What weddings can teach us about vulnerability and courage

August 23, 2020

I had the pleasure of being invited to one of my dear friend’s wedding last year. Amidst the most perfected spreadsheet organizing, whimsical flower arrangements, stunning weather, and breathtaking venue, I found myself moved, in awe and inspired. Here were two people who had worked hard to overcome their own obstacles to make space for a brand new life adventure together. Furthermore, they were willing to commit to it, out loud, in front of closest family and friends. Commit to choosing each other, every day, always.

This moved me on several levels. Most of all, the vulnerability and the courage. The courage to open your heart and 1) not only to admit you want/ need love, or 2) to believe you deserve that unconditional kind, but 3) to accept it, and make the intentional choice to keep choosing it even when it is hard, heartbreaking or terrifying. These seemingly simple steps have been things I know I have had a lifetime of struggling with. At times because of pride and not wanting to admit I need anyone, believing that this made me weak. Other times it was due to convincing myself there was “no one better out there”, that it was okay to be unseen, overlooked or even controlled. It ended up often looking like me turning away from wonderful supports around me, with outstretched arms, wanting to show love, care, consistency, due to shame, fear of connection and of being let down. It is something we all do, to try and protect ourselves. Call it self-sabotage, defense mechanisms, or self preservation, these patterns serves to ‘protect’ us from our fears and insecurities, whilst at the same time building a wall so high and impenetrable that we often end up unseen and alone.

On this beautiful day, none of this existed. I watched best friends, drop the need to use humor to mask depth of relationship, and speak openly from the heart, of gratitude, loyalty, growth and love. I watched parents share reflections from their own lives, speaking frankly about hurdles, idiosyncrasies and love over the course of a lifetime. I witnessed bride and groom, courageously speak to the significance they were to each other, the difference they had made in each other’s lives. There was no need or room for pride, self-preservation, fear or doubt, just love and an unwavering amount of trust and hope.

It reminds me of the original theme of this blog when I first started it. The idea that when we were children, we were unafraid. We felt free to be naked and unashamed, both literally and figuratively. Free to cry before we learned fear of judgement. Free to need or want the loving support of a parent, without pride getting in the way. Free to express gratitude and love to those closest to us, without a care in the world of who was watching and what they would think of us. Just being our complete selves, and letting the contents of our hearts and minds be seen. It was magical getting to be a part of a day that exemplified all this and more. An important reminder of so much that has been lost in the ways us humans connect and hide our true selves from one another. I was thankful to have been personally reminded to be vulnerable, to invite, foster and seek out connection above all else. Especially, in the face of fear, doubt and shame.

We all deserve the reality of being seen, and wholeheartedly loved

for the perfectly, imperfect beings that we are.

My First and Greatest Love

June 3, 2018

For those of you that know me, family has always been a main part of my life, and a major part of my identity. Coming to terms with impact of my family break-down and subsequent events, the blessings and challenges has continued to be an ongoing journey. For years I have tried to make sense of my inner battles, trying to make sense of the tornadoes that whirl up inside of me, a complex mix of sadness, grief, hopefulness and above all, a desire to survive whilst painting the most beautiful and glorious portrait of my family.

More recently I have returned to therapy to process my last relationship, and of course, without surprise, we end up back at the beginning, my family. Not to blame, or cast resentment or anger, but to try and heal loss and sadness, conflict and fear established before I knew how to name these emotions. This has sent me on a sobering journey of hurt, unresolved loss and wholehearted grief over what I would easily identify as the loss of my greatest love.

……………………..

And so, it turns out I never really got over the way we separated. A decision drawing dividing lines between us. I always thought we would be together forever, grow old together, still singing the songs of our childhood, Friday night Chinese school and dinners out, taking turns picking video rentals at Rogers, Mario party and Mario kart until the morning, sleepovers at the foot of mom and dad’s beds, annual vacations to the most magical and happiest place on earth. Not because of the rides, or even the fireworks, because I was with you guys, we were together and my world felt complete.

