A Woman's Right

 

I was laying on the crunchy sheets with my heels touching each other and knuckles under my butt,
 as instructed. The nurse thoughtfully had the foot of the bed turned to face the wall, creating a sense of privacy despite the walls being cloth curtains in emergency ward. The physician quietly described his next move during the procedure; He leaned in close to me so my neighbours couldn’t hear what was going on in the room next to them, whispering words such as ‘pressure’ and ‘slight discomfort’. The nurse pulled my knee towards her so the doctor could gain more accessibly, telling me to practice my yoga breathing as the worst of it came and then went. I could feel his large fingers handling my uterus in order to ensure that all went well. With this sort of incident, he was confident my blood pressure would come back to normal, something that is always on my mind with having to manage my high blood pressure since the spring of 2021. Despite the high level of empathy, understanding and attempted ease the nurse and male physician provided me when taking out my malfunctioning IUD on a Wednesday evening, it was still horrible.

Thanks to Row vs. Wade, every American has the right to seek an abortion, with some regulations permitting, of course. In 1970 Jane Roe fought against Henry Wade, a district attorney in Texas, when she was denied to have an abortion. At the time, all abortions were illegal in Texas unless it was done to save the mother’s life. There were no exceptions. The ruling made by the Supreme Court determined that all Americans, pregnant women included, have the right to privacy, under the first section of the fourteenth amendment. It was determined that during a pregnant person’s first trimester, the state cannot regulate abortion, essentially women are free to make their choice. During the second trimester, an abortion is allowed if it’s reasonably related to the health of a pregnant person. For the third trimester, the protection of human life outweighs the right to privacy, and the state can prohibit abortions unless an abortion is necessary to save the life of the pregnant person.

Today, in Canada, medical abortion (the abortion pill) is available until nine weeks of gestation (within the first
trimester). Surgical abortion is legal before 24 weeks, beyond this the individual would need to travel to the United States. In Canada, finding a facility to perform abortion beyond 12 weeks is incredibly difficult. Keep in mind, 95% of abortions performed in Canada are done in the first trimester.

The importance of Roe V. Wade, isn’t so much the legalization of abortion, but the ability for a state to regulate abortions. With this ruling, each individual residing in any state in America has the protection of Roe, but the state is free create more protection and access that was Row provides. This is the same as Canada. 

On Monday, May 2^nd there was a leak from the Supreme Court’s draft opinion on Roe v. Wade in that the majority wants to overthrow the abortion rights. This indicates that soon, it will no longer be the federal government that determines the right to have an abortion, but each state will individually make the rules as they see fit. It’s estimated that 23 states can regulate abortions as they see fit, which means possibly outlawing them altogether.

Let’s just be clear, this will not stop abortions, only safe abortions. Women will endure hell and high water to survive, and sometimes this survival and enhanced quality of life means making the impossible decision of terminating a pregnancy. Whether it be driving hundreds of miles to end up in a state that still supports the right of a woman and her body, and provides safe abortions, or the fear and grotesque idea of reverting back a century where abortions were performed in secrecy and unsafely in unsanitary locations performed by unknowing hands. The decision to have an abortion is done because it outweighs the unconceivable idea of having a child, which could be based on so many reasons. Reasons such as medical, for the child or the mother, safety, choosing the life of the mother over the child, the inability to raise a child or quite simply not wanting to have a child.

Regardless of the reasons, and to be clear an explanation is not needed to justify the decision, the decision to terminate a pregnancy is not simply an impromptu and nonchalant decision, it’s a last resource. No guilt a third party can place on that person will ever outweigh the guilt they bring upon and carry themselves. It's still their right decision.

Having a baby should be a choice, not the consequence of birth control failing or failing to use birth
control. Having a child is not a punishment – because the decision to have a child is never an easy one, and the decision have an abortion is even harder. If you are against abortions, and encourage women to have a child, without wanting to have one, what kind of mother are you yourself encouraging?

Margaret Sanger opened the first birth control clinic in America called Planned Parenthood. This was a women’s revolution all on its own. Finally, women were able to plan and space pregnancies, or not be pregnant at all.

The potential overthrow of Roe v. Wade doesn’t just effect abortions, it could snowball the overthrow of other protective laws, such as the right to contraception, which was the outcome of the Grisworld v. Connecticut case. Estelle Grisworld, the head of planned parenthood in Connecticut, fought against the law passed in Connecticut in 1879 that banned the use of drugs, medical procedures and other instruments as a means of contraception. She argued that it was a violation of the fourteenth amendment – the very same amendment in the Constitution of the United States. And she won. But, one overthrown law, such as Roe v. Wade and the right to abortion weakens other laws which used the same amendment to provide this right to an American.

For me, contraception provides me with the freedom of my sexual life without having the consequence of becoming a mother at the age of seventeen or at the age of thirty-four. It makes having a child a decision to be made within the next year or so, so I can now focus on my career, traveling and my happiness.

I thank science for the invention of contraception, physicians for performing abortions and the women’s movement who paved the way. As a Canadian, the idea that the right to have an abortion can so easily be undone in the United States is simply terrifying. We are so closely tied to our southern friends, that the thought of the impossible become possible in Canada, is all too real.

That evening in the emergency room, when the physician covered up my splayed legs with a scratchy blanket, I exhaled deeply. Despite, the kindness and professionalism the doctor showed that night, while being hands deep inside me, it still felt like a violation. As I left the emergency room without my IUD I felt like I lost a long time friend, a reliable means of contraception and allowing me control over my life. I shuttered to think what one had to go though, both mentally and physically, to make the decision have an abortion.

Kirstin

May we raise strong women, when we want to and if we want to.

UPDATE: June 25th

It's my body and my right to seek an abortion if I so desire to. 

I woke up to the news that the US Supreme Court voted 5-4 to overthrow the Roe V. Wade ruling that gave women the right to access abortion. Nearly half the states will follow through to ban or severally restrict right to abortions. I am so angry. And I'm so worried that Canada will follow suit.

