The Long Protective Retreat

Well, I closed my computer in January, took a long deep breath, and got busy livin’. Yep, just walked away from blogging and writing in general. I actually closed up shop in a lot of different ways: I retreated from excessive social gatherings, avoided unnecessary stresses, and just spent time working on my shtuff. Some of that was the house—the house I bought three years ago this month, the house that has been both my nest and the bane of my existence. I worked on my career and my business. I worked on my health, even quitting smoking last month. And maybe most importantly, I immersed myself in the cultivation of a new blossoming relationship. I retreated from the ‘mind clutter’ that can come from having too many cooks in the kitchen: too many opinions, whether real or perceived. Too much oversharing, as we are so fond of doing these days. I wanted to do some deep rescue and recovery on myself. And good things came when I did.

But I missed writing. So here I am.

Sharks in Pools: Who's Crazy Now?

Okay okay okay. So I had to share this with you all. Because us anxiety disorder sufferers spend so much of our time feeling like nutbars, and yes we can be...but sometimes we're not.

Last month I wrote a post here about how my brain tries to convince me there's going to be a shark in the swimming pool when I go to the gym. I wrote about telling myself how insane that was, and trying to get over the fear. And then yesterday, THIS popped up on my facebook newsfeed:

It's like the time I saw a psychologist for a while to talk about my phobias, and I told her at the start of the sessions that I was pretty sure spiders are literally out to get me and she told me I was being irrational...but then, in our last session, after hearing all about my encounters with them, she said (I kid you not): "You know, Jordan, you may actually be right that these spiders are out to get you." She wasn't even kidding.

Sometimes we're crazies, yes; but sometimes we're just way ahead of the curve.

Be Broken. Be Open. Be Okay with Chaos.

I read two really great articles recently that spoke to me, and I think they may speak to you.

The first one was called “Why Lying Broken In a Pile On Your Bedroom Floor is a Good Idea” by JC Peters. The second was a piece called “Time To Get Honest About Being Disabled”, published in Disabled Magazine and written by a man named David A Grant who’s a traumatic brain injury survivor.

These two articles on their own are amazing and powerful, but reading them both in one week has sort of blown my mind.

THE GODDESS WHO'S ALWAYS BROKEN

Julie Peters explains in her article that there’s a goddess named Akhilanda, whose name basically means “Never Not Broken”. Peters (and Akhi herself) sort of suggest the idea that being broken is part of growth, part of change; so instead of looking at ourselves and saying, “Whyyyy am I so broken? I suck because I’m broken,” we can say, “I am broken because I am growing.”

I am broken because that’s how things grow. So being broken (physically or mentally, whatever you’re dealing with) isn’t weakness, and it’s not the endgame; it’s the start of the new you. And if you’re like me and you crave constant growth, then you’ve got to expect—and embrace—constant breakage. I come undone because I am always undone. I am never finished. I am an agent of change.

THE WASTEFUL PURSUIT OF PERCEIVED PERFECTION

This obviously paired really beautifully with Grant’s article, which talked about how much time we all spend trying to appear ‘normal’ or ‘healthy’. God, we expend a lot of energy trying to pretend we’re OK. And for what? Grant points out that those of us with invisible ‘broken parts’ can become isolated by our own perfect acting. Instead of burning ourselves out pretending we’re fine, why can’t we just accept ourselves as imperfect creatures? If we all did this, unabashedly and with a sense of pride for our individualized strengths, wouldn’t we find out that normal isn’t the norm at all?

CHAOS IS A FRIEND OF MINE

I read these two articles the same week that I saw Bob, my psycho-spiritual mechanic (my counsellor, in layman’s terms) and he suggested that I need to start working on better embracing chaos when it hits. I’m not a chaos fan. I like things to fit neatly into little boxes, to start when they’re supposed to start and end when they’re supposed to end. I like things quiet unless it’s an orderly noise. I like it when the dog stops shedding for the season. I like it when my house is clean.

This week I stopped trying to keep away the chaos. I started by giving up on my house cleaning. I never really get on top of it anyway, what with teaching and running a start-up company; why stress about what I can’t currently control anyway? That drove me a bit batty, but I managed and I figured that would be what I told Bob I did this week—yay, me. Instead, the goddess Akhilanda decided I needed to be pushed a little further. So on Wednesday morning my car wouldn’t start, and after four days of driving around a loaner while we diagnosed the problem, the loaner blew a tire, leaving me stranded in a Chapters parking lot.