But then everything changed.

We were no longer one unit, unspoken walls and vast divides grew between us. We each saw and experienced the breakdown differently, and what felt like magical fantastical reality of us as a family, was broken into a million pieces, never to look the same again. And so we all walked our separate directions, some farther than others, tearing apart that world we once built together and fought so hard to preserve and enjoy together.

I swear, I thought I understood. I thought I had accepted it. All that it was, and all that it was not.

I watched it unfold before my eyes. I did everything I could. But it had already been lost, and my inability to accept the new harsh reality perhaps created the biggest distance from you all. As life continued for everyone else, in acceptance of what had happened, I did everything in my power to preserve my portrait of us and remain in denial about what had happened, pushing you all together to try to recreate even a fleeting moment of “us”.

Our beautiful family, as I had known it, would never exist the same way again.

It turns out that the little girl in me had held on tight to everything. So much that every Christmas or holidays that we were under one roof after the separation, I would weep quietly to myself, half grieving as my adult self, and half rejoicing as that young girl, trying to convince myself that we were still a unit, we were still a family. Fighting the reality of passing time, diverging interests, growing up and apart. I found my own way to hold us together, omitting all the difficult times, and over-emphasizing the positive.

But now I see. We weren’t perfect, we never were. And now, we just are what we are.

But I now see us clearly. I can see everything. The magic, the joy, the hurt, the pain, the disappointment, the unspoken things, the sacrifice, the hope, the love and the permanent tie that will always continue to hold us all together, no matter what happens.

And now that I can see us clearly. Grief speaks; weighing heavily on my heart and mind.

But finally, I know that I can love us better for what our family is today. Not as I had always pretended us to be.

Somewhere in Between

November 11, 2017

It was all just like a dream, except I never fell asleep… I was there, felt your love, connected with the people closest to my heart, visited the places of my past, the building blocks of who I am today; my childhood home, highschool, church, where we used to bike as a family… All my favourite places to be, my favourite restaurant and foods, my favourite places to play ball and spend time with friends, my favourite place to sit by the dyke to take in life and pray.

I was here. I lived here. The life I built lives on, it is still here, and exists, in the hearts of the people that remember me.

However, now, there is this other “reality of life” I have built, on the other side of the world. It co-exists. It thrives. It is forever in competition with the memories of what I had when I left home almost two years ago.

Most days, my life here brings dynamism, growth, adventure and richness to my soul. But some days, like today, in the midst of loss and heartbreak, it feels like I exist somewhere between two places. The pieces of my heart, scattered in between both. And I can’t help but wonder if I will ever be able to put all these pieces back together. Or will my heart forever be torn. Desperately and hopelessly trying to connect two realities, that are forever destined to be on opposite sides of the world.

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

Be with me Lord.

As my world crumbles around me

Uphold me. Strengthen me.

As my heart breaks for her.

My entire being urges me to go home and hold her together.

Be with me Lord.

Settle my mind’s anxieties.

Bring me calmness and peace.

You brought me here.

I am meant to be here.

Uplift me. Give me your wisdom and understanding.

Help me to trust.

Be with me Lord.

Rebuild me from the inside out.

Bleeding out

March 28, 2017

So I pulled the plug, not because I gave up hope, not because I stopped loving you, but because loving you, caring for us, was poisoning my spirit. I could slowly feel your false truths sink in; that I wasn’t self reliant enough, I wasn’t centered in God enough, that I wasn’t accepting enough, that I overthink too often, that I reach out for support too often, that I’m too demanding, not flexible enough, not willing to compromise my physical boundaries enough. All of it. The ways you chipped away at me slowly… when you only had access to these most vulnerable parts of me because I trusted you and let you in, thinking you were my safe place.

