Wife, mom of 3 beautiful children, dog lover, creative sole and children's book Author. Sharing my journey with depression and anxiety through blogging in hopes of educating and ending the stigma.
Pool days spent with family and friends is something I truly love. I think I may have been a fish in my past life. I can spend hours in a pool, IF the temperature is just right. But behind the sunshine, the laughter and the connection I feel when I’m with my loved ones poolside on a warm summer’s day, there is a quiet struggle I carry with me.
I’ve battled body and self-image issues my entire adult life, something I’ve shared quite openly many times before. An eating disorder that began when I was 18 years old and has reared its ugly head in many other forms ever since.
A few months ago, followed by a biopsy, I was finally formally diagnosed with Neurofibromatosis after a lifetime of living with a nameless disorder. Over time, this condition has only added another whole layer to my body-conscious challenges I already deal with on a daily basis as the tumours become more and more visible with each passing day, the older I get.
I regularly notice the changes. It’s hard not to be self-conscious. I feel like everyone is always staring at me. It makes it really difficult to enjoy the warmer weather when my skin is most exposed. I find myself trying to shrink out of sight often.
But, still, I am learning to show up anyway. To not let the shame define me. There is no argument that my body, and mind have both been through hell and back over the last decade, but I am trying to be more gentle with myself by making space for the joy, even when it’s hard.
“Confidence isn’t about perfection. It’s about power.” ~ unknown, and it’s about embracing your story, your scars, and your strength by showing up despite your perfectly imperfect imperfections.
Today, I am honouring the strength and resilience of those living with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder on this, “National PTSD Awareness Day.”
PTSD is a mental illness, one of many that are often misunderstood. Many people who suffer from PTSD suffer behind a brave face, in silence, and too afraid to speak up due to the stigma attached.
I am here to tell you that no matter its cause, whether from being witness to or experiencing a traumatic event yourself, its impact is oh so real.
Trauma does not discriminate, and neither does PTSD. Nor should it ever be seen as a weakness.
Today and every day, PTSD deserves understanding, empathy, compassion, kindness, and a listening ear; without judgment.
Let today be a reminder to anyone suffering with PTSD that you are seen, that you are not alone, that it’s okay to not be okay, that you are enough, and that your story and healing journey matter.
If you or anyone you know is struggling, please reach out for support. Help is always available.
In Canada and the US, please call 9-8-8.
Feel free to share my post to bring as much awareness as we can today, and together, let’s end the stigma.
Seeing ABBAMANIA at the summer “Concerts in the Park” is my favourite summertime ritual. There’s just something about ABBA’s music that hits a chord deep inside me like nothing else can (I’ve seen the musical Mamma Mia 8x).
I truly can’t explain it. Their music just gets me – every time.
Yup, my emotions were in overdrive tonight.
Mamma mia, here I go again My, my, how can I resist you? Mamma mia, does it show again? My, my, just how much I’ve missed you?
Yesterday was my birthday. I was truly thankful to everyone who reached out to wish me a happy birthday. It always makes the day feel just a little bit lighter.
Birthdays are supposed to feel joyful and celebratory. The truth is, though, for the past 11 consecutive birthdays, living with depression, I have quietly carried a heavy guilt on my shoulders. It silently screams at me, “You should feel grateful,” when, inside, I’m actually feeling overwhelmed and sad.
With depression and anxiety always nearby, it can be super draining. This year, I felt a particular heaviness in my heart on the day of my birthday and even on the days leading up to it. Over time, though, I have learned to celebrate in ways that feel more manageable for me. Birthdays don’t always need to be big and loud to feel joyful and meaningful.
My survival is its own kind of celebration. I can hold space for my sadness and overwhelm and still honour my day in my own way, at my own pace.
Last night was just that, and just enough. A birthday dinner with Rich and our 3 kids.The people who matter most to me. We shared a meal, stories, and laughter and made memories together. Being present, catching up, and in the moment.
I finally made it to the Nova Festival exhibition today, on its very last day.
I wanted to go sooner, but the truth is, my anxiety kept holding me back. It does that often, even for things that are important to me. Thankfully, though, the regret of not going became a far greater force, which allowed me to push through, and I’m so glad I did. So, too, was Rich.
I’m still processing the weight of today, in the most raw and powerful and healing way.
