Trauma, intention, and healing yourself

Trauma comes in all shapes and sizes, and unfortunately, nobody gets through life without experiencing it in one way or another: childhood neglect, physical, sexual, or emotional abuse, bullying, abusive or toxic relationships, living with someone who has substance abuse or mental health issues, poverty, oppression, and on it goes. We all must deal with trauma, and it leaves its mark on each of us. We enter this world as innocent beings, but then people fuck us up, and we, in turn, fuck other people up (even though we do not intend to do so).

I used to think intention mattered, but it does not. Not really. People have done me wrong, and I have done people wrong. If I hurt you, that is what matters… it matters not that I didn't intend to do it. Intentionality is a beautiful thought, but at the end of the day, it means very little. 

And when it comes to healing from someone who has hurt me, ownership is the path to true healing. Even though I am not responsible for the pain and trauma I have gone through, I need to be the one to own it, and this is why: It is unrealistic to expect everyone who has hurt me to be accountable, apologize, and do the work to make it right. 

So, I have two choices: 1) I can continue to let their actions dictate and influence how I view myself and approach the world, or 2) I can accept I am the only one who can fix it. I choose option number two. My trauma is not my fault, but it is my responsibility to own it so I can heal from it. No one else is going to do it for me. 

Radical Acceptance

I went through something two weeks ago that changed my life. It was the most beautiful and peaceful experience I have ever had. It was radical acceptance.

Radical acceptance means accepting everything about yourself, your current situation, your body, and your life without question, blame, or pushback. Far from condoning or embracing your current difficulties and situation, radical acceptance typically advocates accepting yourself and your circumstances to better move through and past them.

You simply… poof, accept everything. Radical acceptance feels like you are looking at yourself and your life from an outsider’s perspective, with no judgements and no attachments. You see everything for exactly what it is and feel entirely okay and at peace with it. You let go of the pain and move forward.

I used to hide all the raw and vulnerable parts of myself that I felt were undesirable or imperfect. I could not trust anyone because I was terrified of being judged, hurt, or abandoned. Being this way was not a conscious choice; my subconscious was protecting my ego. I was closed off, showed you only what I wanted you to see, and never felt secure in who I was. I did not know how to be myself, not even when alone. 

Since I experienced radical acceptance two weeks ago, I have become acutely receptive to emotional, authentic, and spiritual conversations. I want to connect with people in the most genuine way possible. I want to give and receive complete honesty, even if it is “ugly.” The more shameful your secrets, the more beautiful I find them; my secrets are no different. The stuff we hide is the stuff that makes us unique, fascinating, and extraordinary. 

These last two weeks, I have been open, vulnerable, and, most importantly, myself with everyone I have interacted with. I have this new, deep understanding that the people who are meant to be in my life will be, and those who aren’t won’t be. I cannot force anything, and I do not want to. 

Imagine you have a bead in your hand. You are so afraid to lose it that you squeeze your hand tightly around it—and it slips through your fingers. Or, you can keep your hand open, palm up, and have the bead on it—and it’s still there. Enjoy what you have when you have it but don’t become too attached to it.

I won the Dad jackpot

My dad retired when I was in grade three. It was different, especially in the ‘90s, for the dad to be the stay-at-home parent. But I am so grateful my parents were in a position for him to be able to do that. His constant presence in my day-to-day life benefited me greatly. He would drive me to school each morning, pick me up for lunch, and return to school at the end of the day to take me home. He coached my soccer team for years, we played pool or air hockey in the basement most nights before bedtime, and as a family, we went to the mountains on the weekends year after year for close to 50% of the skiing season. He has always been a constant in every area of my life, and I admittedly (and ashamedly) take him for granted a lot.

Despite all the bonding we’ve done throughout our lives, our relationship remains largely surface-level. We aren’t particularly close on an emotional level. He keeps things close to his chest while I wear my heart on my sleeve. We are just different in that way, and that’s okay. We are so close in many other ways—I never question his love for me. He is kind, loving, funny, compassionate, and goes out of his way to help people simply because it is the right and human thing to do.

Over the last two weeks, I have needed to rely on those who love me. I have needed to feel their love for me because I have been unable to feel it for myself. We all go through it: Sometimes life sucks, it can be challenging, and every task, no matter how small, feels like climbing Mount Everest without a map. In these moments, when everything feels impossible, it’s hard not to compare your journey to those who seemingly float through life with ease.