But with every piece of me that I entrusted you with, you threw back at me like daggers. Ripping into my very core, in a way that I could feel every jagged edge cut into me. And I stayed for the onslaught, naively thinking that if you saw me bleed out, and not return a single attack, that maybe, just maybe you would see me again, in my wholeness, fragility, flawedness, and full of the desire to love you through the hurt, through the damage, through the pain and the wreckage. But you wouldn’t have it. And you wouldn’t see me. You were looking, but you weren’t seeing me.

And until the very end, I continued to be your enemy. Seeing my wounds did nothing for you. As if seeing me bleed made you feel better, somehow less alone in your misery. So, helplessly, powerlessly, painfully, I watched this spectacular story of us fade into the shadows. We lost us. Just like that, everything up in smoke. And once again, I am left here alone, picking up the pieces and re-building myself, in the safety of a space without you.

Accepting the love given and choosing to give yourself the love you need…

September 25, 2016

People love us the best way that they know how, it may not be what we need, it may not be what speaks most to our hearts, but people love the best way they know how. And this applies to my parents, close friendships and to past relationships where I look back and think,“how could you not know that would hurt me?”, “how could you not know that made me feel insignificant?”, “how could you not know that made me feel so unseen and forgotten?”

 

But the truth is, that I can be mad as much as I want, I can wish that things would be different, I can even wish that certain things never happened at all, but the reality is that if these people knew how to love me better and if they could have loved me better, if it was in their capacity and in their self-awareness, they would have. And at some point I have to accept that, and let it go, that maybe it didn’t turn out the way I wanted, or maybe I would have been different or things would have been different if they had loved me the way that I felt like I needed to be, the fact is that they didn’t. Whether it was because they couldn’t or they wouldn’t, but at the end of the day, they didn’t know how to do it any other way, and they did it the only way they knew how. And I must come to the understanding that the extent to which people in my life loved me imperfectly, was a reflection of their capacity, and their experiences of love, and that does not mean that I am less worthy of love or unlovable.

At some point I have to find some level of acceptance with that and know that I am who I am because of the way that I was loved or wasn’t loved, this is something I cannot go back and change. But I can choose how to go forth loving myself and loving others from this day forward.

The week I felt everything I left behind…

August 25, 2016

The Day Dad Left.

I never quite felt the tug on my heart strings to return to Vancouver like when my dad left. Seeing the plane come in, waiting with him at the airport, feeling like the comfort, familiarity and safety of having him here was all about to be torn away… was terrifying and unnerving. He turned and asked if I was coming home, and it filled my eyes with tears, both knowing that he wasn’t just joking, and both knowing that I couldn’t. But when he asked me, my heart immediately sank, as the world I had left behind flashed before my eyes; my friends, family, and all familiar places I loved back home. I had left it all, for here. This was home now. And I was here, on my own, alone.

The first time I ever saw my dad cry was today. Wishing me well, telling me he was proud before he left, as he kissed me on my forehead and we stood there in tears in an embrace that pained me to end. Regardless of everything, he was my dad and always would be.

And when his plane took off, for the first time, since I’ve been here, I could feel everything that I had left behind, and then grief and fear overtook me. I broke down into uncontrollable tears.

What had I done? Was it all worth while? And why, did it suddenly all feel so hard?

A Letter to my Demons

Today I wept 3 times, trying to cope with an immense sense of emptiness and loneliness. I am all over the place, feelings of sadness for being here alone, leading to dark thoughts telling me its because no one wants to join me on this adventure, or be with me, all the way to feelings of shame for my decision, feelings stupid and weak for my choice to come here, fearing judgement from those that I only like to show my strong side to, feeling fear about my visa and stress about work. Perhaps for the first time in a long time, I miss familiarity, I miss comfort, maybe today was the first day I can let myself say, “I miss home, I miss my family. I miss the people that know me, and I miss the places that bring me warmth and comfort. And that is okay”.

