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.
“No more pencils. No more books. No more teachers’ dirty looks!”
Can you believe it’s September already??
For many, September symbolizes new beginnings, a renewed focus, setting fresh intentions, and adjusting to change.
But this September feels different for me.
Tomorrow marks the start of a new school year, here in Ontario, that is, and today, I find myself sitting with a mix of emotions.
This is the first September in nearly 25 years, where none of our kids will be heading off to class. From preschool to post-grad, we’ve lived through over two decades of first-day jitters, anxiety, excitement, new backpacks, endless school supply runs, and jam-packed schedules.
Today feels bittersweet.
There is pride in seeing how far all 3 of my kids have come and joy in watching them flourish as they step full force ahead into building their careers. There is relief in no longer having to navigate assignment deadlines or manage chaotic schedules. There is also a deep sense of nostalgia in my heart today because back-to-school season always seemed to set the tone for the coming year – a fresh beginning filling the air.
Perhaps today is a gentle reminder that with every ending comes the possibility for something new.
As we move into this next chapter, I am carrying gratitude for the memories, pride in the journey, and a curiosity for what lies ahead, not only for my children, but for me, too.
Who knows? Maybe this year, the fresh start belongs to me.
As we step into September, what new beginnings are you embracing?
Yesterday, before heading out on our hike, we stopped for a short visit to a nearby sculpture forest. The property is privately owned by a local artist who not only lives there but also creates her work in a studio attached to her home. She has graciously opened this private oasis to the public—free of charge—inviting visitors to wander along a guided path and discover whimsical sculptures and imaginative art scattered throughout the woods. It felt like a gift she was offering the community: a quiet, creative space to pause, reflect, and be inspired.
Although our day also included a very challenging hike followed by a leisurely walk through Blue Mountain Village afterward, it’s the unique experience at the sculpture forest that has lingered with me. The forest was filled with thought-provoking pieces, each one inviting me to slow down and take notice.
But it was a bench with a hand-painted message on it that stopped me in my tracks. It read:
“The meaning of life is to find your gift. The purpose of life is to give it away.”
I stood there for several minutes, allowing the words to sink in.
I began to think about how they relate to all the gifts I’ve discovered in my own life, many of which have been uncovered through my mental health journey. For me, it’s been advocacy and writing. They’ve given me the courage to speak up, to educate, and to take a stand for what matters deeply to me. They’ve also given me the tools to process my own experiences while building connections with others.
These gifts didn’t happen overnight. They unfolded gradually, shaped by both struggle and opportunity. These gifts have become a part of my becoming.
Over time, through my very long and tiresome journey, I’ve come to understand that true purpose is found when we share our gifts with others. When words resonate with someone else, when a piece of my story helps another person feel less alone, when awareness sparks conversation or even change.
It’s in the giving away that a gift transforms into something greater than ourselves, even if fear, doubt, or rejection whisper otherwise.
And so, as we scratched another grueling 10 km’s of the Bruce Trail off our list again today, I couldn’t help but feel that same sense of purpose. Every hike I complete feels like a gift—each step strengthening both my mental and physical health, each trail offering a chance to reflect, connect, and give something back simply by sharing the journey.
Creativity has always been like a thread woven through the core of my being. It’s often subtle and quiet but always present.
My creativity has helped shape the way I approach challenges in my life and how I see the world around me. It’s pushed me to dream, reach outside the box, and bring new ideas to life.
It’s also helped me find joy in some of the most unexpected places.
One of those unexpected places happens to be at my new job. My new role has given me the opportunity to nurture that thread in very meaningful ways. It’s a space where creativity is both welcomed and encouraged.
It’s a place where I get to contribute to something bigger.
In the short time I have worked here, I am especially proud of one particular project that I recently completed. It is a magazine I created, all 60 pages of it, for the upcoming Jewish New Year, which is being distributed to our congregation. From the moment I started working on the magazine, it quickly became something more than just putting pages together; it was about tradition, discovery, renewal, self-expression, and community. It was about creating something meaningful for others to hold and feel connected to. It was about bringing people together; maybe even leaving a lasting imprint.
Creativity will always continue to shape who I am, and I am grateful for every opportunity that allows me to grow and give back.
How does creativity show up in your life?
Shabbat Shalom 💛 and Happy Labour Day weekend, everyone.
Yesterday afternoon, after our plans with friends fell through, we instinctively shifted gears and slipped into hiking mode.