LEARNING GAINS MOMENTUM 

It’s a funny thing, personal growth. When you decide to start down a road of self-discovery and self-acceptance, momentum can start to pick up. One learning opportunity after another will start to happen, sometimes faster and faster until you can’t tell where one ends and the next begins. As I stood beside my loaner car waiting for help, I called MJ and laughed with all my heart at the ridiculous chaos of my life. I didn’t freak out. I just laughed, bought myself a banana loaf inside, and waited for help.

So I guess, if I package up all my learning this week for you to also benefit from, I’d have to say this to you:

Be forever broken.

Embrace it, inside and out.

And don’t fear the chaos, because it’s part of the eternal breaking/mending cycle.

Two days later, my car is fixed, I’ve scored some major victories in my work, and I’m sitting in my chair now, listening to MJ sing as she bakes while Corben sheds relentlessly all over my feet and my unwashed hardwood floors. And I’m pretty content, actually.

Mental Health Advice: Not for the rookies.

FIVE WAYS TO TAKE YOUR MENTAL HEALTH TO THE NEXT LEVEL

It's Mental Health Awareness Week. You're likely going to see lots of posts talking about things you can do to take care of yourself, and for those of you who were already practicing a lot of this stuff, these advice articles will feel redundant or much too basic. Let me give some suggestions for the 'advanced' class out there. Here are some things you can do, after you've done the usual bubble bath and annual physical, that may really make a positive impact on your mental health.

1. START A NEW RELATIONSHIP WITH A NEW COUNSELLOR.
Haven't seen a counsellor in a while? Or maybe you've been seeing the same one for a long time, and you find yourself wondering what else is out there? Go find out. Having a counsellor is a type of relationship, and sometimes relationships finish serving their purpose. You've grown, after all; your boyfriend from grade nine wouldn't suit you when you're thirty and likewise, your needs may no longer be met by your original counsellor. Go ahead, take a leap, and try someone new. The best part about counsellors: no messy break-up, just a quick cancellation and you're done. You can just keep moving on to new ones 'til you find one that fits your needs.

2. QUIT YOUR JOB.
Yes, I know; jobs are hard to find and you may be looking at a pay cut here. This isn't something to treat lightly, but likewise, neither is your mental health. I've had loved ones take pay cuts to preserve their wellbeing and none of them have regretted it. That being said, maybe a job change for some of you would actually mean a pay increase; maybe it's time to put your name in for that manager job, or it's finally the right time to start your own business. You could easily move into a job with more responsibilities, risk, or hardship, yet still feel better at the end of each day. It's so important to remember, either way, that your job doesn't define you--but it does occupy a huge amount of your time on earth. Go bigger, or go smaller, but don't stagnate in a job that's ruining your mental health. Take a leap.

3. START SUBTRACTING.
Get rid of shtuff. If you look around your home, chances are there's at least a half-dozen things that you've got on display that are strictly obligation objects: things that were given to you on some occasion that you don't really love. Put them in a box and post them for free on the internet. Now go through your closet and do the same for every piece of clothing that doesn't make you feel like a rock star. Now, junk any jewellery given to you by exes who you don't really like. I'm also adding: there may be people you need to get rid of, too. That's ok, and that can be equally as cathartic.


4. REALIZE THAT YOU DESERVE GOOD THINGS.
This should be a beginner's step, but it's harder than it sounds: you must learn to accept the fact that you deserve good things. Chant it to yourself throughout the day. It is your new mantra. "I deserve good things." Use your mantra as a shield against people trying to dole out crap to you. Use your mantra as a shining star to guide your relationship choices. Use it as your backbone when you need to confront a boss or coworker on jerky behaviour.