What I witnessed today will stay with me forever. The pain and unbearable loss of so many innocent lives stolen. The music that was silenced. The joy that was taken in an instant. The sheer disregard for human life. The terror. It is pure evil.
What I witnessed today as well as we walked through the exhibit, reading every story, seeing every photograph and memory of those who didn’t survive, seeing every item on display from the festival, watching every video recorded in real time, and hearing every voice of those who survived that tragic day was a tribute to humanity, resilience, strength, courage, community, a place of shared values, and a light in the darkness – giving hope that we will dance again.
We also got to hear another live testimonial, too by one of the many remarkable festival survivors. Her story was both heartbreaking and inspiring. I was mesmerized by her bravery, her strength, and her beauty. Getting to meet her afterward and giving her a big hug was such an honour.
This exhibit was “a sacred space of grief, remembrance, and strength.” As heart-wrenching as it was, the truth must be told. The denial must be stopped. We owe it to the victims, to the survivors, and to our future as Jews to continue sharing their stories around the world.
This afternoon, we were to attend Rachel’s university graduation ceremony. When she completed her final presentation back in April, earning her a well-deserved degree in interior design, this very proud mama couldn’t contain her excitement and immediately chose to share her amazing achievement with a blog.
Around the same time, Rachel let us know the date of her graduation ceremony, which I quickly marked off on my calendar. I couldn’t wait to see my baby all dressed in her cap and gown, walking across the stage to collect her diploma. A moment in time that was sadly stolen from us back in 2020 when her high-school graduation was canceled due to Covid.
Graduations are meant to be a celebration of hard work and accomplishments, so when Rachel told us a few weeks ago that she was not planning to attend her ceremony, it crushed me. Only in recent days did she share with us her actual truth as to why she made the decision not to go. I understood and admired her strength for standing by her values. Admittedly, though, I was still crushed, but by now, it was on a much deeper level.
Since October 7, 2023, antisemitism has dramatically surged around the world, with several university campuses in Toronto playing a key role in it. One of them being the university she attended.
During the last year or so, Rachel had expressed her feelings to us about being uncomfortable when on campus, sometimes concerned for her safety and needing to hide her religious expression. It is a cruel reality that speaks to so many of us.
Regardless of whether or not Rachel chose to walk across that stage today to receive her diploma, they can never take away what is rightfully hers. Every project completed, every challenge she pushed through, including spending her first 2 years online, no one can take that away. She earned it.
Your feelings are your own, and you have every right to feel them, especially if something doesn’t sit well in your heart. As your mom, I am truly proud of your courage and resilience and for recognizing that, in good conscience, you could not stand quietly in a place where antisemitism is tolerated or how you felt you could not be celebrated “in a space that made you feel erased”. You were blessed, though, to have had the support and mentorship of a fellow Jew as one of your professors. Someone who shared in the hurt helped at times to ease the hurt.
No matter the situation, I am crushed that this moment was taken away from you (and me too!)…again, but I admire you for always standing your ground. I am also grieving for you today for what else has been taken away for a second time as well. First it was a once in a lifetime high school graduation trip that got canceled last minute due to Covid and now, an upcoming trip to Israel next month where you and a friend were to spend time volunteering. But I can promise you one thing. You will get back to Israel again, and when you do, She will be there, waiting for you, stronger than ever.
It was forty years ago this month that I graduated elementary school (grade 8), and the last time I strolled the halls of the place that shaped so much of my childhood.
I was born in Montreal but moved to Toronto (Thornhill) in 1979, a week before the start of third grade. I was a shy, scared 8 year old little girl in a strange city, who knew no one. It didn’t take me long, though, to settle into my new school, in a strange city, knowing no one. And for more than 40 years now, those halls have held a very special place in my heart.
Last night, as I entered those same corridors again after 40 years, alongside a very dear “old” friend to attend its 50th anniversary celebration, I wasn’t prepared for how much emotion would rise to the surface.
I was quickly drawn back, even if I was way outside my comfort zone. Drawn back to a rush of memories. Fun memories. Happy memories. Faded memories. Memories of friendship (some whom I’m still good friends with today), mentors, first kisses, slow dances, public speaking contests, track & field events, school trips, assemblies, puberty, fears, simplicity, curiosity, birthday parties, sleepovers, creative sparks, triumphs, sticker collections traded at recess, playground politics, schoolgirl giggles, and the innocence of childhood.