Before heading out, I found myself staring at my running list of trails, taking distance and time into consideration since it was a bit later start than usual. This list has been my go-to for years now. It’s ever-changing, always evolving. I am constantly adding cool new spots to explore and crossing off others once we’ve completed them.
Something quiet inside nudged me toward one particular trail, and I’m so glad I trusted that pull because what unfolded next was far more meaningful than I could have ever imagined.
A couple of kilometers into our hike, I wandered slightly off the trail for a moment to catch a glimpse of a really beautiful view. The next thing I knew, I was tangled in a spider’s web. With instant regret, I stood there squirming and brushing myself off while Rich laughed and shook his head in disbelief. As I regrouped, he wandered over to a nearby bench where he noticed a dog sitting with its owner. What first caught his eye was how much the dog resembled Maggie (our dog!). What happened next made us both take pause.
When I finally joined him at the bench, Rich was already engaged in conversation with the dog’s owner, Shelly. His name was Niko. The bench itself immediately stood out. You could tell it was new, with a shiny plaque dedicated to someone who had passed away sometime this past year.
Something I may have not shared before, but Rich and I stop at nearly every bench we come across on our #summerofrich adventures, reading their dedications, always curious about their stories, while quietly reflecting on the lives behind the plaques or engravings.
As our conversation deepened, Shelly felt safe enough to share with us that this bench, and the plaque upon it—were in honour of her beloved husband Alejandro, who had died just this past March from a short but courageous battle with pancreatic cancer.
Gently wiping away her tears, she began telling us stories of the amazing man he was, apologizing for getting emotional. I told her never to apologize for feeling her feelings. I felt truly honoured that she trusted us with her grief; just two strangers in the forest. She admitted she rarely opens up to passersby about why she is sitting there.
She went on to explain the meaning behind the words engraved on the plaque. We listened intently. They were lyrics from her husband’s favourite musician, “Passenger”. I hadn’t been familiar with him before, but on our drive home, we listened to some of his music, and I instantly became a fan. His words spoke to me in ways that mirrored my own journey, just as they had spoken to her husband. The plaque’s quote came from a song titled, “The Way That I Love You,” and the line in it, “You’re lovely just the way you are.” was a phrase her husband often said to his wife and their teenage daughters.
By now, I, too, had tears in my eyes, and even though I never met her husband, I felt his presence on that same bench with us.
This spot holds such deep meaning: it’s situated along a trail close to their home, one that Shelly and her husband often walked together, and now, it’s a peaceful place for her and her girls (and Niko) to come, to sit, to reflect, to remember, and to grieve.
It’s very rare that Rich and I return to a trail once we’ve explored it, but I know I’ll return here—maybe just to sit, to reflect, and perhaps even to cry.
What began as disappointment over canceled plans yesterday afternoon (though we did still get to see our friends later that evening) turned into something far more profound. Sometimes, it takes a nudge—or maybe even a spider’s web to guide us to the very people or places we didn’t know we needed.
Before parting ways, after about 20 minutes, I asked Shelly if I could take a picture of her and Niko on their beautiful bench. I told her our chance encounter had touched me deeply, and I wanted the opportunity to share it with others. She added me on Instagram. I hope she reads this and knows how much our meeting meant. I hope I see her again.
I’ve never fully believed that things happen for a reason, but after yesterday, I found myself leaning in that direction. Perhaps we are all gently guided to reminders, like the words on that plaque, whispering to us when we need them most:
This morning, at work, I couldn’t open my Facebook app on my phone. It had all but disappeared. Out of nowhere, I felt a wave of panic and tears come over me.
The panic and tears weren’t about missing any likes or scrolling through my feed. It was the feeling of being cut off from something much deeper than that.
For me, Facebook has become more than just a social media app. It’s a lifeline. It connects me to my blog site, my work page, and most importantly, my advocacy (side note: today just so happens to be my 8 year anniversary since I created my blog site!). It’s where I find community, share stories, open conversations, and connect with people who remind myself (and others) that none of us are alone.
When that little blue icon on my phone refused to open, no matter how hard I kept trying, I realized just how much it has become part of my voice and my purpose. It helps me stay connected, feel seen, and continue the work that matters most to me.
Thankfully, Rich worked his magic when I got home from work and fixed the glitch. But the moment has stayed with me all day. I will never again take for granted the platforms that allow me to share, to advocate, to create community, and to develop connections.
Our lifelines—the people, the places, and practices that keep us grounded and connected are worth cherishing.