5. GO TO BED AND GET OUT OF BED.
There's a particular method to this, and it's meant for those of you who may be going through a rough, stressful, or otherwise difficult time:

a. Go to bed when you don't want to.
Stress will keep you up; likewise being over-booked for things that may even seem to be good for you. The next time you go to sign up for that late-evening spin class, or are trying to finish reading that last textbook chapter, stop yourself and go to bed. You need not just down time, but 'flatline' time, too. Hell, it could be something you do midday: instead of vacuuming while you eat lunch standing up, go lie down on the couch with a blanket, eat your sammie, then close your eyes for twenty minutes.

b. Get out of bed when you don't want to.
When things are really sucking, there will come points where you can practically hear the couch or the bed calling to you. It'd be so much easier, they whisper, just to sleep all afternoon than to deal with that family problem/personal problem/general malaise/frustrating thing. I have had so many of my great successes at times where, five minutes earlier, I had almost given in to the siren call of my pillow. Push yourself just a little bit, to put that depression/sadness/stress behind you, and try for just five minutes more. You may be really surprised by what happens when you do.


I wish you all a wonderful Mental Health Awareness Week. Be kind to one another, and for the love of heaven, be kind to yourself.

Random Update: My Week In Snippets

I have been really busy this week, because I launched my own business (yep, I grab life by the balls, people), and I've been doing miserable things like getting cavities filled (though most of my time was spent sitting and waiting for the freezing to work while my hygienist and I discussed online dating forums), and in the middle I've been trying to actually get out of the house a little. So I haven't had time to formulate some big clever post this week, nor have I had time to post some awesome recipes and DIY stuff I've been doing. It'll come, don't worry. In the meantime, here's a very short summary of what has been happening.

LAUNCHING MY BUSINESS: 

I took a big leap and started my own marketing firm. I was already working freelance, but I wanted to take things to the next level and really brand it. It's freakin' scary, but I love what I do and I prefer to do it on my own terms. This way I never end up marketing Nesquik or Axe body spray or anything else that makes me feel dirty. I celebrated the launch of my business by promptly losing my day planner, which is still MIA as it flew off the roof of my car. I spent the next two days curled up in a ball while I tried to remember all my appointments and notes. I recommend you, too, reach for the stars and go for that dream career that you've always wanted, no matter how scared you are...but I recommend you find a different way to mark the occasion.

MJ MOVED IN:
My best friend MJ moved in with me a couple months ago. I didn't really mention that yet, because I wasn't sure what to say other than, "YAYYYYYYY". Not every pair of friends should live together, but MJ and I have a history and lived together for four years previously, so now, in our 11th year of knowing each other, we felt pretty confident in our decision to be roomies. I don't know exactly how she's feeling about it, but I can tell you that *I* am thrilled. For one thing, I feel less likely to develop a brain tumor from holding the phone to my head for 2+ hours a day while talking to her. Also, we can do little chats throughout the day rather than one long one...it's like Stadtler and Waldorf shorts on The Muppet Show, in their balcony, laughing at their own jokes. But today especially felt like a day where I could say, "Yeah, I'm living with the right person," because she left me this note in the morning:

Only a best friend would know exactly how to make me laugh first thing in the morning like that.

CORBEN TAKES THE TRAIN, AND A BUS: 

Corben's training continues and is getting more interesting as his age/brain increases. Last week we took him on a steam train at the museum to teach him about trains. Not, like, to teach him about trains, because I'm telling you, this dog has no interest in book learning, despite my repeated attempts to make him watch shark documentaries with me. Anyway, he had to learn how to cope with train travel and this was a great way to do it. Despite hundreds of screaming children and a wasp that flew in the train car, he handled it like a pro. So the next step is a public bus, and we went through the rigmarole of getting him recognized by the bus service, and now--no joke--Corben has his own photo ID for the bus. Yes, I'm in it, but I think I'm pretty much just there to hold him up to the camera.

ONLINE DATING SUCKS, MOSTLY:
I've been doing the online dating thing for a few months now. I started out, not to actually talk to anyone, but because I'm an A-type organization freak. So while I was lying there in bed one day, pitying myself because I was pretty sure I'm never going to find someone I want to date again, I decided to see if that was empirically accurate. Dating sites allow you to screen people based on their gender, age, financial bracket, education level, desire for children, etc etc etc. So as cold-hearted-Vulcan as it makes me sound, I went on and selected all my best case scenario choices for a mate, I found that yes, there are still some eligible mates in the world. The rest of the screening is left up to the individual, of course. If you're considering trying it out, may I suggest the following additional screening methods:

1. If they message you with, "Hey Baby/Cutie/Sexy", don't bother messaging them back.
2. If they have pictures of themselves shirtless, when not on a beach, don't bother messaging them back.
3. If they don't have a picture of their face, and you're not interested in participating in a round of infidelity, don't message them back.
4. If they fail to use punctuation or spell check, don't bother messaging them back. Unless you're one of those people, too. In that case, I'm glad you found each other.