So I'll say it again:

It's my body and my right to seek an abortion if I so wish to.

Say. It. Again.  

Reference Material:

Roe v. Wade: The states where abortion rights will be protected if case is overturned - CNN

The impact of Roe v Wade on global abortion rights | MSI Reproductive Choices (msichoices.org)

Teaching About the Supreme Court - Educators 4 Social Change (educators4sc.org)

Griswold v. Connecticut (plannedparenthoodaction.org)

Access at a Glance: Abortion Services in Canada | Action Canada for Sexual Health and Rights (actioncanadashr.org)

A Feral Lady

We agreed we’d meet at the trailhead at 9AM, so after savoring one glorious cup of caffeinated coffee on the drive to Fort St. James, I greeted four strong women accompanied by four dogs. Thus began our 12+ Kilometer day hike in the glorious outdoors.

Mount Pope is the trail I compare all my hikes to. Each time I go to hike her I anticipate it being this gentle, well trailed, beauty of a hike and am always completely humbled, for she requires you to earn her view: the first 2.5KM are constant uphills and frequent switchbacks leave my lungs working and calves screaming. This time was no different, as we all entertained that it would be a lovely hike up the mountain, quite naturally, whipped our asses more than a few times. 

Throughout the job run-ins, I’ve forced friend-ed these four individuals through work* and I knew they were fairly active so I thought I’d make the reach and invite them out for an adventure. With each of us in a different part of our life-cycle, one with children, one with grandchildren (this is a coworkers mum), some new careers and some new lifestyles, the conversations kept flowing with so much insight and information. I'd gather new information that I'd stow away in my mind for safe keeping with each person I'd hike beside. One woman told me about running her first half shortly after having her first daughter and [I know this sounds absurd] the ability for me to do this was simply unimaginable, so I peppered her with questions to set aside to prepare for my own future. Following the footsteps of one the other woman, we discussed work-life balance and how our anxiety is really amplified if we don't manage it well enough and create boundaries, as hard as that often is.

Once I made it past the first three kilometers, the trail plateau’s deceivingly and even slopes down for a bit. I love being outside, it instantly makes me happier. And, the scent of the forest was, as always, amazing, I noticed as the wide trail was completely surrounded by trees and brush. For me, it’s all encompassing and incredibly calming. Sheer bliss.

A few days prior I was listening to a podcast that provided advice on hiking while menstruating. Within the last couple of months I had my IUD removed as I thought it may help with my health in terms of all the hormones that have been gradually entering my body for the previous eight years. As the doc showed me the tiny T insert, perhaps to provide some type of proof that yes, I was no longer on birth control and needed to an alternative means of contraception, we watched it drop into the waist bin and I couldn’t help thinking I was saying goodbye to an old friend. I still miss the security of it. I’m looking into a Cooper IUD, so hit me up with all your reviews... Returning from the fork in the road and back to the podcast: When the long time nurse/hiker discussed sanitation and cleanliness while on the trail with a period, she mentioned that she’s a fairly feral women and essentially less is more. She provided tips on using tampons in the woods, versus handling a diva cup in the wilderness, which was ultimately helpful. But, what really resonated with me was identifying as a feral women. In all honesty, if COVID has taught me anything, it’s that I’m a pretty gross lady. I don’t wash my vegetables or new-to-me clothes, and I love overnight hiking because it gives me an excuse to be a bit more grimy. I fart during any type of physical activity, including the whole way up the mountain. Indoor yoga is both loved and feared for me. I should clean my house more, brush my dog often, and clean my feet regularly, but I just don’t care. 

We finally took a break to admire the mountain view at a lookout and I forced a group photo. It was at this point I understood how proud I was of our all-women crew. It tested my lungs, my heart and my legs and it felt like a huge achievement to make it this far, with our various personalities and fitness goals. I do this hike annually (last year with my Mum, and another group of bad-ass ladies) and I feel like this time I didn’t take this view for granted. I’m pretty honest with these women about my state of mental health, and I know all four of them have their own struggles and they fight their own battles, daily. 

The idea of being a feral women is two-fold. As we took the final jaunt  around the rocks and up a steep incline, while killing my quads, I thought about how being feral is the opposite of what's expected. For me, being feral is about pushing myself, and it's about doing the hard things: physically, mentally or both. It’s about going against the norm and being uncomfortable, because it feels so damn good to do those things that scare me. It's taken me this long to appreciate what my body and mind are capable of, for better and for worse. I think a large part of it is fearing that I would never feel well enough to be capable of hiking again. And, I think if you were to think hard, there was that one time in your life, you felt that way too, where your favorite part of yourself was taken away from you; hell, maybe it's happening to you now. But you survived it and overcame it, or you will (you will!). And it was done with determination and drive or maybe merely because you had to: there is no other way but to be okay. And now it's even more of a part of who you are, because of the good, but also the bad. You identify with it, but it's not your entire identity. 

 So, I am also looking forward to building my body and mind stronger and pushing it farther, to see all the views close to home with some bad ass women, and also adventure hard on another continent. I will do all the things. I've got an extraordinary Life List on the go. Yeah, it was that good of a hike.

During various parts of the hike, we chatted about previous hikes that had been done and hikes on our bucket list. We chatted about possibilities of further hikes, snowshoes and other adventures into the wild.

 *It took everything not to call this post the Girls of Canfor, but I was envisioning calendar pinups, which was giving off a different interpretation of feminist. 

A farel lady 

Definition:

In a wild state, especially after escape from captivity or domestication.

