Hi everyone,

Yes, I know I had promised a follow-up to the “Karma is a Horny Coyote” post – I'd planned for it to be pretty epic, tying in the micro-aggressions with the macro-aggressions taking place on the…

Last week, after posting “Karma is a Horny Coyote” on my Facebook page – about the neighbour who was accusing me for months about letting my dog bark to wake him up on a regular basis, and becoming downright abusive when I was able to provide video evidence that it was not my dog that woke him up – another neighbour responded with “My interactions with this neighbour have only been positive and pleasant," and then left the conversation.

And oo-eee, Little Lyssy's nervous system had a wee panic session over that one, because it felt soooooo familiar.  While the neighbour-blaming-me-and-my-dog-for-coyote-calls situation is, of course, vastly different from what Little Lyssy was growing up with, the impact of “he's never been like that with me” comments on those who speak up about bullying or abusive behaviour is especially painful and triggering – and part of what keeps so many people silent about all types of abusive behaviour, which in turn allows it to continue.

And folks, our world is currently chock full o' abusive behaviour, and power-over folks going full DARVO on those calling it out (when they aren't murdering them).  Can we maybe take a few breaths and be a little bit more careful about how we respond to people calling out any sort of abuse, bullying or harassment?  Because… butterflies and windstorms…

The following is the response I made to this neighbour within my Facebook thread, but I was told it was universal enough it should become its own post.  So I'm going to hold up on the follow-up post I had planned (because long-term readers will know that laughter is usually followed by a truth-bomb), and share this first:
 

It's now FIVE days away from Ride for Refuge, in support of the Cedar Centre, which helps children, youth, and adults recover from the impact that interpersonal childhood trauma has had on their lives.  See my previous post for…

Every good fundraising request starts with a good story - here is mine!

Dear Friend,

This fall, I'm taking part in the Ride for Refuge. raising money for a charity that's close to my heart, the Cedar Centre…

***ALL the trigger warnings on this one, people.  ALLLLLLLL the trigger warnings!!!!!***

(seriously, I'm pressing “send” in the fetal position, and I've had several days to edit and process – take extra care of your own nervous system here)

Ah, another trip around the sun (plus a few days – needed to take a while with this one), and here we are at the not-so-annual Birthday Breakdown, as started way back in 2011 (which seems so far away, on so many levels).  A recap of the year, what I learned, and what I hope to learn in the coming year.

So grab a snack and tasty beverage and make sure you've got a comfy seat (and maybe a support team in place), because this year's a doozie, friends.  Filled with grief – for those who've departed, for those I've clung to, for the last (I think?) of my magical thinking, for the sacrifices I made on behalf of that magical thinking, for the happily ever after fantasies that were part of that magical thinking – and Fucking Learning Opportunity™ after Fucking Learning Opportunity™.  (Though I believe I was fully paying attention this time – tune in next year...)

EDITED to put the safety info at the top.

If domestic violence or abuse touches your life in any way, please visit https://www.canada.ca/en/public-health/services/health-promotion/stop-family-violence/services.html for a list of Canada-wide resources.

For Canadian emergency shelters and resources, please visit https://sheltersafe.ca 

Many other…

TW: CSA, child-shaming

Today (Sunday, July 7, 2024), the article finally came out in the Toronto Star that had been disrupting my sleep the last couple of weeks.

Headline:  “In the home of Alice Munro, a dark secret lurked.  Now, her children want the world to know”

Subheader:  “Alice Munro’s husband sexually assaulted her youngest daughter. For nearly five decades, a conspiracy of silence haunted the family, and at times, tore them apart.”

The full article is available at https://www.thestar.com/news/in-the-home-of-alice-munro-a-dark-secret-lurked-now-her-children-want-the/article_69a63202-34cd-11ef-83f4-9b4275c26d84.html

EDIT - I missed the first-person piece Andrea provided to the Star as well – it's at https://www.thestar.com/opinion/contributors/my-stepfather-sexually-abused-me-when-i-was-a-child-my-mother-alice-munro-chose/article_8415ba7c-3ae0-11ef-83f5-2369a808ea37.html 

For those who don't have a subscription, Andrea spoke about her story a while ago in her blog post at https://thegatehouse.org/andrea-to-heal-is-truth-peace/

I hope she and her siblings are finding this truth-telling to be as healing as they wished – it's still a long road ahead, but speaking the truth is a huge first step, and I wish them much love and solidarity.