I may do a longer post on this topic at some point.

WISDOM FOR THE WEEK:
In dating, business, or life in general: if you are unsure if you're good enough, smart enough, or cool enough, just fake it 'til you make it. You'll get there. Here, a song for us self-effacing fake-it-til-we-make-its:

Sharing Through Writing: Write What Matters

TO WRITE OR NOT TO WRITE?

Credit: Morguefile

I had a friend (and fellow blogger) recently ask me about writing posts that share personal matters—not the kind where I discuss my menstrual cycle, but the kind where friends or family might be involved. He’s got a potentially emotional story brewing, and I really wanted to think of the right words to encourage him; to reassure him that whatever mild discomfort his family may experience from his story would be far outweighed by the profound affect it would have on his readers.

But I couldn’t say it, because I haven’t followed that philosophy myself.

I have a confession to share with my readers: I’m a liar. Well, if omission is lying. If so, then I’ve definitely sinned.

LEAVING THINGS OUT

In my first blog, which was all about my wedding, I left out many stories about the hellish family feuds that erupted, the troubles with absentee wedding planners, the problems that my fiancé and I were having interpersonally. Likewise with my second blog which spanned the length of my marriage, and the start of a chronic illness which, to this day, I’ve only ever alluded to in my writing. Upon reflection, I think it was personally detrimental to my own processing of these events to keep things so bottled up. When I started Girl, Crafted, I swore that would change. But there were roadblocks.

 

credit: Morguefile

First off, I have chosen to write under my real name. This means that many people who read my blog actually know me and the people in my life. Even with pseudonyms, which I use all the time, those closest to us can likely put the puzzle pieces together.

Secondly, I have a fear of trolls—and that’s reasonable. There are people to this day who enjoy talking about my divorce on certain troll message boards, as if they think I don’t know they’re out there. While I understand and accept that even my tiny sliver of fame naturally comes with gossip and anti-fans, it’s hard on the nerves. Trolls can be exceptionally good at saying the exact things that our own inner critics often whisper to us in our heads.

THE REAL ME

The result, unfortunately, is this: I have people in my life who think, because I don’t blog about my deepest failures, pains, or slights, that they do not exist. Or worse yet, that I’m ignorant of them; that I’m heartless. I also fear that by sharing so little, I paint a rosy picture instead of my very real, and very relatable, human experience.

My recent breakup is a great example. Yes, I wrote a post about it. In an effort to avoid any backlash for my ex, and to avoid anyone feeling like sides needed to be taken, I didn’t blog about my own experiences—not the soul-crushing ones that led to the dissolution of the relationship, and not the anger and pain that came after. In fact, so aware was I that many of the people I talk to every day are readers, I didn’t share these things even in person. I can count on one hand the number of people who know even half of struggles. The result is that I was often labelled as callous or unfeeling; this was exacerbated by the fact that the other side of the story was broadcast loud for all to hear. Which leads to an interesting question: why is it so much worse for a writer to share their true story than it is for an individual who has a large (but face-to-face) audience? Why do we writers of the modern era fear to hit ‘publish’ on that blog post?

I want to set the record straight. My spring breakup was not easy on me. The decision to end things was painful and spanned many months. I sought counselling; I tried wildly diverse tactics and techniques to mitigate the issues we were facing. I had to come to terms with the impending loss of two kids whom I’d come to think of as my proteges. And knowing that I would be too afraid to share any of this, I had to come to terms with the fact that my true grief would never be heard beyond a very small audience—not even my household. In fact, only two people know the story.

credit: Morguefile

BREAKING THE SILENCE

It can be very isolating, writing for the public. But this weekend, for the first time, I wrote a Facebook status that shared a little bit about my breakup pain; while I was terrified to do it, the responses I got were overwhelmingly affectionate.

