveal itself. I set Tristan up on a waist-high stone wall in front of his statue of choice. I take out my film camera. I get set, tell him to smile, and as my finger engages the trigger I hear Tristan say, Mum, it s too late. Pee is pouring down the stone wall from where he s sitting, to the sidewalk, across the sidewalk where people are walking, and finally to the curb. I can t believe there s no pee in this photo.We really need a bathroom now, if only to clean up. I can also feel blood soaking my underwear, and I m thankful that the shorts I have on are black. Finally, I see a McDonalds, If anywhere is going to have public washrooms, it s McDonalds, I think to myself. But they ll be hidden, my peanut gallery notes.I don t even look on the main floor. We head straight to the lower level of the dining area that s in the basement. There s no signs telling you where the washrooms are. McDonalds is willing to discretely offer toilets, but not advertise them. We wait in line for ten more minutes and finally squeeze into a stall that s smaller than usual single stalls and is just about wrecked from relentless use.There are only two stalls in the washroom, and I hear about five women go in and out of the stall beside us by time we are done getting cleaned up. I cleaned up myself as best I could, again grateful that the shorts are black since they ve been substantially leaked upon. I got the pee off of Tristan s skin, took off his underwear and put them in one of the outer pockets of my backpack. We don t have any extra clothes, so the wet shorts go back on. Sorry babe, I say to Tristan, You ll have to let the pee dry. Parenting is easier when you set the bar low.It s hot enough outside that the pee crusts up relatively quickly and he s a happy camper again. I forget just as quickly and find him on my shoulders shortly afterwards.Parenting is easier when you set the bar low.At the St. James Park, a woman is there with her daughter. Both are dressed like casual royalty. The mother is sporting fashion that I figure is 2 European years ahead of what s currently trendy in North America, and her toddler is wearing a dress that s almost a tutu. There are two young people with the look of interns (if a person can have such a look) and they ve got expensive DSLR cameras to their eyes the entire time the mother and daughter are walking together in the park. The shutters click, click, click, click, click, click like rapid fire of a machine gun. Tristan is dressed up too, and he is playing with the little girl. By time they are done playing there must be two hundred photos of them together on the intern s cameras. It was strange, and I think Tristan thought so too. He just wanted to play, after all.We stop at a cafe in the late afternoon for coffee and a snack. After we finished eating, we walk over to wait in line for the bathroom. I finish my coffee and notice a tray of garbage next to me. I don t want to lose my spot and can t see a trash can in sight, so I set the cup onto the tray. Excuse me, do you mind? I make eye contact with a very trendy old gentleman. He s using an alienware laptop that glows blue, has a perfectly straight, long, white beard that reaches his chest, and hipster glasses. Get your garbage off my tray and put it in the bin yourself. I think being chastised is worse in a British accent. We stand almost right next to him in the toilet line for an insufferable five of our 20 minute wait.We walk down a few more streets, keeping an eye on Big Ben, which is the most obvious landmark near our tour bus stop. We visit a huge court yard that has something to do with the Queen s cavalry, military, or both. The police officers at the entrance are friendly, but are also holding machine guns.The sun is starting to set, so we head back to the tour bus. Tristan is just about fed up, and is struggling to stay close to me as we walk. He doesn t want to hold my hand anymore and is also done listening to my words. We are about to cross the bridge near the London eye, and I crouch down in front of Tristan. I give him a stern talking to, with my mother finger up. I don t think he s listening so I keep on going.Exasperated, I hang my head. People are rushing all around us. We re crouched near a short pole that splits the traffic so we don t get trampled. My eyes are clenched shut, and I breath in deeply. I open my eyes and look up towards the sky, and I see the Boadicea Monument above me. It depicts a warrior goddess like figure in a chariot, arms raised calmly, beckoning forth the horses without reigns, as if by sheer will. The horses are pulling wildly in slightly different directions, and the woman has a look of serene determination in her gaze.Persevere, she said to me. I stared at her, as if to soak in her wisdom, and was instantly reminded of just how much women are capable of. I snapped a picture of her and then carried on with Tristan, muddled through the sea of tourists still occupying the bridge, and made it just in time to catch the tour bus that was currently boarding passengers.By time we get back to the train station it s nearly dark. Figuring out what train to take to get into London is easy. Making your way from London to a small hamlet is far more difficult. Finally, I figure out what train to take, and it doesn t arrive for an hour. Tristan and I roam about. I m exhausted and letting Tristan fuck off and do what ever he wants. People are watching him and asking each other, Who s child is that? He s mine. I say, both impatient and a little ashamed.Eventually, we catch a bit of a second wind and both come around to a more peaceful demeanor. The time to catch the train finally comes, and we make it to the station near Pam s by 9pm. She s relieved to hear from us and promptly comes to pick us up.We sleep early this