Two days ago, I walked into the living room of my childhood home and sat in the recliner. My dad was sitting in the other one. He usually begins our conversations with a joke or an interesting news story. But this time, he started with, “How are you feeling today? How is your mood?” Tears immediately glazed over my eyes. Not because I was sad but because I felt so very seen. And loved. The concern in his tone was palpable. “I feel good,” I replied. That was the end of the conversation, but if I had wanted it to go on longer, he would have been more than willing to listen and coach me through my feelings.

This morning I called my dad for advice. After we both said hello, he immediately asked how I felt. It’s such a simple and common question that everyone asks each other whenever they see one another. It is not a special or unique question. But coming from my dad, it holds meaning. It carries weight. It isn’t a platitude or a nicety to get out of the way so we can move on to another topic. He truly wants to know how I am feeling. What a guy.

He means the world to me.

The Sweetest of All Kittens Came Into My Life Today

Today I got a new kitten. I originally wanted to get a puppy. I love a puppy's energy. But lately, whenever I'd look at my cat, Mike, he seemed so lonely. He was sleeping all of the time. When he wasn't sleeping, he was at the window for hours, waiting for the neighbourhood stray to come and entertain him at the window for all of thirty seconds. That was his excitement for the day. I felt bad. Real bad.

She slept the whole way home

Mike has gone from having two dogs and his birth brother to being the only one around... within one year. I thought he might appreciate a kitty friend, so I've tabled the idea of a puppy until at least the spring. 

She made herself at home 30 minutes after arrival

 

So, for now, this little cutie will do. She was the most docile, playful, confident, and sweet kitten of the litter, so we got in my car and off we went. My adventures of bringing new pets home are limited, but I've never had the experience I had today. She was so chill, she slept most of the way, and when she wasn't sleeping, she was purring. 

She's a keeper.

The Next 24 Hours

This saying has been around for over half a century, most likely. Earl Nightingale (1921-1989) was an American radio speaker and author, dealing mostly with the subjects of human character development, motivation, and meaningful existence.

I love that you can make a career of pretty much anything. If you can dream it, it can happen. "But what if you aren't born into a rich family?" I agree—being born into a favourable environment has its perks and will set you up much better than someone who's been born into poverty and is a minority. Facts are facts, so I won't sit here and pretend that we can all be masters at what we love with the same amount of energy put into getting there. But I think we are all capable of having any job we want. We may not be at the best company, making the most money, or getting the recognition we want, but I think each of us has the potential to decide our fate. 

It takes work, a lot of work. Work that most people don't have the determination, drive, motivation, willpower, or self-confidence to put in. 

You hear of people who've come from nothing and are suddenly household names, owning multiple vacation homes, partying with the rich and the famous and enjoying every great opportunity that exists on this planet. Check out this list of 11 celebrities who were dirt poor before they became famous. 

Some people are born into privilege. Some people are born beautiful. Some people are in the right place at the right time. But that isn't the case for every successful person, and you would be doing yourself a massive disservice if you trick yourself into believing that. 

Why? Because if that's what you truly believe, then you have no chance of becoming the person you want to become.

Look at someone like Steve Irwin, who died doing what he loved. Yes, he died, but I bet he had a more fulfilling life than most of us simply because he did what made him feel alive.

Documentary filmmakers that get to travel the planet and film fascinating animal docs, human stories, or war stories didn't just land that job by chance. They worked for it.

People like The Rock and Arnold Schwarzenegger were massively competitive and thriving in the world of bodybuilding. They weren't born with that physique. They built it, one day at a time. 

These people live very different lives and have very different careers, but successful people have several things in common that the majority of people lack, and now I'll go over a few of them: 

1. They know when to stay and when to leave: If a job isn't adding to their life in any meaningful way, they aren't afraid to go. The "what if?" of the future doesn't scare them into staying in a situation that makes them miserable.
2. Go above and beyond: When you start a job, you are told what your position entails. Successful people complete these tasks and then ask what else they can do. They continually grow.
3. They aren't afraid to fail because they know that failure often leads to success: Failure happens more than success, so it's best to learn how to embrace the setbacks and use them to do better next time.
4. They create their luck: They don't wait around for something good to happen to them, because "good things don't come to those who wait." They make things happen.
5. Goals are attainable: They set goals that they know they are capable of reaching, with very established guidelines and steps. It's not, "I will lose 100 pounds in six months," it's more like, "I will finish this course in the next three weeks by devoting three hours each day to it."
6. Never stop learning: Successful people love to learn whatever they can, from wherever, whoever, and however they can. They like to be inspired and use that inspiration for their personal growth.
7. The journey is what drives them: When you feel like you are doing something meaningful and purposeful, you will continue to do that thing because it is what drives you.

