I grew up being babysat in the back of strip clubs. How the HECK did I get here?
I’m writing this on the ferry, on my way home from a create-cation, a writing retreat hosted and attended by New York Times bestsellers, highly successful CEOs, and women with powerful stories, missions, and marks they want to make on this world. I shared my book idea with them and they all LOVED it. (I’m not freaking out, you are)
My to-do list includes editing multi-million dollar real estate videos, uploading episodes for my podcast clients, creating marketing assets for next week’s social media posts, finalizing the details of my upcoming podcast launch in a theatre, and signing a contract to join the marketing team for a local house of brands. HOW IS THIS MY LIFE???
When I get home, I’ll be cleaning dog pee off the floor left there by our elderly Pomeranian, cranky at my husband for something I’m sure of it, looking at my half painted walls, busted cupboards and over crowded counters and think, “HOW is this my life?”
Same question. Very different intentions.
Why does gratitude get reserved for the remarkable moments? I am so guilty of this.
Truthfully, EVERY moment that I am not putting a drug or a drink in my body, cheating, lying, stealing, hating myself, or wanting to die is SO REMARKABLE.
I should not be here. I should not have a husband, great kids, a cool-ass job, and the trust, love, and respect of my peers.
Statistically speaking, I shouldn’t even be breathing right now.
When you’ve been to the depths of hell, it gets harder to take things for granted.
Through covid, I had a huge decline. I was almost four years sober, dealing with postpartum depression, and having panic attacks every day. By day I was part of Zoom committees bringing lifelines to recovery communities, by night I was spending hours on the phone with crisis hotlines and mental health advocates trying to slow my racing heart and mind.
To keep busy, I ended up writing a book, my first non-fiction adult book, NOT TODAY FEAR, which is now used in treatment centres and made fun videos online, including a music video parody of “I Will Survive.”
When night came and there was nothing left to do, I would get so unwell I could barely pull it together to put my kids to bed. I felt like I was living through that scene in Titanic where the mom tucks her kids in, knowing they’re all about to die.
Nothing felt familiar or right or okay. I was desperate for some normalcy.
The day Winners (a retail store here in Canada) reopened, I literally cried.
A hundred and fifty women and I lined up an hour early to get into that store. When the doors opened, the staff welcomed us in masks and gloves, smiling and clapping as we entered. I SOBBED. Not because I desperately needed a throw pillow, but because I desperately needed something to feel normal. I had been deeply grieving my old life, and this gave me a glimpse of light at the end of the tunnel.
I found myself filled with gratitude for something I had always taken for granted.
One day there will be no pee to clean up, and I'm going to be devastated. My husband drops the ball, but holy hell, am I lucky to have someone who loves the crap out of our kids while I'm off chasing dreams. My house is small and has low-income vibes, but someday I'll be in my own multi-million dollar mansion, reminiscing on how simple and sweet life was back in these days.
When I catch myself asking “how is this my life?” I try to notice which version I’m asking. The awestruck one, or the exhausted one.
Turns out they’re the same question, and they both have the same answer.
I’m alive, I made it out and every ordinary, annoying, beautiful moment of it is remarkable.