Open letter to Barrie City Council – #ChooseToChallenge

(or, why some seemingly innocuous things are actually a "big deal" to many)

Dear Councillors,

     Next week, March 8, is International Women’s Day – so Happy one-week-before IWD…

I have a daily creative practice, which includes a 20-minute free-write, inspired by a line (or two) from the "poem of the day" at Poems.com.  The writing isn't meant for public consumption, just to get the juices flowing, before I get started on the "real" stuff.  But today... I kind of like what I came up with, so I'm going to break my own rules and share it (with the caveat that the other rules include no editing, no polishing, so please don't come back at me with fixes, because THAT AIN'T THE POINT).

Today's jump off point was from Two Poems by Julie Bowsma – the first poem began with "Dear ghosts, how can we stop the sunlight spinning the story from our hands?" and ended with "All I know is this:  even before I was born I breathed a loss not my own."  (So you just know I relished it!)

Here's where that took me:

Trauma has tentacles.  Backward and forwards.  Like the stone chip on the windshield, left unattended, as it spider-webs across the flat clarity, until all is unstable.  Until the soft bounce of a feather sends it into oblivion.

Am I the feather?  I was afraid I was, for the longest time.  Now I feel like the fist.  Don't you see this is broken?  Don't you want it replaced?  Here, let me speed up the process, before somebody loses an eye.

Hello everyone!

     I did warn you I'd be pestering you again, once everything was in place for the CD sales and Katie Project donations, and... ta-daaaa!  Here I am, pestering away.

     First off, those of you in…

     FASTEN YOUR SEATBELTS – I'm now adding "playwright" and "actor" to my CV!  Music For The Changing Voice, the not-a-one-woman-show that I created as a one-off for the artsLocal series in 2017, got picked up for Talk Is Free…

September 10, National Suicide Prevention Day.  So little-miss-truth-and-beauty should probably write something inspiring, eh?

And yet, I feel like a total faker writing on this topic, since I was wrestling with my bullshit brain over this particular issue as recently as last week.  (Now, don't go panicking on me, I wasn't in any imminent danger, I can keep using cutlery.  It's just that there are still some bits that sometimes need some wrangling, or distracting with shiny things occasionally.)  

But... I do know a bit (!) about suicide prevention.

Back when I was a kid, and I didn't really have any understanding of just how fragmented my brain and soul were (a pretty genius survival technique – thank you, neurochemistry – which got me through some desperate times, but wasn't terribly useful in later years), I already understood there was an internal battle.  I knew there was a bit of myself – or perhaps even a few bits of myself – that flirted with the idea of "accidentally falling" off the subway platform just as the train was coming.  Nothing that could be seen as intentional, of course, because that would open up a whole whack of unpalatable scenarios, depending on whether I succeeded or failed in my "accident", but... you know... elbowed off by a distracted commuter, caught by a big whoosh of air... anything that could keep me from being hospitalized and never taken seriously again if I survived, or turned into "the bad guy" if I succeeded.  Fortunately, there were a lot of other bits who thought this wasn't such a good idea, and so I would plaster myself to the back wall until the train had safely passed.  That way, even if one of us got the urge to dash, the rest of us could probably catch her before she reached the edge.  To this day, when I go back to Tronna, I still tend to hold myself at the back of the platform, because the memories of those days are so intense, especially in the stations that haven't been re-tiled since the '80s (which I think are most of them... amIright?)

So... forget being a faker.  I am a MASSIVE SUCCESS STORY when it comes to suicide prevention.  I'm here to tell the tale.
 

After declaring last year that I would treat my birthdays a la Merrill Markoe's "It's My F---ing Birthday" heroine (see here if you missed it and are bothered by said missing), it seems I totally blew it on the…