Don't focus on where you want to be in 1, 5, 10, or 20 years from now. Focus on what you'd like to do in the next 24 hours to better yourself and then do that again the next day, and the next, and never stop thinking about the 24 hours in front of you. Eventually, years will pass, and you will be in a place you never thought possible.

I talk about this shit like I know what I'm talking about, but I don't. It sounds legit to me, in any case. Most of us know what the obvious ways to success are, but we, for whatever reason, don't do those things. Maybe use this as a reminder to do the obvious.

Finally, success means more than doing exceptionally well in your career (but that's a massive factor for many of us). Success also includes relationships, hobbies, kids, sports, talents—it's about life and how to achieve true happiness, rather than chase it and never catch it. 

And Then She Bloomed

My writing hasn't been reflective of my mood, and that's an issue for me. Writing is a form of therapy - I don't need an audience, and I don't expect I have one. But, I'd like for my words to match my current feelings. If I were to venture a guess, I'd say my writing has been so negative because I've needed to get rid of all this hostility. Purge to heal. The hurt, pain, sadness, bitterness, anger, hate - it had to come out before I could begin to heal. I stopped writing for years, and now that I'm back into it... the ugliness has been pouring out of me like a dam that broke.

Despite the negativity of my recent posts, I feel the happiest, most hopeful, and most energetic I've felt in years. 

The negativity that I felt towards everything and everyone, it's gone. It's floated away. It's evaporated, almost like it never existed. 

• I wake up smiling, 
• I am interested in how my loved ones are doing, 
• I smile at and talk to strangers, and,
• I have drive, motivation, and energy - which is perhaps the oddest thing about this whole experience because energy is something I've never had enough of. 

Boredom used to be synonymous with Beth, and I was okay with that, because when you have no energy, who cares if you're bored? 

Because I had no energy, I'd recurrently receive texts from family asking if I was okay because they wouldn't hear from me for ages. Reading their texts of concern was exhausting, so I'd ignore them. After a few days, I'd let them know I was alive, just feeling shitty. 

I now have an abundance of energy. I genuinely don't know what to do with it all, and now I find myself getting bored because there isn't enough to do. 

Notwithstanding, nighttime is incredibly hard for me. That's when my anxiety kicks into full gear, and I'm not quite sure why. Maybe it's because the day is over, meaning I need to be still with my thoughts. I'm not comfortable with that yet, but I believe one day I can learn how to be okay with it.

The human brain has a remarkable ability to adapt to unpleasantness. Presently it makes me uncomfortable to be alone with my thoughts, but give it a few weeks, and who knows?

Behind Closed Doors

Last month my mom was driving me to see my doctor because she didn't trust that I would get out of bed to drive myself. She was probably right. Being suicidal does that to a person.

As we were driving, I started thinking about my marriage and how, during it, I had never experienced depression to this degree. I wanted needed my mom to know that my suicidal thinking had nothing to do with my leaving him.

 

Since leaving my marriage two years ago, my life has been a struggle, and I'll be the first to admit that most of it has been a result of deciding to restart my life without him. I had the security of a husband who had a well-paying job, and we owned a house together. We had mutual friends - today I am friendless. I was a member of his family - I lost that when I left him. 

It would be so easy for someone to connect the dots and think that my suicidality was a direct result of getting divorced. But if someone connected the dots that way, they'd be wrong. So very, completely, frankly, wrong.

This is how the conversation with my mom played out:

Me: I don't know if you or Dad have talked about it or wondered about it, but I want you to know that my depression isn't a result of leaving my marriage. I don't regret it. We weren't right for each other. We got together so young, and it felt like the next step, getting married, was the logical thing to do. But it wasn't. I don't hate him, I don't wish any ill will toward him. I am happy he found someone better for him. I never wanted kids, and now he can have them. But I don't regret leaving.

Mom: Dad and I have never assumed that, talked about that, or thought you made the wrong choice. It is your life, and we know that you are smart enough to do what's right for you.