Amortentia

 In Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince, when Harry is in Slughorn’s first Defense Against the Dark Arts' Class, there’s some caldrons bubbling, one of which is distinctive for its mother-of-pearl sheen and the steam that rises from the position does so in spirals. It smells different to every person, according to what attracts them. Harry learns that it’s called Amortentia and to him, he smells the woody odor of his broomstick and a flowery smell that he thinks is in the burrow (suspiciously like Ginny Weasley).  Well, if I would take a whiff from that bubbling caldron, I'm fairly confident I would smell the sweet scent of forest, cinnamon (the scent of Fireball Whiskey brings all the best snowboarding memories with Mike) with an undertone of wet dog (my heart will forever belong to Hugo).

Last weekend I was equally excited as I was fearful about our panned hike just outside of Smithers. The three day two night hike was the most strenuous thing I’ve done since my anxiety moved from high functioning to no-functioning. I was unsure I would be able to handle the weight of my backpack, the incline of the hike or the weight of my anxiety: honestly, being out of reach from medical help, should I need it, was a major concern. This is sort of where I was in my life. Although I had returned to work, full time, and I had been slowly taking on more physical activities, a part of me still created an alternative plan with each activity and every movement in case I needed to go to the hospital. In case I thought I was going to pass out. In case I regressed in my health and something goes so horribly wrong with my body, because even though it seemed as though I was feeling better – which I was, comparatively, much better – I still lost the trust and confidence in my body. I'm sure to the outside world, I looked fine. But, I was still worried I was going to wake up at 3AM on the mountain side with my heart pounding against my rib cage, unable to calm myself down, incapable of talking myself off the ledge, powerless in terms of helping myself and getting myself to a hospital: to somewhere safe. And I’m learning that this is the messiness with mental health. My councilor, Toni, explained to me that I’m a very well put together person. I’m happy, successful and I looked normal Noooorrrmaal. Mental health isn’t something you can see. If you look fine, it’s assumed that you are fine.

My Natural Path, Tanner, told me that I need to keep pushing myself outside of my comfort zone to gain trust in my heart and in my body. So, I brought the two people that I felt I loved the most. Mike agreed that despite hunting season starting this month, he would accompany me sans gun and more food that we could possibly need, up the mountain side. Kayla, ever the planner, brought her confidence, camera and upbeat attitude (and 50lbs of gear). So, with two SPOT GPS devices to get us the hell off the mountain if need be, we met up at the trailhead.

Passby Trail began by and old horse carrell; we were told that this hike was at one time a pack horse trail (for hunting?). Once you went up an old access road with grown in poplar trees whose branches whip you in the face as you navigate through the overgrown road, you eventually you find your way through an old cutblock, which is probably 40 years new by now, so the trees are rather tall. After following the sound of running water, you eventually hit a formal hiking path that leads you to an old growth forest.

With Kayla and Mike silently agreeing to take the majority of the hiking gear and gracing me with significantly lighter 25lbs back pack, we were all at a similar pace. We anticipated a rainy, cold weekend and despite some rain, Mother Nature was on our side. Some of the hike was spent in silence as we endured some steep parts, and others were spent laughing at Mike’s very noisy farts (the rain pants amplified everything) and much of it was spent grumbling over the blow down, as it seemed quite the art to balance your body weight with the weight of your backpack in order to climb over fallen logs and debris without your face breaking your fall as you failed to land on the other side of the rotting tree.  

The old grown forest is magnificent. The whole area is covered in luscious moss, with the trail is clearly visible with brown natural debris. The trees are large with canopy that protect you from the other parts of the world as well as any anxiety. The sun is able to spill through in some spots, giving the chlorophyll within the leaves a transparent glow. I can’t help but deepen my breathing, while appreciating the combination of pollinating plants and sweet, warm air. I kept catching myself closing my eyes and inhaling longer as every breath brought back memories of past hiking adventures and calmness. Hello Meditaion At Last. My lingering anxiety diminished and I was taken to my Happy Place: the scent of my Amortentia; Amorentia is the most powerful love potion in existence.

After passing through marsh-like flooring and repeating almost pleadingly that the beginning of the peak was just around the corner, my feet were successfully wet and my body tired as we reached the saddle of the mountain, where we’d set up camp.

I love hiking food. At home, I’ll purchase 50% off tomatoes (Mike and his sister Courtney thinks this is a terrible life choice), but when it comes to adventures like hiking, I’ll spare no expense when it comes to food. Or good carbs it seems, as we binged on Alfrado pasta, bear pepperoni and celebrated with some Whiskey (cinnamon now also reminds me of hiking).

I woke up to enjoy some caffeinated coffee, which I now indulge in only on the weekends. I wrapped my cold paws around the cup and enjoyed the taste of real coffee around a campfire and a beautiful, clear view, which is hard to get in the mountains around Smithers. Passby was much better that I could have ever anticipated. You see, I didn’t think I would ever have the physical ability to overnight hike again. When the heart palpitations and panic attacks begin, my whole being spirals. When the chest pains began, I believe that's when I hit rock bottom. There were some moments when I thought I was dying. I was aware of my heart beating after eating any particularly rich meal. I was aware of the chest discomfort when I first woke up in the morning. I thought about my health all the time; I was worried about my heart exploding when I was having sex (try having an orgasm with that on your mind).  My sister (and my counsellor, my natural path, my mum, and Julie, the nurses, Mike, and a few emergency doctors) told me that this was my anxiety that was creating physical symptoms. I can tell you as I’m typing this that I believe they are correct. I suffer from anxiety, which, at my worst, creates panic attacks triggered by the beating of my heart which pushes me off the edge and makes me believe that surly, I am dying. But at my worst, when this is happening, I am hands on knees facing the floor, chocking in air and going down the rabbit hole of worse-case-scenarios. It’s virtually impossible to talk me off that ledge, just ask

 Mike. And that's when I can't believe it's Just Anxiety.