night and are officially adjusted to London time.PRIVILEGE IS choosing when to smile, as opposed to smiling to make your skin colour less threatening or smiling because you look prettier that way.PRIVILEGE IS choosing when not to smile, as opposed to muting a smile to avoid provoking a sexual interest.PRIVILEGE IS taking your personal style from any race or culture you choose, and not being pigeon-holed into the stereotypes that mock the rightful owners of that style. PRIVILEGE IS thinking university and college education is a normal and expected stage in life.PRIVILEGE IS saying hard work pays off when you graduate, forgetting that your parents supported you during your unpaid internship.PRIVILEGE IS having your religious holidays undoubtedly coincide with federal holidays.PRIVILEGE IS being genuinely surprised by a random search through your belongings at the airport.PRIVILEGE IS being hired or promoted for your leadership skills as opposed to missing opportunities due to your domineering nature.PRIVILEGE IS the moment you walk up to the stairs and just walk up them, not noticing the absence of a wheel chair ramp or elevator.PRIVILEGE IS seeking information and reading it on the sign, without listening for auditory assistance or reaching out to touch braille.PRIVILEGE IS hearing an important announcement requiring immediate action from the speaker on the wall, and passing by the gentleman on the bench who sits, unmoving.PRIVILEGE IS bringing home your lover for the holidays, and your family is surprised by their wit, not their gender.PRIVILEGE IS walking into the washroom labelled with the little picture of the stick person wearing clothes that match the stereotyped outfit of your own gender.PRIVILEGE IS when the stick person on the bathroom door you re walking through is just a depiction of a human.PRIVILEGE IS complaining that handicap spots are the closest to the doors of the store.PRIVILEGE IS walking at night and reflecting on the fresh, moist night time air without keys jutting out between the fingers of your clenched fist.PRIVILEGE IS heading your resume with your birth name and not thinking for a second that you might be discriminated against because of it.PRIVILEGE IS not getting a period and also not worrying about becoming pregnant with a baby your lover may not care for.PRIVILEGE IS eating exactly what you feel like and not worrying about being judged for that choice.PRIVILEGE IS when the biggest dilemma about your partner is whether or not you want to marry them, not whether or not you CAN marry them.PRIVILEGE IS being chosen over a disabled person to play a character in a movie who has the same disability as the person that got overlooked.PRIVILEGE IS worrying about whether or not your genitals look normal and not whether or not they match your clothing choices.PRIVILEGE IS seeing your child 3 days in the whole year and being told that you re a great parent.PRIVILEGE IS when the movie you watch portrays most of it s characters as humans matching your race/gender/sexuality/ability, and it not being categorized as some alternative type of movie.PRIVILEGE IS having the job of your dreams and it not being admired as some astronomical, against-all-odds achievement.PRIVILEGE IS truly believing you should have any type of authority or opinion over what someone else should do with their body, and having others support you in that belief. Of course day two starts on the airplane. Exhaustion contemplates setting in, but adrenaline is like nope, not yet. I repack mine and Tristan s backpacks and prepare to exit the aircraft. It s a beautiful, sunny day in London. I chose to fly into Gatwick because the flights are cheaper than to Heathrow and it s a little less chaotic because it s a slightly smaller. That being said, it s a good jaunt outside London southward, and my great Aunt lives north-west of London in Hemel Hempstead.Prior to arriving, it s imperative to know: what are we doing/where are we going first? Our plane was to get our checked luggage and then take the train from the airport to my auntie s house. We journeyed through the airport to find the bags. I then hooked my daypack on top of my large pack with the three large carabiners I d brought for exactly that purpose.The trick to this, is to use straps on the bags that don t have a lot of wiggle room (good gear has loads of places to potentially attach carabiners). Hook one carabiner on the top strap of the small bag to the top strap of the large bag, and then have one carabiner on either side to hold it in place (if the bag starts falling sideways so do you). I also put the chest strap of my daypack around the top of the large bag and secured it in place. It helped to stabilize it a little bit.With the small bag attached to the large bag, the combined weight was probably around 45lbs. It was far too heavy to try to swing onto my back. Instead, I laid it down on a bench, very awkwardly backed up my body into the straps (imagine me bent backwards in an L shape), clipped on the chest and hip straps of the large pack, and then carefully pulled my body up.A bag of this weight isn t impossible to carry. If you don t already have good back and core strength, it wouldn t be a bad idea to work on that prior to attempting carrying a load like this through the chaos that is London public transit. The bag totally threw off my center of gravity, and I still had to carry the car seat. I held the carseat in front of me and made sure that I kept a straight spine, good posture, with my core engaged,  and shoulders back. Every movement was careful and deliberate.We found our way from the airport to the attached train terminal and had to wait in line to buy tickets. While standing with the bag on, it was helpful to set the carseat on the ground in front of me and