I cried. I lost it. 

To hear my mom say that she trusted my decision-making and knew that my divorce two years ago had nothing to do with my wanting to kill myself now meant so much to me. 

She then followed with something even kinder, with tears in her eyes:

Mom: Leaving him gave you strength. You are so much stronger today than you were then, and Dad and I see it. You have had a really crappy two years, and we see that, but we also see that you keep picking yourself up. You don't give up, and we are so proud of you.

That conversation has left a lasting impact on me, and I hope to never forget it. 

I wish my ex husband the best, and that's all I have to say about that.

Note to self: VALUE PEOPLE

People need to know they are valued. Value the people in your life that you care about, and do it often. You never know who needs the reminder at that very moment.

Three weeks ago, someone very special to me attempted suicide. He swallowed all his sleeping pills and all his anxiety meds and went for a walk. His walk led him to my front step. I quickly realized he was fucked, so I called 911. The ambulance arrived minutes later. The paramedics strapped him to the stretcher, put him in the back of the ambulance, and intubated him right in front of me. It all happened so fast. They had to transfer him to the hospital so a doctor could pump his stomach. The driving paramedic rolled down his window as he pulled away and said, "Five more minutes... he'd be dead." 

He survived, thankfully. For the last three weeks, he has been a resident of the psychiatric ward at the hospital. He slept for 72 hours straight as the meds left his system. I did not visit him the first day he woke up. I thought I was partly to blame, and seeing me would make him worse. However, the next day, my phone was flooded with texts and calls from his family. He had been asking about me all day and wondered why I was not there. He was furious because I was not there. 

What I should have done from the beginning was be there. It was that simple. He was in crisis. He needed support. My role was simple... just be there.

These days, I do my best to help keep his spirits up, listen to him when he needs to talk, encourage him when he feels down, and let him know I am incredibly thankful he is still around and that if he had died, it would have devastated me.

__________________________________________

I often need reminders of the seemingly obvious things, and in case you are like me in that way, here you go:

People need to know they are valued. Value the people in your life that you care about, and do it often. You never know who needs the reminder at that very moment. 

Therapy made me social again

When I saw my therapist last, we talked about situations that are especially difficult for me to deal with.

The focus of our last session revolved around how I think my friends think I'm stupid, boring, and annoying. I don't know where it comes from. No one's ever said any of these things, yet when I'm with friends, I often feel disconnected, and like they'd rather be talking to anyone but me. My least favourite question to be asked is, "What's new!?"... because quite honestly, the answer is usually "Nothing." But I can't say that, so I have to dig and search and plan beforehand what I'm going to say. Maybe I'll tell you something cute my dogs did, or tell you something exciting about Chris because his life truly is more exciting than mine, but most likely, I'll say, "Not much, you?" Talking about myself makes me really uncomfortable... I prefer to listen.

I had only seen my friends twice in eight months. I was too depressed and anxious to go out when they'd invite me, so Chris would go on his own. And the more I declined invites, the more I felt they didn't like me, so I would decline even more. I didn't trust my friends enough to say, "Hey, guys, I'm going through a really rough time right now." Instead, I ignored their invites or would say I'd go, and then wouldn't. By my actions, they likely felt I thought I was better than them or didn't want to see them, or whatever. Depression and anxiety are so fucking weird.
Last weekend, Chris and I went to the lake with some of our friends. I REALLY did not want to go at first. I had only seen them once since the wedding which was in April, and the idea of spending an entire day, sleeping in a tent, and then spending more time with them the next day... I was terrified. But Chris pleaded. He does so much for me, so I relented and agreed to go, even though I was SURE they all hated me (stupid brain).
So we went, and as soon as we got there I WAS SO HAPPY. I had so much fun. It's astounding to me that the human brain can give you so much negative self-talk and you'll believe every last bit of it.
A huge part of why I went camping was because of my appointment with my therapist. Working with her has made me realize that I need to put myself in situations that make me uncomfortable. Our brains blow things way out of proportion, and half the shit we tell ourselves isn't true anyway.
What I learned is that sometimes you need to tell your worrying brain to SHUT UP. And trust your husband when he tells you that you're going to have an awesome time camping with your friends.
x

A kid's love...

Kids have this awesome way of making you feel loved. You just need to be nice, attentive, and play with them, and they will make you feel like the coolest person in the world. They want to be around you and show you things that matter to them, and their eyes light up when you are excited about something that excites them.