Because it doesn’t take away from now, I don’t regret the choices I made, why do I even feel the need to say that? Perhaps I fear your judgement. That the way to measure success is to feel joy everyday after you’ve made a decision. I’m afraid that that you might say “I told you so”, “I knew she couldn’t do it”, “I knew it’d sink in eventually.” That you would think I was any less courageous. But then, I would tell you, but I did do it. Already moved. And that how I feel or think right now does not define me. I am more than my insecurities, fears and doubts. I am more than my life choices and accomplishments. I am dynamic, multi-dimensional and ever-evolving. I am allowed to be courageous and afraid, strong and fragile, confident and insecure all at the same time.

I know who I am and I won’t let you take that way from me.

The Boy with the Kite

May 8, 2016

I was on the beach the other day, as a young boy, perhaps 5 or 6 years old arrived on the beach with his father. In his hand, the young boy held a small blue kite with a long blue and red ribbon tail, trailing behind him on the beach as he walked. The boy was bursting with excitement, filled with anticipation, happily skipping through the sand, eager to release the kite; to see it fly and disappear into the clouds, to see his hopes come true, I imagine it was a moment he had been looking forward to the whole drive down to the beach.

You could tell the boys impatience, as he jumped eagerly next to his father, who was carefully unraveling and preparing the kite for the young boy. Every moment waiting, seemed unbearably long, every moment took away from what the boy had been hoping for so badly. Even I could hardly wait for the moment, on his behalf. So, when the boy’s father finally released the kite into the wind, the boy squealed, filled with joy, excitement and awe. It was his kite, he would make it fly, it would soar, he would be successful. Even I had hoped, that due to the windy-ness of the day, the kite would soar into the wind immediately after being released, and I would get to see the sense of accomplishment on the boy’s face, I would feel the same joy and excitement for him.

But today, the wind was coming from all directions, and no matter how many times the boy and his father released the kite, inevitably, moments after taking off into the air, the kite would come crashing down. And still the boy kept trying, hoping, and wishing that each time, the outcome would be different; that the kite would take off and keep flying up into the clouds. The boy would try epic sprints across the beach, as fast as his little legs could carry him, trying to release the kite with speed, he even tried standing on his tippy toes in hopes of helping lift the kite higher into the air, and each time, still with the same bounce and excitement in his step, hoping that this was the time it would work.

What the boy did not understand yet, in his beautiful innocence and naivety, was that regardless of his efforts, his enthusiasm, his hopes, and his numerous trials, the circumstances and conditions were never going to be right, at least not right now, not in this moment. No matter how much time he gave it, or attempts at different approaches, it would not fly. And it was not because he had not tried hard enough, that boy loved his kite, he had tried everything, multiple times. that kite just was not meant to fly today. And it was something that he had to accept. Something that he had to come to understand, that it did not make him a failure, it did not mean he had not tried hard enough, it just was not his time, not today. He would have to trust that his time would come.

And so, the father and his son left the beach, they would try again another time.

What does this story make you think about? What aspects of your life did it bring up for you? What moments could you relate to it? (Leave me a comment below and let me know! Would love to hear your thoughts and invite you to be vulnerable.)

I wrote this in a moment of deep disappointment, grief and loss over a relationship. Having maintained high hopes for an outcome, feeling like I had poured everything I had into making my own kite fly, every effort, everything in my power to make it go where I wanted it to. Only to realize some important things in my “failed attempt”, that there are the things I can control in life, and the things that I cannot, and must accept. I can only control the choices I make, how much time to invest, how much more effort to put in, what to build my kite with, if you will and that I cannot control the other aspects of life, like other people, life circumstances, timing of life, or which direction the wind will blow and how the kite will fly. And that I must find acceptance in that, or I will not have peace.

I will try and try and try, and feel like I have failed, or even worse, that I am a failure. But this is not the truth, knowing what is within my control is just as important as knowing what is not. And with this understanding, comes a sense of relief and acceptance. There are times to take accountability and responsibility for things that happen, and there is a time to sit in difficult, heart-wrenching moments of grief, loss and sadness, and let them pass… trying not to blame myself for things not working out, and trusting that my time will come, that things are as they need to be, and all will work out as it should.