Seeing so many familiar faces (none of whom have aged one bit!) was like recognizing old parts of myself, parts of myself I have great affection for, but I also couldn’t help shake a feeling of sadness for missing the girl I once was.
Together, we wandered, in awe, through the unrecognizable corridors that have since been repainted many times over, walking along the tiled floors where carpet once lay, picturing ourselves sitting in those tiny desks in classrooms that once had no walls between them, climbing the gym apparatus that no longer exists, and reminiscing about our teachers—some of them I’m sure are long gone by now, but never forgotten. Some for making learning fun, some for their guidance and inspiration, some who made us feel seen, some who challenged us, who believed in us long before we knew how to believe in ourselves and some who were downright scary and mean!!
I could feel the presence of our Principal, Mr. Maunder following behind us down each hallway, calling us out by our last names while jingling the coins in his pant suit pockets. I spoke of my favourite teacher of all time, Mr. Armstrong with great affection, who I was lucky enough to have as my homeroom teacher for both grades 4 & 5. He left an impactful imprint on my heart.
Last night felt surreal. Powerful.
So much life happened for all of us inside that building. We were awkward, innocent kids, full of possibilities and dreams that hadn’t yet taken shape. But looking back now, as an adult, it was clear to me just how small that fraction of our lives truly was compared to the 40 years that have lapsed since. We’ve been through more graduations, marriages, divorces, childrearing, careers, illness, joy, and loss. Each one of us carrying a piece of our childhood with us on our own paths. Our own journeys; with our own messy, beautiful, unpredictable story to tell.
Was that shy, scared 8 year old little girl who entered a new school, in a new city, knowing no one proud of me for everything I’ve survived, or was the confident, thriving young teen who left the school upon graduation full of potential, in awe of how I continue to show up for the world, even on the hardest of days. Both of them were certain they had it all figured out back then.
I’m happy I stepped outside my comfort zone last night to attend my elementary school’s 50th anniversary celebration – reconnecting with old friends and classmates (most of whom, thanks to social media have been following my journey for some time now), taking a stroll down memory lane together in the place that shaped so much of our childhood and most of all, for getting to embrace the part of me who already believed that I was enough decades ago.
Yesterday, I spent the afternoon relaxing on our friend’s boat. Yesterday, my body and mind were craving the quiet, the fresh air, and the wind on my face.
Today, that same body and mind were craving a good hike. Today, they both needed a steady rhythm of movement, being one with nature and feeling the ground beneath my feet.
Both resting and hiking are equally important and healing for my mental and physical health.
Listening to our bodies and minds regularly is critical in maintaining proper self-care and overall well-being.
Staying attuned to the messages they are sending us and responding to them appropriately helps foster emotional regulation and balance. It lets us know when rest is needed, when it’s time to take a break, when it’s time to get moving, and even when extra support is needed.
Listening to our bodies and minds can also help to prevent burnout, chronic stress, anxiety, and illness.
What did you do this weekend to listen to your body and mind? What helps you check in with yourself?
After a really tiring few days, all I wanted to do last night was get some much needed rest. I was exhausted.
Was that too much to ask?
Well, apparently so, because my mind had other plans for me.
The more I tried to relax, the more riddled with anxiety I got. My thoughts quickly spiraled into a deep, dark rabbit hole.
It hit me out of nowhere as I lay in the quiet of my thoughts watching a movie. There was nothing I could do to stop it before the dam broke wide open. A flood of tears followed next. I felt like I was drowning in myself.
Every emotion was shouting at me, each one louder than the next. I couldn’t shut my brain off.
I was overwhelmed by feelings of grief, hate, disgust, shame, failure, loneliness and fear.
Rich comforted me until I calmed ❤️.
Today is “World Caring Day”.
Today I am choosing to take care of me.
Pushing the pause button.
I deserve gentleness.
Being kind to my heart.
Reminding myself that I am enough.
Embracing self-compassion.
One moment at a time.
Today I’m giving myself space to rest.
Breathe.
In the open skies, surrounded by water and dear friends.
“Sometimes the most important thing in a whole day is the rest we take between two deep breaths.” — Etty Hillesum
YouAreEnough 
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