We hiked to Arrow Peak and made it to the top of No Name Mountain (for real, it has a sign and all). Despite the wind and constant slope, which made the hike feel far worse that it should have, the view was well worth it. We found ourselves with a 365 degree view at the mountain top. Despite this being Mike's and my third attempt, it’s the first time we’ve made it to the peak - a 1000 meter difference from the trailhead. I couldn’t imagine having any other better people to join me on this hike; The two people who I wanted and needed for reassurance, safety and companionship on this hike were perfectly suited as Kayla and Mike. Mike turned to me as we were walking closely and slowly toward the ridge. He told me how much he loved that I did these adventures with him.

I feel strong, I feel healthy and I feel like I am okay.

Kirstin.

Amortentia is said to be one of the most seductive scent's ever inhaled. 

Begin Again

 My knees push into the padded mat, as equally does my palms, which I place directly under my shoulders. I inhale as I arch my back and my face looks up towards the sky and I gently close my eyes, moving into Cat Pose.

I somehow fell into this tradition where the moment I sign up for a race I write RUN with a jiffy marker on my calendar and slowly work my way back from that date to present, scribbling out my mileage, cross training and rest days each day of the week. As the days progressed, so did the numbers, which climbed higher and higher until I hit the 13 miles for race day. I could literally see my legs develop muscles as I ran longer and my quads got more defined. I knew that I was getting stronger when the eight miles became the easy runs and five miles transitioned into fun runs when the distance increased. There was something semi erotic with peeling my sweaty clothes off after a run and getting a glimpse of myself in the mirror on the way into the shower, seeing how defined my body was getting through training and working out. I was proud of my body; it takes hard work and it takes discipline. I didn’t just wake up like this.

As I exhale, my neck moves towards the floor my arms push into the ground, which pushes my spine up and my pelvise down: Cow Pose.

But, those black scribbled numbers would eat at me if I missed a day of running. If I didn’t make the required mileage for the day it’s all I focused on. When I asked my doctor if I could start exercising again when I first started experiencing heart palpitations and chest pains he immediately said no, and then looked at me curiously and asked in his familiar accent: why was this exercise so important? Mentally, it’s how I kept my shit together. Feeling anxious, I went for a run. Feeling angry, I’d push hard through a five K. I knew the various trail systems in and around our house, from the regularity of not wanting, but Needing to go for a run; running was what kept me calm.

I push my pelvis into the floor and my toes come slightly off the ground. Splaying my hands out under my shoulders and pushing into the mat, I inhale long and deep as I my back arches and my chest rises into an Upward Dog.

There were many times during the winter when we would snowboard for much of the day and then I would come home and bang out a four mile run. Or I’d climb the steep hill breathless to catch the view before going snowboarding for the day. Being outside was my happy place and being active was a huge part of my identity, but suddenly that was stripped from me. I was no longer a runner and I could no longer exercise the anxiety away. Somewhere along the way, I had lost who I had become. I also wasn’t mentally capable of working until they could figure out what the hell was going on with me which took another piece of my identity away. Combined, the seemingly theft of my identity was affecting me detrimentally.

On top of this, I wasn’t nearly as restrictive to what I was eating. I was consuming everything in order to not feel weak and crappy. The mornings were the worst, often I felt like I was on the verge of passing out. I was eating every two hours, much of what was comfort foods: a combination of bread and pasta. One doctor warned me to keep an eye on my weight especially if I was losing any, so I made sure that didn’t happen. As a direct result, I’m sorry to admit that my vanity shone through in the past few months as my toned muscles were disappeared and for the first time ever my stomach was very much visible. It took effort to do up my pants and I was incredibly aware of my increased size.

Despite some heavy imposter syndrome at the mine, I’m a pretty confident woman. As my best friend blatantly explained, not all of us are secure enough to wear our opinions on our chest. As my many feminist t-shirts display my ever vocal thoughts.  But, being truly honest, moving up two jean sizes made me question my sense of self. I hate even typing this, in that my value is so tied to the firmness of my stomach, but here we are.

Slowly I exhale and come back down to my mat.

The amount of people who have reached out to me through Facebook comments, private messages, postcards and Face Time have been astounding. First of all, I didn’t realize how many people give a crap about my life adventures through reading this blog, or my well-being in general. It’s so humbling and it’s been incredibly uplifting. For the past two months I’ve been off Facebook. For me it’s far too addicting and the negative posts of politics and COVID are pretty harmful to my thought process. I’ve logged back on to post the sale of a couch and a table, but shortly after I will deactivate my Facebook account until we book a global adventure. Honestly, social media does too much harm than good for me. This means that I won’t be posting my blog on social media anymore, but I will still continue blogging, and hopefully frequently.

I’ve been really open with my sister about my anxiety as she has struggles of her own. It’s a relief knowing everyone is a bit of a mess; It’s very helpful to know I’m not in this alone. Recently my niece and I watched Inside Out, I recommend this Pixar movie to any kid, it’s great explaining emotions and how they’re all beneficial (even sadness) if regulated properly. My niece and I share tips and trips with how we deal with our anxiety, as my sister had the knowledge and smarts to put her kid in counselling as soon as she saw the signs of her anxiety. I’m so thankful she can work on this when she’s six and not merely begin at thirty-three.

Inhale: My arms push back into the floor and I transition into a Plank. Exhale: My core shakes as my arms and toes hold the weight of my body. I rock backwards and forwards on my toes and the pads of my hands and take three slow, deep rotations of breathing.

After a stress test and a very fearful heart catscan (I don’t know the technical term) where I learned anxiety trumps blood pressure pills, as they had issues taking a photo of my racing heart, I was told that my heart is healthy and not the problem. Shortly after this many of my conditions began dissolving, or at least I’m managing them. I’ve been given the clear to start exercising again. Funny enough, rather than going back to running, I found a love for yoga. I’ve been slowly strengthening my body again and focusing on breathing which forces my ever racing brain to focus on one thing and slow down. As my body remembers movement my mind is learning how to calm down. For the first time ever, I can see some flexibility in my body and my upper body is slowly remembering movement and finding strength. I do this soon after waking up and before I go to bed for relaxation.