carefully lean my weight onto it. Specifically, I put my knees behind the carseat to prevent it from tipping backwards, and my two hands on either side on top to distribute the weight of the pack directly down through the carseat to the floor. While standing like this, my back was straight, hips tipped back and upwards, and shoulders engaged. Don t risk injury. Good posture is imperative when assuming the role of a human pack mule.We made it onto the train. I adopted a great sense of urgency due to the hurried nature of all the humans we were surrounded by. Tristan stayed dutifully beside me. He was required to carry his own bag with the bear-bell on it. Often he would hold onto one of the hanging bag straps or onto one of the dangling carseat straps. I specifically instructed him to stay behind the yellow line at the train stations, to mind the gap (okay babe, 1, 2, 3, jump!), and to keep to his own personal space on the train. He wasn t perfect, no toddlers are, but he was really good, especially since it was all new.My auntie conferred with some other relatives who told us that the train from Gatwick goes straight to the train station by her house. I thought this sounded too good to be true, and it was, but I really wanted to believe it so I just happily jumped on the train and rode it to the end of the line.Of course, the end of that line is Victoria Station, a sprawling train station in central London. I was at a bit of a loss when the train stopped and everyone vacated. I followed the other passengers out of the train like a sheep, unsure what to do next. I was sweating under the weight of the bag, and though I had a water bottle with me, I couldn t reach it and didn t want to take the bag off. It was so heavy, it was actually far easier to keep it on than to bother with the chore of removing it and reloading.We stopped at a coffee stand immediately beside the train, still within the dark corridor of the loading dock. I bought Tristan a smoothie and asked the young man for a glass of water. He obliged, and stared at me curiously as I chugged the whole cup in a moment. He shyly offered me a refill and I eagerly accepted.I took a moment to collect some bravery, and then Tristan and I left the dim lit corridor and stepped out into the bright, wide open space of Victoria Station. I walked out towards the center, as if expecting the directions to reveal themselves. Sometimes this works. It didn t work here. I set down the carseat and took in the micro world I d found myself in. From where I stood, I could see countless shops. It was like a shopping mall and even had a second story. There were also a myriad of options for which direction to head next for another train or subway. People around us walked with determination, all fast-paced and purposeful. We, on the other hand, were very obviously lost.I waited in line with some other lost souls to speak with a train staff person who wrote out the next two names of the subway lines I was to take. I found the corridor entrance for the first one and got on the line going the wrong direction. We got off that subway, got on another. I started asking for directions from people around me, who were very happy to help. I felt like I was on a scavenger hunt with each new subway I engaged in a new conversation to find the next step or to confirm I was still going the right direction.After what seemed like countless times jumping on and off subways and trains, we finally arrived at the station where my aunt was to pick us up. I grabbed a coffee and bought Tristan another snack. By this time he was over-exhausted, and tried to get naked in the middle of the coffee shop. It was in this moment I wondered if there was any point saying You can t get naked here Tristan! There are people all around. Naked is only for at home. Obviously he was way past the point where that dialogue would have made sense to him. He hated the muffin I bought for him. He detested everything I offered.Finally, he bounced back for a moment. I d had a chance to call my aunt Pam and she was on her way with Susan, another relative who might be an aunt or a cousin. We waited out front of the train station, which was minuscule compared to Victoria Station. We hadn t made it to the station Pam was expecting, but it was close enough. Tristan held his little Canadian flag up. It wasn t really necessary for Pam to find us this way, but it was a good job for Tristan.Pam found us easily and she and Susan rushed to help with our bags, both immediately questioning how on earth I carried all of it. Having the carseat with us was immediately convenient, since, besides the camper van, we would need to be able to drive in Pam s car during our time with her.We arrived at my auntie Pam s. Tristan had a massive meltdown. He screamed, thrashed, and cried until he was too exhausted to do either anymore. Eventually he fell asleep. I stayed up to socialize for a while, and laid down only when Susan and Pam insisted. I hadn t realized how tired I was until I was in bed, and Tristan and I both slept for hours in the middle of the day.Auntie Pam was so welcoming and hospitable. She calls her house a cottage I think that s usual for the area. We found some kid s shows for Tristan, I hooked up my phone on Pam s wifi, and we took the rest of the day to relax and recuperate.And so concludes Day 2. We left for London, England on September 8th on a 6pm red-eye flight out of Calgary AB. I chose this flight to minimize jet-lag since we would sleep on the plane and arrive in the morning. We flew Westjet because the tickets were the cheapest, but also because they offered in flight entertainment (important for Tristan as the flight was a good 8-9 hours). I had a friend drive me to the airport in my car so that she could take care of my vehicle