One in particular, though, changed my entire thinking on my practice of hiding my worse struggles. A dear old friend reach out to me…one who has been a guiding light for me in rough times. She messaged me privately to let me know that she takes strength and courage from my writing—the few stories I do share of my real-life struggles. Instead of seeing me as weak or stupid, she reads these stories and sees my perseverance as a reminder to be strong in her own journey. When I am honest and open with my readers, it turns out I give them so much more than when I slave over DIY instructions and recipe photos. And unlike the unfiltered venting that may happen in a face-to-face wallowing session, we writers tend to word things in a reflective, thoughtful manner that is healthier both for us and for the listener.

So I’m telling you all right now: I was not okay before, during, or for a long time after my breakup. If you are, or have, experienced one of your own, please don’t think for a second that you’re less awesome because you didn’t just jump right back into trying new recipes and painting new antiques, as I seem to have done. I bought a giant stuffed pony and a body pillow because my bed felt empty. A giant stuffed pony at age 32. You are not alone if you are grieving and suffering, even if your circumstances demand that you, too, keep your pain (from whatever kind of loss) hidden. I see you just as you are, and you’re still wonderful.

Even this post will be picked up by the trolls message boards, and there will be those (even friends of mine) who may see this post as self-indulgent or unfair to the people I’ve briefly mentioned here. They’re wrong. When writers share their struggles, even those that involve the people around us in some less-than-discreet way, we are doing something selfless: we are giving of our own journey to support the journeys of others.

So, to my fellow writer, I say please write your post. Hiding your story benefits no one, and beautiful things can happen when we share.

How Not To Talk To A Service Dog Team

Some of you diehard readers know that I am in the middle ofthe lengthy yet rewarding process of training my own service dog. Corben is a bit of a social media celebrity—or at least I think so, as I post pictures of him regularly. He is 11 months old now, and acing his training. He’s with me most of the time now, and he’s helping me a lot with my daily life. And he’s ridiculously cute, so he’s kind of like a visual form of Prozac. Win-win, right?

Well, most of the time.

I’ve discovered that when you appear able-bodied and have a service dog with you, you’re going to experience a lot of bizarre behaviour from strangers. I think we can use these examples as a ‘How not to talk to a service dog team’ sort of list. Here it goes.

HOW NOT TO TALK TO A SERVICE DOG TEAM

1. DON’T HOLD THEM UP.

Yes, I have a service dog. Yes, he’s interesting. No, I don’t always have time to talk to you about him. Last week Corben and I got onto an elevator that a man had just vacated. As the door was closing, I saw this man turn on his heel and shove his hand into the door to keep it open. As the emergency system kicked in and the door slid open, he stared at us and said, “Is that a service dog?” Yes, I said. “Well…can you explain that to me?” I’m late, I said. “Oh. Oh! Okay…” said the man, and finally let the door shut. Yes, this really happened. Yes, I’m unimpressed.

2. DON’T ASK WHAT’S WRONG WITH THE HANDLER.

Don't get me wrong, I love talking about dogs and my dog in particular. But if I had a dollar for every time someone asked me, “He’s your dog? What’s he for?” I’d have enough money to never worry about the cost of Corben’s training ever again. The problem with this question is that you are basically asking me, a stranger, to tell you what my disability is. Sometimes I even get this question from acquaintances or friends I don’t see often. Most frequently, I’m asked this in a crowded room with lots of eager ears around. No, I don’t want to explain to anyone what’s wrong with me.

 

He doesn't actually do housework.

3. DON’T KEEP ASKING WHAT’S WRONG WITH THE HANDLER.

Okay, we all slip up sometimes. It’s possible not to realize that a) you’re asking someone to divulge their personal health challenge, and b) that that’s incredibly rude. But if the conversation goes like this:

STRANGER: What’s the dog for?

ME: Service.

STRANGER: What kind of service?

ME: Medical alert.

STRANGER: What’s that mean?

ME: It means he helps me by alerting me.

STRANGER: Okayyyy, but what’s the problem with you that he’s watching for?

…you’ve pushed too far. “Medical alert” means, “I have a medical problem.” Look at it this way: if I came up to you on the street, stood in front of you, and said, “I have a medical problem.”—without Corben beside me, just for no good reason, wouldn’t you think I was being socially awkward? Wouldn’t that seem like an over-share? The presence of a service dog does not mean you should feel all rules of polite conduct are moot.