I have been working with a certified dietitian, Nourish to Flourish, on how to fuel my body properly. Before all the issues, my relationship with food and exercise was becoming a problem and notably negative. I’m ready to admit to myself that I was on the fast track to disordered eating, in exercising to make up for the calories of beer drank and food consumed. It was a relief admitting to Amber that since feeling unwell I was getting obsessive around what I am eating as it's the only thing I feel that I have control over right now. Seeing a dietary professional has really helped on developing a better food relationship with myself.

I’ve started meditating, using Dan Harris’s Podcast Ten Percent Happier (also a really good book) and although extremely difficult, it has been helping. His podcast helps normalize anxiety, and his ten minuet or less meditation guides are worth a listen. I’ve been reading many self-help books and am always open to recommendations - please reach out to me on your suggestions with books or any techniques on dealing with anxiety.

Inhale: I push back intending to shift more weight on my toes and I slowly exhale as my legs dig into the ground and push my hips back upwards and my arms stretch past my head and into the floor, my head close to my mat: Downward Dog. I take three more rotations of breathing.

I was talking to my Counselor shortly after the symptoms started showing up. When I explained to her my inability to cope with my ever increasing anxiety because I wasn’t allowed to exercise, she asked me if I felt like the world was trying to tell me something. I believe my spirit animal is a fox... I believe in signs. I didn’t realize four-leaf clovers were real until Mike’s sister showed me and Mike handed me one – my niece pointed out the framed clover on my desk and when I admitted this she essentially rolled her eyes while saying of course they exist, as any six year old would. What I'm trying to say is that along with signs, I also believe everything happens for a reason.

So through all of this, I am learning to live in the present and enjoy it. Although we are still planning on Australia in May, 2022, I’ve been really loving the little things we’ve been doing, the things I often take for granted. I’ve been pushing myself, slowly. It was a huge deal to hike Fraser Mountain without my heart exploding. My Nurse-Friend Takarah kept me company and lovingly tolerated my snail pace as we traded stories of anxiety and the various loves of our lives (aka: outdoor activity and our yearning to travel). Mike and I did our first overnight hike where I drank the most glorious coffee I’ve ever had (I’ve been off coffee since mid May). On another trip we picked huckleberries and jumped off cliffs some friends we’ve coined “The Neufies” who we are eager to hike with next weekend with my best friend and her husband. Slowing, I’m remembering what normal feels like. I’ve also returned to work, which has been nice on so many levels.

I still struggle daily with anxiety, although the anti-anxiety medication is helping significantly, the daily stressors aren’t nearly as prominent as they have been. My physician still doesn’t know why my blood pressure is high, and I’m still on medication for that, which it still a huge concern of mine. I still call my sister worried and I still express concerns to Mike about my mental stability and physical state. I take life day by day, but I’m doing so much better than I was. I’m a work in progress.

Also, I bought jeans two sixes bigger that fit, now. That was a game changer.

Exhale: Move back into plank pose and with your elbows pushed into your ribs, slowly with control lower your body to the ground. Begin Again.

Kirstin

I am stronger than this emotion.

The Heart and the Head

Sun or rain, I love being outside. The mountains almost quite literally call my name sometimes, and I just know I need to do a hike the next day off. The smell of the trees in the wilderness makes my heart happy and the sound of my feet slapping the pavement while running is such an invigorating feeling. I love the high of endorphins after a hard run or a difficult hike. A few years ago I admitted to my naturopath that I use exercise, specifically running, as a form of stress relief. He agreed that it's a great way to temporary dissolve stress and anxiety, but warned that it's not solving my problems, and I could end up overdoing it in the long term without actually dealing with my life stressors. I chose to allow him to adjust my back and promptly disregarded his warning. And my last run took place at the beginning of May, where it was the fifth time I had ran a half marathon in my running career, so perhaps I didn't take the 13 miles all that seriously.  The last few months I have been sloppy in my fueling for my long runs and stretching post run; I was so focused on my ever-injured hip flexor I forgot about everything else. Kayla and I took on a completely different route than our normal runs, and mile seven took forever. The last three miles were quite simply awful and I ran on empty for five kilometers, a few days after my COVID shot.

Mental health is something I’ve always supported, but never something I’ve fully understood. So when I took myself to Hospital at 3AM four Saturdays ago, ugly crying to a very patient and reaffirming nurse, she went through her routine questions, one in which she asked about any chest pains. I said I had some, but I think it may be because I’m so anxious. “Do you suffer from anxiety regularly?” she asked. I couldn't help thinkin: But, doesn't everyone? rAnd these are the things we don’t talk about.

I’ve always been a worrier. My mom recently reminded me when I was so stressed in elementary school that I would write my name in mirror image. I used to joke about stress being the glue that held me together; However, it was the second visit to the Hospital, where my blood pressure was through the roof that made the above comment seem drastically less funny. 

These last four weeks have been really difficult, to say the very least. The nurses are recognizing me due to the repeat hospital visits of heart palpitations, extreme fatigue, lack of appetite, a racing heart, high blood pressure ect. At my best, I can calm the fuck down and understand that much of this is brought on by anxiety. At my worst, I feel like I’m going to die. I know what this sounds like, but it’s true.

Like most people, COVID was what broke me. My two sisters, mom and I all have an incredibly different perspective on the subject of the Corona Virus, in terms of how the virus is being handled, the severity of it, the restrictions, the political side, and the vaccine itself. The four of us are very different people, with very different views; however, this has never stopped the endless support exchanged between the four of us. I would have never left Canada that first time and head out solo to Bolivia without the encouragement from my sisters and mum. They’ve never judged my nomadic lifestyle, only encouraged it, or the decision to change my mind and plan for children. However, when it came to COVID, all gloves were off. And as my doctor explained, because of the global pandemic, my group and my people become even smaller, which means their thoughts and opinions become even more significant. With the people I cared about most in my life all at different odds, where Mike and I couldn't even agree on our COVID perspective, this is where I think I started to unravel. 