“There are things that we don’t want to happen, but have to accept.

Things we don’t want to know, but have to learn.

and people we can’t live without, but have to let go.”

 

On the plane to Australia, sitting with fear and self-doubt

March 1, 2016

And so this adventure begins… sometimes I find myself doubting myself. What was I thinking running away, so damn far and so damn fast. What am I running away so intensely from? or what am I am so desperately seeking to find? What does my soul crave most?

In some moments, I feel a scary amount of calmness, as if it hasn’t sunken in yet. I hear myself answering people inquiring about where I’m from and asking me about my story as if I’m not the one saying these words, “I’m moving”, “at least for one year,” “oh, I bought a one way…”. Even as I sit here writing these words, I feel a trembling deep in my core, as if a part of me still sits in denial, that its been almost a day since I left everyone and everything I’ve ever known in Vancouver. It’s fear, it sits within me, eager to share and overshadow my excitement for new beginnings with self doubt, and “what ifs” that only ever end in catastrophic endings and snapshots of lonely and empty days to come. Where I can see myself falling short of everything I hoped to achieve while I’m here.

The truth is, I’m afraid. I’m terrified. But I can’t let myself know that. I’m afraid I made a mistake, I’m afraid it will be harder than I thought. I’m afraid I overlooked a detail, I’m afraid to spend time away from loved ones. I’m afraid to let myself down.

But as I choose to sit in these moments of fear, I try to convince myself to be brave, and to sit with the fear, to face it, and to be still in it. And I let it warn me, caution and scare me, because yes, it IS a huge decision. And in these moments, I feel winded, out of air, as my head spins trying to catch up with this decision I have made.

But somehow, I catch myself coming back to the word courage. A word I was gifted with recently by a dear friend. And I am reminded that in this moment, I choose courage. Courage is not the one time decision to book a flight, step on a plane, or to share your story once in front of a room of people, but instead, it is found in every little moment that I sit with fear, that I lean into it, and choose to continue to take the baby steps that the tiny voice in my heart leads me towards. I tell myself, one day at a time, one hour at a time, one moment at a time of courage, strength and faithfulness.

Because there once was a time, that I lived in fear, of life, of risks, of my own dreams, afraid to want them, in case one day I had to realize that I could not achieve them. There was once a day I feared seeing the outcome of my life and the perceived failure so much that I wanted to throw in the towel right then and there. Fear had me as its willing prisoner. But today, I let that fear drive me, unnerve, unravel and torment me with its worse outcomes and doubts, only to lean into it and prove it wrong. I will not be ruled by my fear, not again. I will live out my life, in light of and in the face of my fear.

The wound from which I draw my passion…

February 19, 2016

Dear Friends,

As many of you know, I often make FB posts about mental health issues, stigma and other related issues. This passion for Mental Health stems from a very difficult struggle with depression in high school and in the midst of my post-secondary education at SFU.

Depression eventually pushed me to the edge in 2009 when I felt there was no other way to escape the negative feelings of hopelessness except for ending my own life. I was hospitalized at Lions Gate Hospital and made a promise to myself that if I survived this hurdle, I would make sure to dedicate the rest of my life, fighting stigma surrounding mental health and supporting others with similar experiences.

Being vulnerable and sharing my story openly is one of the ways that I have worked to reach out to others, break down stigma and help others know that they are not alone. Today I have had the incredible opportunity to share my journey from my darkest moments to where I am today, and how my experience of depression has inspired my approach to counselling and life in general.

I hope that you can join me to share in this monumental moment for me as I return to the Lions Gate hospital, no longer as a victim of mental illness, but a survivor and overcomer; sharing my passion and inspiration.

 

Thank you to each and every single one of you that have been there with me through this process, would not have made it here today without you,

Christina