3. DON’T ASSUME THE ABLE-BODIED HANDLER IS A TRAINER.

It’s easy for me to hide sometimes behind the assumption that I’m just a dog trainer. Honestly, many of us with service dogs do let this assumption ride in some awkward situations. But in some ways, it diminishes what Corben and I are to each other. It also daily reminds me that I look healthy, so the fact that I’m daily struggling with a serious medical problem is invisible and therefor, not acknowledged. Anyone who’ suffered through a non-visible health problem can relate to this. It’s like visiting your aunt and having her repeatedly offer you ice cream even though she knows you’re lactose intolerant but just never remembers. In a way, the refusal of people to consider I may have a disability makes me feel even more invisible.

4. DON’T PET THE DAMNED DOG. 

No, you can’t pet him. See how small his brain cavity is? The smartest dogs in the world have only the reasoning capacity of a 12 year-old. If I came to your 12 year-old’s math class and started petting her while she was doing an exam, don’t you think she’d make more mistakes than usual? Every time we’re out together, Corben is performing his own version of a math exam. Every time you try to pet him, you mess up his concentration. Yes, it’s cute when he breaks stride and wriggles to be patted. No, you’re not giving him a pleasant break in his day. You are essentially giving pixie sticks to that aforementioned 12 year-old and then leaving me to get him focused back on his math test.

5. DON’T POINT HIM OUT TO YOUR TODDLERS.

If you petting him is like a pixie stick, a toddler barking at my dog—yes, they bark at him—is you giving Corben a litre of Red Bull. All concentration is lost, and any work I need him doing isn’t going to happen. I don’t run up and pet your toddlers; please keep your kids off of my toddler.

6. DON’T FORGET TO EDUCATE YOUR STAFF.

Ottawa is pretty good about not giving us a hard time. However, I went out for dinner with a friend a couple weeks ago, and a young waiter informed us that dogs weren’t allowed in the restaurant. After I pointed out his vest and told him we had our papers in my bag, he put his hands on his hips, cocked his head and said, “Yeah right. What’s wrong with you that you need a dog?” I don’t have to explain this and I’m not going to. Shop owners, be sure that even your youngest staff understand that it’s a human rights violation to kick me out of a store for having a dog, and it’s also wrong to demand to know what my health problem is.

7. DON’T EVER ASSUME WE’RE FAKING IT.

At Ottawa Comiccon this year, I managed to attend 2 out of 3 days. This is in huge crowds with poor air circulation and a lot of noise. I was able to do this because I had Corben. At one point while I was looking at a vendor table, my friend heard a man mutter something about, “strapping a vest on his dog, too, just to bring him to the con”. MJ rocks, so she turned to him and said, “Yeah, maybe that would be fun, except this is a real service dog.” You’ll occasionally hear horror stories of people faking service dogs, but I haven’t seen it happen around here, and when you look at Corben’s behaviour, you’d have to be an idiot not to see just how heavily trained he is.

8. DON’T CALL IT A PRIVILEGE.

After I answer all the questions people throw at me about my dog, their curiosity sated, I will often get a comment like, “Well how nice for you that you get to take your dog everywhere! Well I sure wish I could take my dog with me everywhere!” Listen to what you’re saying, people. You’re telling me I’m privileged because I have a disability where my best tool for normal daily living is having to raise, train, and cart a dog around with me everywhere I go. Yes, he’s cute and fuzzy. No, in many ways he does not make life easier. When I leave the house, I have to be aware of all his needs plus my own. I have to look for ways to traverse a mall without the use of an escalator. I have to choose seating in restaurants based on where my dog’s fat butt won’t get tripped on. I have to get special dispensation to take him on a plane. But yes, he is lovely and he does make my days a hundred times better. So I think it’s bogus to suggest that having a service dog is a lucky privilege; I think it’s more of a karmic balancing. I have to live with this shitty disability for the rest of my life, but the trade-off is that I get to have a sweet-faced companion come along with me.