I suppose at one point I was high functioning with anxiety. It made me very good at my job at the Mine and at the Mill, where I struggled to find sleep and fell into the rabbit hole of worries and concerns at night to the point of obsession until that fearful task was completed or that high profile-high stress vacant position was filled. I was on point and killing it, but now, at my worst, I feel like my anxiety is killing me. 

The physician is quite sure there is a problem beyond anxiety, as my blood pressure wouldn’t be as high as it is if it was simply anxiety, I know my anxiety - my brain, is not helping my heart right now, in the state that it’s in. A mound of blood work is being conducted and the results are slowly trickling in - all reporting back normal. My coping mechanism for anxiety isn’t working anymore because I don’t know when they will find the diagnosis and I can't exercise to alleviate my fears. Once again, I’m headed down the rabbit hole of worst case scenarios, but instead of fucking up an interview or getting fired, it's fears of pancreatic cancer, heart attacks, or simply never being diagnosed and having to live in the hazy state of survival mode.  I’ve been working with a counselor on learning how to talk myself off the edge of doom and coping mechanisms when my anxiety gets the best of me. And when I don’t have the strength to calm down, Mike, ever so gracefully steps in, and has unknowingly created my mantra - I’m strong, I am healthy, I will be okay - as he’s reassured me so many times this past month.

Mike’s been nothing but supportive, and I’ve learned what it’s like to truly and fully lean on him both mentally and physically (and hooked me up with Starbucks decaf coffee, even though he hates the place). He sat me down a couple weeks ago and forced me to have an serious conversation and showed me a long list of symptoms of anxiety, a list that my sister, Meg, sent to me as well. The only difference is, I scoffed off her text messages, I probably rolled my eyes. It’s incredibly hard for me to understand that my head, my mental health is hurting my body, and my heart to this degree. And that because I’ve never prioritized my mental health I think it's now providing me with physical symptoms, so I’m forced to reconcile with my very abused brain. Mike listened to Meg when she said that she’s worried about me, and why. His support has been insurmountable, especially given that he doesn't place to much emphases on mental health.

With medication, my blood pressure is in control and I haven’t had an unplanned trip to the hospital since last week. I’m waking up feeling a better in the mornings and my glucose levels are on the up. I’m still exhausted. I’ve gone from hiking mountains and running daily to mere Hugo walk with anyone who is willing to join me, which is hard on my soul. But I've just begun yoga, so perhaps I will finally become flexible (A silver lining of a new beginning perhaps?), but I’m still scared. I’m scared I won’t recover and won’t be able to hike or run ever again. I’m scared I won’t be healthy for traveling or new life adventures like babies. I’m scared the diagnosis is going to be terrible or there won't be one at all. I’ve learned my mortality when Mike’s healthy cousin was diagnosed and passed away from terminal cancer last year; this fear revolves in and out of my brain that Eric’s fate could very well be my own.

I’ve been reaching out to various friends and acquaintances and started asking for help and comfort and company. I've realized a huge demon is my own mind, so any distraction comes as a welcome. My mom has mowed my lawn and visited regularly. My sister and her tiny humans have entertained me a few times, and I've taken up any offered visits and gentle outings so my mind doesn't run rampant.  Friends came by and helped up unpack our house and people have been inviting me over in order to save me from myself and my overanalyzing brain and I appreciate that tremendously.

I went to see Keli for a reiki session the other day and we talked about much of this - I strongly suggest her working on you if you’re in the Vanderhoof area and interested in an alternative health treatment. With a knowing smile, she asked me if I’ve been more anxious since I’ve stopped writing and blogging. To be honest, I'm incredibly hesitant to write about this and even more so to publish these thoughts and struggles. I'm worried people will blame this on the COVID vaccine and give me an I-told-you-so responsive. If this response is implied I will, without hesitation, forever cut you out of my life, because it is literally the last thing I need right now. Doctors, who I trust, told me that they can't say with one hundred percent conviction that this isn't, but are focusing on my athletic lifestyle and going from there. I was hoping I could type about this event after I've gotten better, after I was given diagnosis and a treatment and was fixed, but I'm learning that isn't what I need right now.

I've decided to write about not being okay, mentally and physically, but slowly improving each day, because with Mike and my jobs being very much embedded in the community, most of the ‘hoof knows I’m off work and not feeling that well and the responses have been so wonderful and so genuine. Lately when people have asked how I’m doing I've begun to share how I’m truly feeling, and the honesty returned has given me so much hope. People have willingly shared their very own encounters with general illnesses and their own mental health issues, and how they have overcome them or are working towards it, and it’s made my own struggles feel more validated and I feel less alone (and less crazy), so I though perhaps it's time to share my own more upfront and broadly.

Most Sincerely,

Kirstin

I’m strong, I am healthy, I will be okay

My Potato Head Theory

 

Do you want to be a boy or a girl? Mike looks across from the table at his littlest cousin and so nonchalantly asks the question that it makes my ovaries hurt. She giggles and says girl. He picks out a pink piece no larger than a grain of rice and carefully places it into the palm of her hand for her to stick into her yellow car. We’re playing Adventure Life, a far cooler and more complicated version of the original Life board game and I crack open a local beer pick out a car to represent my player in the game. The tradition began last winter when we took Mike’s two other cousins snowboarding in Smithers with my mom where we stayed in an Air BnB that had a handful of board games and life became an instant hit. I picked up Adventure Life for three bucks at the Vanderhoof thrift store and we’ve busted it open the few times we had people come stay in our Tiny Triangle over the five months we lived in Smithers. Mike got a seven on the wheel spinner and landed on the marriage space. I looked up to him asking if he was marrying a man or woman. He looked me in the eyes and responded that he was going to marry an Animal, a dog: In adventure life, you can not only have children, but animals, as well. I asked him his dog-partner’s name was, and I can’t even remember his response, only that he was looking me in the eyes, grinning.