I've been seeing my nephew a lot. He's three, so everything is super interesting to him, he loves to ask, "Why?"... he is curious and sponge-like, absorbing everything.

My favourite thing is that he always wants to hold my hand. He wants to cuddle. He wants to hug me and kiss me and tell me he loves me. When I'm in the washroom or outside having a smoke and I hear his little voice say, "Where are you, Auntie Beth!?" as if he can't stand to be away from me for a minute more, my heart melts a little bit.

When he asks me to play, I always say yes. He won't be little forever. He won't want to play forever. So if he wants to play cars, draw with chalk, or go for a walk... dammit, I'm game.

A kid's love is the coolest thing.

Be PRESENT

I've been working really hard at being more social. Getting outside and taking my dogs for walks. Living in the moment.

The other day I was at the dog park with Chris's mom. She brought her little Yorkie (Sophie), my brother- and sister-in-law's Rotti (Bear), and I brought my and Chris's dogs, Chance and Charlie. 

I took my phone with me because I wanted to take pictures of the dogs in all their glory. After ten minutes, I realized I hadn't looked up from my phone... I was replying to texts as I was walking. My mind wasn't in the moment. I said out loud, "I'm not reading any more texts." And I didn't. I took pictures of the dogs and let the buzz of texts go unanswered. 

 I want to be present in my life.

I am who I am

I have a tendency to say odd and inappropriate things. I can't help but talk about taking a shit, that many babies are ugly, or that I sometimes bathe with my dog. This usually happens if I'm a) nervous or b) really comfortable with you. Sometimes people aren't quite sure how to respond. Often, when I'm met with a weird reaction, I immediately berate myself: "Goddamnit, Beth, you're so stupid!" or I think, "Why can't you just shut up and be normal?" 

Many simply shrug and say, "That's just Beth." Others say that's part of my allure and what they like about me. But sometimes, I think it's part of what makes me annoying to people, attention-seeking, and sort of weird. It bothers me that I am this way. 

The other day someone commented on it, which made me sad. I came home and cried to Chris, and told him I felt stupid and annoying, and why can't I just be quiet sometimes? He pulled me close and told me other people wish they could be like that... say whatever pops into their brain. I don't think that's true. But Chris loves all of me, and when I tell him I wish I could be different, he tells me I'm perfect exactly how I am and to never change.

I love that man.

ADOPTION

My dad was adopted the day he was born. The story I've been told is my grandma (my dad's adopted mom) went to the hospital one day and unfortunately had a miscarriage. Then, fortunately, later that same day, my dad's biological mom gave birth to my dad but, for whatever reason, didn't want to keep him. So, the timing worked, and my dad went home that day with his new mom, who only hours earlier lost her other baby to a miscarriage. It's heartbreaking and beautiful, all at the same time.

Adoption was a lot simpler in the '50s.

My dad's family are his (adopted) mother, father, and two sisters. When people find out my dad is adopted, I'm often met with, "So, does your dad know his real parents?"

I understand what people mean, but my dad's real parents raised him, taught him things, tucked him in at night, and loved him. My dad's biological parents are the ones who gave him up for adoption (and there is nothing wrong with that). Hell, if my dad hadn't been adopted, he wouldn't have married my mom, and I wouldn't exist. I am thankful my dad is adopted, and I believe he is too.

This is why it is so essential for me to adopt. I want to give a child a chance at a life they wouldn't have been given otherwise. Even if I have no problem conceiving, I feel it is vital to provide a loving home for a child that needs one. This child would not be my adopted child. This child would be my child.

And if, at some point, he/she was curious about his/her biological beginnings, I would like to think I would be supportive of it.

My dad began his journey a few years ago to learn more about his birth. He wasn't desperate in his search, nor did he want to develop strong familial bonds, but he was curious. He learned who his birth parents were and that he had something like seventeen half-siblings. He got in contact with a few. I've also met some of them.

My dad jokes about the handful of siblings he has, but he told his sisters recently, "I have seventeen new siblings, but really... I only have two."

I'm loved, I'm cared about, and I will be okay

I met with my doctor today. I've been having a rough go of things lately, and for the first time in a long time, I asked for help. My doctor could see how overwhelmed I was and how out of control I felt, and she left me with a few points that I think are relevant to us all:

• Don't be afraid to say no.
• If you don't ask for something, you won't receive it.
• You need to be at peace with yourself. Tell people when something they're doing isn't making you happy.
• You are worthy. Your opinions matter just as much as anyone else's.