while I was away, and to avoid paying for airport parking for three weeks. I paid my landlord s kids to come check on the house while I was away, and my cat, Wilma, stayed with a friend.We brought with us a 30L MEC pack, a MEC daypack, and a MEC fledgling pack for Tristan, plus Tristan s carseat. I would have rented a carseat had it been available, but this wasn t an option. I wanted to make sure Tristan would be safe since the essence of the trip was a road-trip, so I brought the car seat even though it was a huge inconvenience for a very small fraction of the trip. For travel papers, I brought all of the usual ID I have with me, plus Tristan s birth cert, the parenting court order that says I don t need his father s permission to travel outside Canada, and both of our passports. I kept these additional documents tucked inside one another and held with a binder clip.Inside my daypack I had cameras (Nikon D90 DSLR, Pentax film camera), a few granola bars, my journal, and a book to read. I wore hikers on the plane and Tristan wore his regular runners. Tristan s daypack held his water bottle, an extra sweater, a few toys and a magazine. His daypack always has a bear bell on the handle, so that when I can t see him, I can still hear him. This is an awesome trick for all parents but especially single parents relying on only one set of eyes and a great set of ears. Inside the large pack:2 stuff sacks of clothes, one for myself and one for Tristan. The categories of clothes I opted for were: warm weather, cool weather, regular style, and functional outdoors. Any items overlapping more than one category were chosen first. Some items that many would deem bulky and unnecessary (for example my leather jacket) were brought for my own comfort. This will be different for everyone.Carabiners 3 large and a couple smallExtra shoes: Birkenstock sandals for me and Tristan s hikersRain gear: MEC newt rain-suit, rain pants and jackets for both of us, gators (me T)Sleeping bag linerFirst aid kid with medicine, cream etc. added inToiletriesTripod for cameraFlash light, headlamp, paracord, pocket knifeUltralight pack towelPower converter, car charger, phone cord, camera cordRain cover for the daypackWet wipes (handy in all situations, parents know)Diapers (T is potty trained except for at night, I brought about 10 diapers and that lasted the whole trip. I chose to do it this way to avoid having to run an important, potentially stress-causing, errand in an unfamiliar place)We brought our daypacks on the plane and checked the carseat and the large pack. Carseats are checked for free.We arrived early at the airport, and had plenty of time to kill until our flight. We walked around the airport and got a bunch of snacks to bring on the plane. I was feeling really anxious, and Tristan was really excited This isn t always a good combination, since he wanted to explore and look at things, but I was demanding that he stay right beside me, maybe unnecessarily.Once we were on the plane, I sent out messages to all of my friends and family before I had to put my phone on airplane mode. As the plane lifted off, I felt overwhelmed with gratitude, almost to the point of tears. Travel plucks you out of the center of your life and provides a world of perspective. I was grateful to to be going on the trip. But I realized, that even beyond the trip, I d built a life filled with wonderful people who care about me and support me. Sometimes it helps to be in the clouds looking down, to see the blessings of life with a bit more clarity.Tristan was still excited about the trip and being on an airplane, so he fell asleep much later than usual, but both of us did eventually sleep. I put a diaper on him before he passed out, just in case. The in-flight entertainment didn t keep him engaged the whole time, but definitely helped a lot.When he finally fell asleep, I breathed a deep sigh of relief. We made it. There had been such a long build up of preparation to leave for this trip, and (like any flight) so much anxiety about getting through security and making it on time. It seemed surreal that everything was finally paying off, and soon we d land in England and be maneuvering through the actual adventure itself.#travel #uk2016Save Inspiration from a journal entry written June 10, 2016, just after the release of the statement written by the victim of Brock Turner s rape trial.I use a man to supplement loneliness when I trade sex and intimacy for the illusion of love and support.It is a dishonour to my sisters all around the world, suffering and healing due to and from the attrocities committed by men, to victimize myself and make myself disposable to men who only seek to use me.When I allow a man to use me and use him as well, I objectify this man and allow him to objectify me. When objectifying a man, I rob him of the opportunity to be a real man, to meet me in a genuine way and experience vulnerability, to take care of me and protect me. I destroy his chance to live out masculinity in a way that honours the feminine in both of us. I contribute to the perpetuation of rape culture.If I cannot muster enough self love or self worth to honour myself, then I will honour myself for the sake of my sisters. When I honour myself, I respect men as complete human beings. When I honour myself, I demand the same from everyone around me. When I honour myself, I am saying to my sisters, I m with you.In her statement, she wrote, I am with you. Today, I say, I am with YOU. For women everywhere, I honour myself.#rapeculture #feminism #selflove #healing Privacy Cookies: This site uses cookies. By continuing to use this website, you agree to their use. To find out more, including how to control cookies, see here: Cookie Policy

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