I was raised well. I grew up in an incredibly blue collar household, where free range beef and hunted moose was a staple, and served with plenty of potatoes; it was when I was older that it got messier, but that's not the point of this story. We grew up in a community full of Japanese people, a result of the WWII Japanese Internment Camps being placed in Greenwood, where people continued with their lives well after being allowed to return home after determining that those Japanese-Canadian's were not spies. My best friend was of the Mormon religion, whose parents let me live with them one summer during university and I still think of them often. They were the kindest parents, ever. I knew about divorce and we heard about people being gay, but if someone’s sexual orientation was problem, I never heard about around our kitchen table. My dad has three girls, and I never understood how my gender could be affiliated with my quality of life: We mowed lawns, helped with firewood and were expected to go to post secondary school, to do better than our parents, and to be good people; being girls had nothing to do with it.

I now know of the disadvantages of being a woman because it’s demonstrated to me every single day insome form or another. From  being careful about what I wear when I go for a run as to not draw too much attention to myself because I run alone. Apparently after all this time what I wear still increases the probability of being sexually assaulted or raped. What I wear at work also determines my worth: I got called kiddo at work recently, even though I'm thirty-three and this would never happen if I were a man. These are tiny examples. These things, these everyday hurdles that occur simply because of my sex and identifying as a woman is what makes me wear Feminist T-Shirts, it’s what makes me talk to my Niece about International Woman’s Day and the importance that comes with identifying as a girl, and it’s what makes protest Pro-Life movements with Pro Choice shirts and my very fed-up voice.

The thing is, I’ve never not wanted to be a female. Sexism is frustrating to be sure, but I've never literally wanted to be a man. I’ve never woken up in the morning hating my body because of my sex, because I was born with ovaries. I've never felt I had the wrong genitalia. I hate the stigmas that is associated with being female but I know that I am the correct gender, I am happy being a woman; and this is a huge difference. I couldn't imagine what it is like feeling so confused with my body because I have the wrong parts. I couldn't imagine the emotional toll of relating to a different gender than that one I was told I am, and then having to justify it to people, mostly who I do not know, who not only don't understand, but don't care to understand. It sounds heart wrenching and awful. Someone’s gender identity is not something you can to be offended by because it does not affect you. You don't have to understand it, to support it. Read That Again.

Of all the faults  my parents had (perhaps because they were also growing up, when they were raising us), we never discussed being gay or being Japanese or being Mormon, as though it was a problem, it was simply something that just was, and not only could it Not be changed, but Didn’t have to be. This was never a topic that had to be justified. I only recently understood what it meant to be non-binary, when I met someone on the Camino a few years back. The word and understanding of transgender only recently entered my life, when one of my people brought it into light. And it was explained to me by a three year old: "We call him a boy, because he is happier being a boy". I suppose my parents made the idea of gender identity fairly easy for me to accept, because I was taught that a person's worth comes from how they treat people and not their pronoun.

So, now that my Facebook Feed is being flooded with people being so offended by Hasbro, the current owners of Mr. Potato head (originally invented by George Lerner)  because, along with Mr. and Mrs. Potato head, they’ve dropped the pronouns on some of the potatoes they are creating, and so now I bang my head against the wall due to all the offended responses. Hard. Un-gendering toys isn’t only going to allow those who are non-binary or transgender individual feel more accepted within society, but it also loosens those gender norms for every person even if they are simple a male with a penis or a female with a vagina. A boy playing with a doll won’t make him gay, but will allow him to encourage his nurturing skills. Perhaps a girl playing with dump trucks, which are typically bought for boys, will help her become interested in engineering or a working as a tradesperson, both fairly male dominated career paths. These gender rules aren’t just hurting people who identify beyond the male and female spectrum, they’re effecting everyone. Pink and blue jobs are still a thing, where female’s still make less money in predominately female roles. It’s still out of the norm and mocked for a man to be a nurse or a stay-at-home dad. Why are women expected to shave their legs? Why is it so taboo for men to wear pink (I won't even ask why they can't wear a dress)? All of this is associated with the constrictions of gender norms: what is normal for your gender. And this puts all of us in a box. It's time to think outside of this regulated, expected and suffocating box. 

Combining the boys and girls clothing section to simply have children clothing and adult clothing isn’t a big thing. We know this, because if this wasn’t the case, women would not be allowed to wear pants, they'd still be required to wear dresses. Is letting your kid decide if their Potato Head will be a boy who carries a purse, really going to hurt them?

So, yeah. I shrugged off Mike’s joke of choosing to marry a dog when we played Adventure Life. Bu I truly appreciated his attempts at normalizing gender identity about asking his very clearly female cousin if she was a boy or girl in the board game, because it starts with incorporating it into everyday life and not making a big deal about it, just as my parents did with someone who had a different ethic background, religion or sexual orientation than us. My Mom and Dad didn’t talk about different lifestyles around the dinner table, but it was through their actions and how they treated those people that created mine and my sisters' value system. They’ve taught me that integrity and respect and a person’s value and worth doesn’t stem from something as silly as one’s social economic status or choice of life partner, or a preferred pronoun. No, to me, respect and likeability comes from simply being a good human.

Once very tired feminist.

Sushi Roles not Gender Roles

Learning my Worth

February 2021

The idea of living off the land in gypsy-like state in a tent for summers at a time sounded incredibly romantic, but since I was long past the part of my life where I had the ambition, fitness and grime factor (circa: living in the jungle in 2013), the idea of working as an HR and Safety Coordinator at an organization for a reforestation company suited me just fine. So, when I was contacted for a Zoom interview, the potential of working for sustainable and green organization filled my hippy cup and part of me has always felt I missed out on being a tree planter for a season or two.