Avoiding unpleasant thoughts, situations, and people is what I have always done. But I've recently realized that I need to change my M.O. 

If you want to make your mind, body, and soul sick, then, by all means, avoid the uncomfortable and bottle everything inside. But if you want to flourish, grow, and be healthy and happy… then you need to be kind to yourself, face the things you wish you could forget, forgive yourself for mistakes made, and get to know (and love) yourself. 

I want to be emotionally available. 

I want to be okay with feeling it all… the good, the bad, and the ugly. 

I want people to know they can come to me, and I will be honest with them about all things. 

I want people to know they can rely on me to be there for them when needed. 

I want to not be ashamed of my past, my feelings, my pain, my emotions. 

I want to feel that it's okay to be human and that it's okay to admit that I need help.  

I want to be okay with making mistakes and learn to be grateful for them because mistakes are good.

I want to believe that it's okay to trust people and that people say what they mean and mean what they say. 

I want to stop second-guessing compliments, words of encouragement, and kindness. 

I want to stop projecting my insecurities onto others—just because I see myself a certain way doesn't mean you see me that way.

I learned today that I shouldn't be afraid to let people in. Today I have been 100% pleasantly surprised, and 0% laughed at, mocked, or ridiculed.

Annual shopping trip with Mama Bear

One of the buys from today

For the last eight years, my mom has taken me shopping for new clothes as a birthday gift. It works out perfectly. My birthday is the first week of January, so we shop a few days after Christmas when sales are INSANE. She always tells me a dollar amount limit before the day starts, so I know how to budget throughout the day. It's a super fun challenge. We come up with a list of stores and are on our way.

This afternoon, she was to pick me up at 11:00am. I texted her at 10:00am and asked that she get here closer to noon (I love my sleep). I went back to dreamland. The next thing I know, the doorbell is ringing, the dogs are barking, and my alarm clock reads 11:57. FUCK.

I open the door at 11:58. "I slept in."

My mom is on the phone with her best friend and mouths, "No problem."

I shower, dry my hair, and get dressed in 30 minutes, and we are on our way.

We shopped for four hours, going to six stores. I asked her each time she swiped her Visa, "What's the total now?"

She laughed hysterically at me throughout the day. I have proportionately huge boobs, so shirts often fit me in a really odd way. She'd laugh, wipe her tears, and say, "Please, oh please, don't get that one!" If anyone else laughed at me like she did, I would feel judged, and my self-esteem would plummet. But Mumsy is different. We had a blast today.

I ended up being $5 over budget.

I love my mom so much. More than I could ever put into words.

The Cat

I'm seventeen.

It's a scorching afternoon in the middle of summer, with no breeze at all, and the freshly cut grass is tickling my bare legs. Sitting cross-legged in the front yard, watching my dad garden, I feel happy. He is weeding and asks me what flowers he should plant this year. I don’t know anything about gardening, and he knows it, so I roll my eyes. As I stretch out my legs, close my eyes, and lie back, I hear the snap of weeds breaking off the earth.

Something soft brushes against my leg. My eyes flutter open, and a long-haired, one-eyed cat is looking at me expectantly. It is mostly grey with white clumps of fur matted around its paws and neck.

“Hello, kitty.”

I spend the next few minutes giving the cat love—it walks across my lap and rubs against my legs—until my friend arrives, and I have to go.

...

Over the next few weeks, the cat finds me. Whether I am in the front yard, the backyard, or the garage, the cat is there. 

It's pouring rain today, and the poor cat is drenched. Why is this cat not at home? I will look after it until the rain dies down. I put the cat in the garage, walk out, close the door behind me, and go into the house. As I pull out a can of tuna from the pantry, my dad asks what I'm doing. I tell him I'll be with the cat. I don’t know when the rain will stop, so I grab a book, too, in case I am here for the long haul.

Together, the cat and I spend the next ten hours in the garage. Cat and I snuggle in a blanket; it purrs, I read. I feed the cat tuna and water. When the downpour finally stops, I go into the house but leave the garage door open, letting the cat linger until it is ready to go home.

...

The next day, when I get home from school, I walk in the back door. I’m not sure who is home. “Hello!” I yell.