For me, another lifeline that keeps me grounded and connected is nature. So this afternoon, Rich and I headed north of the city, not too far from home to a trail that led to a really cool, brand new 4-storey boardwalk.
Nature is a gentle reminder to breathe again.
I am always grateful for my lifelines that help me get through.
Six years ago this week, I fulfilled a dream I never thought possible when I published my children’s book, “Where Did Mommy’s Smile Go?”
What started out as a labour of love for my own children quickly grew into something much bigger and more purposeful by helping other parents, teachers, and caregivers talk to children about a loved one’s depression with care, honesty and hope and has since become a resource that fosters empathy, understanding, and meaningful conversations for many families.
Looking back over the past six years, I’m so grateful for the journey it’s taken me on, and I’m especially grateful for the connections I’ve made, for the conversations that have started, and for the lives that it’s touched.
This once labour of love has really taught me the power of putting your heart into your work.
If my book could bring value to your family, a friend, or your classroom, I’d be grateful to share it with you.
Over the weekend, Rich and I wandered through a gigantic vintage and antique outdoor market. Hiking isn’t our only favourite summertime escape as you’ll often find us exploring other unique hidden treasures like this one, too.
Sometimes, the discoveries are simple, like markets with fresh Ontario-grown produce, handmade crafts and jewelry, the comforting aroma of flowers and scented candles, or delicious homemade treats. Other times, it’s the unexpected finds that make you take a second look. The kind of treasures that hold more meaning than anyone else may realize, which is exactly what happened when I spotted a display of Smurf figurines at the vintage and antique market.
To most people, they might have glanced at the display and thought it was nothing more than a silly blast from their past and kept walking. But to me, they carried the weight of childhood memories. As a child, I had a cherished collection of Smurfs, lots and lots of Smurfs, that I lost years ago in an unfortunate (and truly preventable) mishap during my young adult life. Another story of childhood trauma for another time. But seeing them again brought back a flood of nostalgia, both sweet and bittersweet.
When I noticed Smurfette among them, there was no hesitation. I had to have her. Smurfette reminds me of everything I wish for myself. She combines kindness, empathy, courage, intelligence, and resilience while also serving as a symbol of personal growth and self-empowerment. So, for $2.80, I walked away with far more than a figurine. I walked away with a little piece of my past and a grin from ear to ear 💙.
It’s funny how the smallest discoveries can bring us back to a piece of ourselves that we didn’t even realize were missing. And, honestly, who would ever imagine that the ’80’s are now considered vintage or antique?
Maybe that’s what I loved so much about this market—it reminded me that no matter what, we are never too old to rediscover our value and worth.
To find joy in the unexpected even when we lose pieces of ourselves along the way, life has a way of offering us moments to reclaim them. Sometimes, healing shows up in the most unexpected places.
The kids were together all weekend for alumni weekend at their home-away-from-home, Camp Northland.
It’s the most endearing place on earth to them, and one that will always hold a special piece of their stories. Summers filled with laughter, friendships, adventures, and memories that helped shape who they are today.
Before Shabbat, they sent Rich and me a pic in our PHAM chat. As I opened it, I felt a wave of emotion come over me. In that quiet moment of reflection, in that single snapshot, I saw not only how grown up they’ve become but how beautifully close they are to one another.
As a parent, there’s no greater joy than seeing your children flourish, knowing that the bond they share will carry them wherever life leads.
My heart overflows in ways that words could never capture and I am forever grateful for the countless summers they spent at their home-away-from-home, filled with laughter, adventures, friendships that endure, and memories that guide them long after that last summer ended.
Ever since our anniversary getaway to Tobermory back in May, where we hiked from the northern tip of the Bruce Trail, we’ve been planning a day trip to hike from the southern starting point of the 900 km trail in Niagara Falls, right beside the U.S border, and where the war of 1812 took place!
Today was the day!
I’ve always wished we had kept track of how many kilometers we’ve actually walked by now—but the numbers don’t matter as much as how I feel each time I step onto those trails.
Out there, the trails have become more than just ground under my feet. They’ve become proof that I keep choosing to show up. Proof that I keep fighting. Proof that I can take my power back and proof that I will do the hard stuff, even when life feels heavy. Which it does right now.
It’s become a mirror for my healing. Not in one giant leap, but with each climb, each step, each breath. It’s another chance to rise and reclaim a piece of myself.
It’s empowering. And a gentle reminder that I’m still here.
YouAreEnough 
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