February 2020

If I’m being honest, so much of the reason as to why I accepted the previous offer was because of the money. Finally, I thought, I was learning my worth. I’m still a believer in Signs and although the HR Manager at the Mine assured me that a six month contract often had a way of flipping into a full time gig, I knew that all I would need was a contract because after that, we would be headed off to Australia*. The independent-woman in me wanted to try out life in camp, and despite the role reversal of Mike staying at home to watch Hugo, and the fact that it was he himself who was trying to get a job at a mine, he was more than willing to support my career move.

Immediately I realized the importance and necessity of building repors with my hiring managers, in order to understand the skill sets candidates needed to have to successfully fill a role. I reached out to my old HR Manager who also switched industries but in reverse, which I gained invaluable amounts of knowledge through asking him question after question about the roles within the mining industry. I can’t tell you the number of times typed into Google: what does an Engineer... Metallurgist... Control Roomer Operator... do?

I stormed into those meeting rooms wearing steel toes and dark wash jeans to balance the no bullshit tattoos and a septum piercing and countering them with a very professional and a very feminine top. I knew I was once again entering the old, white mans’ club and a new industry that I needed to learn, and do so quickly. Most of upper management passed me off for a 20-something little girl with a bounce in her step. But, I was the recruiter for the entire Mine site goddamnit, and it took some time for them to accept this and even more so, for me too.

It seemed that the previous recruiters didn’t have a have a whole lot of use, as hiring managers where pleasantly surprised when I came prepared, facilitating the interviews and learning the needs of each department. After hiring well over 30 haul truck drivers in the Pit, one of the Superintendents gave me a good job kiddo after filling our ever revolving open positions. I took what I could get and took the childlike praise for a win. Surprisingly, I was filling roles that were deemed unfillable. 

I was killing it at my job and the money was rolling in. After nine years and three continents, I was able to pay off my $27,000 student loan, interest not included. I purchased some extravagant snowboard gear without thinking, had the adventure of a lifetime salmon fishing at Babine Lake, and I went on my first ocean fishing trip (without puking on the rough waters) on a whim, all the while saving for our Australia trip.

February 2021

I was pretty disheartened; The Zoom interview was terrible, the interview was poorly conducted, and some of my responses were weak. I knew I needed to find a safe space where I could hone in on my recruiting skills, but also develop knowledge on the safety side of things, where I was lacking from a experience standpoint.

February 2020

Mentally, I was starting to crumble. There was hostility between my hiring managers and upper management, and I was having to navigate through the cold office climate, at times being directly in the middle when our hard work and hiring process was put to a blunt stop. I did not jive with my General Manger. I was previously gifted with three Plant Managers within the Forestry Industry who were very much Big-Deals but understood where they came from. I had respectful relationships with them and learned that arrogance wasn’t the key to being successfully responsible a site, regardless of the industry.

After leaving my previous job due to feeling financially undervalued and watching other coworkers take full advantage of the system, without any repercussions, I handed in my two weeks noticed with a bitter taste all the while forgetting what I was leaving behind: the people. I forgot all about the badass women who I worked with, and those relationships I no longer had, especially when the work days’ were tough. I took for granted the relationship and trust with my old Manager, which I had an incredibly honest and raw relationship (he reminded me that although we sometimes yell, it’s not directed at one another).

 After once again having to talk one of my hiring managers off the ledge at the Mine regarding a postponed offer being sent out, and the toxicity coming from the General Manager, I finally made an appointment to start counselling.

After a few sessions, I learned that I was experiencing Imposter Syndrome, where, despite all the success and the constant stream of ‘atta girl, I was so certain that I wasn’t good enough to be the recruiter and someone realizing this was a huge fear. Despite the praises, I was still unable to take constructive criticism well, and despite all that money, my work-life balance was deteriorating. To this day, the morning vibrations on my cell phone still sends me spiraling back to the Saturday mornings when my work e-mail screamed for attention, with each incoming email vibrated through my work phone and Mike was asking me if I’m getting paid on my time in an ever disapproving tone.

When the Mine HR Manager mentioned my contract and casually offered me a permanent position, I countered with an extension of my contract and declined the permanent offer. 

It's a tough to know that I'm not fit to be a ball-buster, that this badass feminist has no desire to stay in the corporate world. Fuck, that still is a hard pill to swallow. If I would have stayed at the Mine, I know I could have gone places, and my career would have taken off, with the dollars pouring in, but I would have given up pieces of me until I lost myself. I would have aquired a lifestyle I didn't even want in exchange for a work environment that was slowly suffocating me.

I walked away with my head high and my job well done. I gave everything I had and I know I did well, still, the independent woman in me is disappointed I couldn't make happiness out of a career like that.

On my last week at the Mine, I chatted with a co-worker and confessed my work stress and anxiety. I admitted that I was perhaps too soft-skinned for such an abrasive work environment and I needed to work on developing some courage and callous. She responded that perhaps I just needed to not be in such a work environment with those people.

February 2021

After living in Smithers, I realized how rare it is to have a blue bird sky here. With a combination of being surrounded by enormous mountains (one of which is Hudsons Bay Mountain, the ski hill), living in the valley and the Bulkly River moving ever so sluggishly, apparently inversions are the norm and rarely is there a day where we aren’t fully cloud covered. But today, we were blessed with an uncommon blue sky. I could feel the sun warming me up on the Hill, as we rode up on the chairlift and I couldn’t stop commenting on how it was so nice out. It was a fantastic day.

I habitually checked my email after Snowboarding and received and email from the controller at the Tree Planting Corporation candidly requesting a second interview. The arrogant characteristics of the Owner/CEO reminded me far too much of the GM from a lifetime ago.  In the most eloquent way possible, I told them to fuck off. It was the most empowering and glorious feeling ever. Within a week’s time I’d be accepting another offer, full circling to where I left, back to my people, only this time with more knowledge, better perspectives and a different appreciation. It’s time to come home.

The way you tell your story to yourself matters.

Kirstin

*Austria is on hold for 12 months because COVID is awful.