9. DON’T ASSUME THE DOG IS A SIGN OF WEAKNESS.

I had a job interview this spring. I got to the second round before I mentioned Corben, who I’d purposely left at home for the first round. When I mentioned him, the interviewer started asking if I was really sure I could do the job, if (and I paraphrase here) I was so effed up that I needed a service dog. I pointed to my resume and said, “Everything you see on here that you like, I did with my disability present. The dog doesn’t make me less capable. He makes me more capable. I accomplished much of these things without him; imagine how much more I’ll do now that he’s with me.” She didn’t bite. She couldn’t shake her bias. The reality is, having a service dog means that people are daily reminded of my otherwise invisible disability. But instead of looking at Corben as a reminder of how I’m broken, try looking at him as a reminder of how I’ve soldered myself back together. He’s not a weakness; he’s a weapon against failure.

10. DON’T OVERTHINK IT.

It’s a dog, folks. You see dozens everyday walking around your neighbourhood. I don’t get what all the fuss is about. When you put all the attention on my dog, you make me feel like all the qualities I possess as a person are secondary…that my companion is all that defines me. Just relax and ignore him. It’s what he wants, anyway. Stop staring at the dog and get back to making eye contact with me. I’m here and better than ever.  

Back in the day. I can't believe he's grown up so much.

Just Let Go.

Do you think it's possible to hit a point where so many things are happening, fluctuating, changing in your world that you just hit your max capacity and suddenly no longer care about anything? Please tell me you believe this is possible, because otherwise something is really wrong with me.

An inspector came by today and told me that he has concerns about the contractors my condo group has hired to do repair work to my foundation. I made a 'hmmmm' sound, weighed the situation, realized I would never convince the condo group to find someone new, and just...let it go. If the guy fracks it up, they'll have to hire someone else. What am I going to do, run around out back and question them on the depth of their digging or the strength of their cement? I literally have no idea what I could do, other than demand another contractor and potentially just have the exact same issue. So I let it go.

Tonight Corben meets the chief assessor for his service dog training. Corben is going through a stage where he thinks every dog around him is a plaything. This means he is likely going to try to wrestle with the assessor's own service dog. I warned him, and then I just stopped worrying about it. He's a nine month old puppy that's only about half-way through his training. The assessor knows this. What can I possibly do, short of drugging my dog or spraying the assessor's dog with vinegar (Corben's most hated thing on earth)? So I let it go.

Today Alan comes back to the house to get the last of his stuff. My house is in chaos because of this. I thought about running around and trying to spot-clean the place in between the boxes, knowing full well that anything I clean up right now will get dirtied again by the moving process. What magical powers am I supposed to have where having half the house's contents moved out was going to happen without the house looking like a bomb went off? So I let it go.

Instead I am sitting in the organized chaos of my dining room-turned-office and working quietly while listening to 80s rock music. I figure, between my dog chasing the cat, my foundation being dug up around me, and my home stuffed with boxes, I probably look like that quartet in Titanic that just kept playing til the ship sank.

But I've learned over the last couple years that sometimes my most helpful motto is, Let Go and Let Goddess. Take your hands off the wheel, people. Smile and stand back from the chaos. Watch it unfold. And wait...wait til the right moment presents itself for your intervention. You'll know it when you see it. Until then, get a cup of tea, do some yoga, and turn on the 80s rock. It's permissible to be overwhelmed and to admit some things are outside your control. Let go.

Back to work for me. I'll tell you how it all comes together. Because it will. It always does.

Blog Out Loud 2014: Wrap Up and Thank You

Last night I was one of the bloggers selected to read at Blog Out Loud Ottawa 2014, which was part of the Ottawa Writer's Festival this year. I didn't know before getting there that I was one of a handful selected out of about 60 applicants. I can tell you, that raised the stress level a bit...but was obviously a huge honor.

That's me!

I wanted to write a quick post and say thank you so much to Lynn, who organizes this event every year. This is my second time being selected, and it is such a unique and special opportunity as a blogger, to witness an audience hearing your writing. Blogging can be crazy-making, because you hear back from so few of the readers, and you have absolutely no way of knowing what they thought. It's not like books, where I can measure the enjoyment of my readers by the number of copies sold. So to have that time where a room of a hundred people laughs at all the right spots, and sighs at all the right spots...it's a kind of a magic.