My dad yells back, "Come see me for a minute!" I kick off my flip-flops, walk into the living room, and see he has the cat on his lap. My mind spins. Why is the cat inside? My parents have never allowed a furry animal inside our home. I have grown up with fish, turtles, tortoises, and lizards.

“Go look under the tortoise tank in the kitchen," Dad says.

I run to the kitchen. There, under the tank, are two small bowls. One is full to the brim with water, and the other contains hard cat food.

I run back to the living room. “Why do we have cat dishes?” I ask, dumbfounded.

Bootsy

“I asked around the neighbourhood, and it turns out this cat has no home. The owners left him when they moved. His name is Boots, and he is yours.”

My two best pals

Three years ago, my boyfriend's mom took in a discarded puppy (the previous owners were getting a divorce, and neither of them wanted the poor thing). We told her not to do it because she already had a dog, cat, scorpion, tarantula, and snake. But she has a generous heart and cannot turn away an animal in need. When she went to go and pick up the puppy, my boyfriend and I waited at her house, talking about how silly this was and that the last thing she needed was another mouth to feed.

As soon as she got home with the puppy, I felt awful for telling her she shouldn't have rescued him. He was, quite honestly, the cutest little munchkin I had ever seen. Seven-month-old Charlie won me over immediately. He hopped, bounced, and zoomed around the house (all eight pounds of him) with a heart beating faster than I knew was possible.

Charlie

We bonded instantly. I had always been fascinated by dogs but knew little about them as I hadn't spent much time around them. Charlie changed all that. I could usually be found at my boyfriend's mom's house, snuggling and talking to Charlie. Sometimes, she let me bring him to my parents.

A few months after he arrived in my life, Chris's mom let me take Charlie home for a weekend sleepover. The weekend sleepovers went on for about a year. Eventually, I wouldn't return him on Sundays but on Tuesdays or Wednesdays instead. One day my boyfriend, his mom, and I were having lunch. My boyfriend asked if I could adopt Charlie. She hummed and hawed. She loved him too. But one month later, she let me keep him.

When my boyfriend and I bought a house, I was so excited Charlie would have a backyard to run around in and a home all to himself. We were a cozy family of three… until one year ago when I decided to foster a three-month-old black mutt who was found on a reserve. His name was Chance. It was supposed to be temporary. We were only going to look after him until someone wanted to adopt him, I swear. But my boyfriend and I fell in love with his sweet and even-tempered nature, so we adopted him.

Initially, I wasn't sure how to split my time and love between two dogs. I felt guilty that Charlie would have to share me. I thought it was unfair to Chance, our new puppy, that I would always love Charlie a little bit more. I needn't have worried. A few months passed, and one day I woke up and realized I loved them both the same.

Chance, shortly after he came into our home

My mood and their behaviour change multiple times per day, which means I often like one more, but I always love them equally. I didn't have to split my love for Charlie in half and share it with Chance. I love Charlie as much as I always have, and I love Chance equally. They mean the world to me and have taught me so much about myself. I have learned I am patient, loving, generous, affectionate, and a pushover.

Charlie and Chance

Charlie: Thank you for wagging your tiny tail, kissing my nose, and crying to be picked up every day when I get home from work. I love our snuggle sessions and how you crawl onto my chest and burrow your little face into my neck. I love how you are so good with my grandma. When you let me cry into your fur after a sad day, I am very aware of how fortunate I am to have you in my life. You can get away with anything because as soon as I look into your big brown eyes, my heart melts, and I can't help but think how perfect you are.

Chance: I love our hugs. I wrap my arms around you, and you rest your head on my shoulder, not moving until I am ready for the moment to be over. When I look into your soulful eyes and talk to you, I feel you understand me. You made me the happiest gal in the world the day you came into our home, walked over to me sitting on the floor, and crawled into my lap. You knew you were home, and so did I. You make me feel safe. I am so grateful for you.

Life is a highway

Everyone copes with stress in different ways. Write, read, work out, drink, watch your favourite movie. My method never fails.

Whether schoolwork is frying my brain,
work has got me down,
or life has got me down,

I drive. I get in my car and drive, with no idea where I am going. I get myself lost, but I always find my way home.

My curiosity for the other drivers on the road and where they are going, and who they are, re-affirms in my mind that life is bigger than my minuscule issues. After my drives, I can breathe easy, knowing that we always find the time to arrive where we need to be.