To those that stayed to talk to me, thank you so incredibly much for doing so. The post the jury selected for me to read was The Four Horsemen of the Mental Health Apocalypse. It's a very personal post, and a very dark one--though written with my usual irreverence, of course. I was nervous to share it like that, and as we got closer to the date I was less certain it would resonate with people in the flesh; but apparently it did, because you were so generous and effusive with your praise.

Thank you for coming up to talk to me, and sharing some of your stories about mental health. For the aspiring blogger I met, who told me, "You said everything I wish I could say about depression": thank you. For all the others, thank you too. I came to share a gift of a story with you, and instead I feel like I left with far more in return than I can ever express.

Corben had a bowtie.

Corben thanks you all, as well. He handled the echoes, the chamber music, and the rounds of applause like a champ. Attached to that is a special thank you to Lynn from Dogs In Harmony who has helped my 8 month old furball become a polite young man.

And a deep, heartfelt thank you to my friends who came out. Though I was far across the room standing alone on that stage, it was directly to you guys that I was reading.

And lastly, a thank you to the combat veterans who inspired the Four Horsemen post. In learning about service animals and working with Corben, I have had the distinct honor of getting to meet some of you, and seeing you at your most courageous--not when you're fighting battles with guns against enemies, but when you're fighting battles with nothing but your strength, against inner demons. It was for you that I wrote the post.

Alright, that's enough mushy stuff. As you were.

An Open Letter for Your Broken Down Bad Day

I wrote this for a friend who really needed to hear it this week. I hope it helps more than just the one person.

An Open Letter To Anyone Having a Really Bad Day:

Dear You,

Jordan Danger

I get it. Today isn't going well at all, is it? In fact, today seems to be the natural and inevitable conflagration of all the individual things that have been going wrong for weeks, am I right? You feel like death. You look like death. Your soul is whimpering from the darkest corner of your heart, hiding in the shadows with its knees tucked up against its chest. And still, the hits just keep on coming.

Well I'm hear to tell you a couple of things. Number one: these days will come. No matter what you do to prepare this kind of day will come and come again. You can spend a lot of energy trying to avoid these days, fighting the fates with herculean efforts or numbing out on wine and reality TV, but they will still come. There's no such thing as avoiding bad days.

Jordan Danger

Which leads us to number two: these days will suck. Trying to convince yourself that you can turn these days around is foolish. I'm not talking about your average rough day: I'm talking about the really bad days, the days when the big black wolf is howling, not at the door, but right inside your house. Most of the other bad days can be lightened, but the Black Wolf Days are just...going...to suck. This does not have to be a depressing thought, though. This can be a freeing realization. Everything is going to hurt today, and the sooner you give yourself permission to accept that, the more energy you'll get to save up for when the healing begins. Denial wastes a lot of energy, as does fighting an insurmountable obstacle.

And that's the crux of number three: you need to know that you're strong enough. When everything is falling apart and you feel like you're going to break, do one more thing: take a deep breath. Not because it's cleansing or calming or nourishing (which it is), but because it makes you pause for a heartbeat. We become so attached to the external stimuli around us that we forget we will continue to exist no matter what happens to those stimuli. Your house could literally be hit by a falling airplane right in front of you, and you would still be entitled to take a moment to breathe; and if you did so, you would see that you continue to exist regardless of the crisis. You are stronger than you know. Let go.

Jordan Danger

Which brings us to four: offer yourself some forgiveness. So many things about being a human feels urgent, but in reality there's no way that a sink full of dirty dishes is anywhere near the same emergency as a polar bear chasing you down an iceberg. Indeed, likely somewhere in the world right now are two separate humans facing these two separate dilemmas. It is animal nature to view every negative stimuli as something that must be dealt with; it is part of the human nature to know the power of rational thought. If today is a day where your very insides are crumbling down around you, ask yourself for forgiveness for all the balls you're going to drop. Whether you like it or not, they'll still be there tomorrow for you to pick up.

You will have days that hurt. It will happen. They will suck. You are strong and have the miraculous capacity for forgiveness. Use these attributes.

And know that I know what you're feeling. Others do, too. You're going to bounce back. Give it time.

You still have value. That's probably the hardest part to believe right now, but you do. Repeat that to yourself even if you can't believe it yet. You still have value.

Love,

Jordan