Firestorm and other Pieces of Wind by Christopher Dutton.

Firestorm and Other Pieces of Wind by Christopher Dutton
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

When I read the cover of this book I braced myself for the dutiful reading of what I thought would amount to little more than a park brochure with a few colourful characters to differentiate it. Instead I was launched into a series of emotional portages that dealt with grief, loss, self discovery and love. The depth of the characters draws you in and holds you captive much like a small vessel held fast by the currents of the rivers that are the canvas on which this masterpiece was written. This collection has become one of my favourite books and a must read for every person who has ever dealt with the ongoing challenges and victories that life brings. The author brought the very feel of the air and smell of the earth that I had stored in the recesses of my memory back to life and I felt that I had returned to the my youth and back to the sanctuary of Algonquin Park.

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The Mindfullness Workbook for Anxiety

The Mindfulness Workbook for Anxiety: The 8-Week Solution to Help You Manage Anxiety, Worry & Stress by Tanya J Peterson


When I first received a review copy of this book I flipped through it and nothing really spoke to me. When I had the opportunity to actually try the program as an 8 week journey rather than just reference reading I realized what a gem I had been given. The steps are all laid out for you. Not every suggestion will be your cup of tea but going through the process at least once will help you build an arsenal of tools that do work for you.

As a long time combatant of anxiety and depression I would highly recommend trying this program. Actually give it the full 8 weeks and be sure to really commit to the process.

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Roots of the matter

Last week I received a review copy of
The Self Esteem Workbook for Women.

That is not earth shattering news as I receive books to review almost daily. The significance was the way the book resounded with me.

For the last seven years of this Mental Health journey I have been tapping every tree in search of a cure for my anxiety and depression. You have all travelled along the path with me through countless counsellors, therapies and pills. Many times I have been asked if I love myself. No one ever asked me why I found it hard to answer.

When I think back to those dark days last December when I was ready to give up and end it all I remember thinking about how I was a burden and the world would be better off without me, my family would be better off.  Then this book arrives. On page 3 the Author Megan MacCutcheon tells us:

"Self-esteem isn't about being perfect or about having the approval of others around us. Rather, it's about accepting yourself the way you are and maintaining an intrinsic belief that you are a good and worthy person simply because you exist as a human."

Shut the front door! We are worthy just because we exist. BAM! Take that world that tells us we need to be skinny, beautiful, young, smart......anything that we are not. After 43 years of being on this planet I have finally been told the secret to surviving my mental health challenges "I am worthy just because I exist!" So there voices from the past telling me I need to be the perfect daughter, sister, student, mother, wife, employee, boss,......I am worthy, and now I know it. So now I have a clear path on how to face each day. Whatever I do, what ever happens, my value does not decrease because I am in charge of setting the value knowing that I am enough.

https://www.amazon.ca/dp/1641520132/ref=cm_sw_r_other_taa_wMmpBbXX7NZG5

Imprints on our mind or heart?

Last week I began working with a new counsellor. This particular counsellor has vast experience working with Women who have experienced significant trauma in their lives. It is still a form of  talk therapy but it seems more structured.  I really like structure. The more rules and regulations the better. I won't even walk in an exit at Wal-Mart.

Last week's homework consisted of using two images (one of a young girl and another of a young woman) and I was to write the things that each had been told that influenced my self image.

I of course spent the first hour avoiding the task by convincing myself it was important to colour in the images in order to relate to them.  When I finally picked up my pen and began writing I was shocked at how fast all those hurtful words came rushing back. It was like I was there, reliving each moment of it. When I had finished the assignment I was a bit dismayed at how my brain had held onto those moments of my life. Like some sadistic author writing the very worst moments of my life into an autobiography.

I wondered since my brain had all these memories what else was hidden in there. I went back to the picture of the little girl and let my mind drift back looking for happy moments it had recorded for me. It was a struggle. That is not to say that my childhood was not filled with many happy moments. Why then was it so hard to pull those memories back?

The only two memories that I could reach for that little girl was a sunny summer day,  my Mom was with me out behind our house. Our cat had kittens and I picked them all up in one armfull and hugged them close to my chest. They were so soft and cuddly and the day so perfect.  Then they peed all down the front of my one piece orange and yellow terrycloth jumper. All I could feel in that memory was the bliss of  the sunshine, the kittens and the safety of my Mother's watchful eye.

My second memory is of my maternal Grandmother. I remember being in her apartment and she had a birthday party for me. It was the first time I learned about sticking balloons to a wall by rubbing them in your hair. I can smell her cold cream, her thick red lipstick,  the faint smell of cigarette smoke. I could feel how special it all was. How special I was to her. That's it.

Then I remembered the passage in the bible that said "and Mary carried all these things in her heart". I was mistakenly searching for my happy memories in my mind, when they were in fact stored in my heart. I hope after all the doctors and therapists are done excorcising all my warped perceptions of the past I will find someone who can teach me how to unlock all those good ones locked away in my heart.

What I learned from 7 days in the Psychiatric Ward

Wow, never thought I would be saying that. 7 days.....I was there for seven consecutive 24 hour periods. To put it in perspective, when they removed my appendix I was in the hospital for 2 nights, when they removed the  tumour from my stomache by cutting me from hip to hip I was home by 10 am the following day. 7 days I stayed on that ward. Locked behind two sets of locking doors and two security checks.

I was so homesick I thought I would die. They took my phone, my hairbrush and even my eyeshadow compact. I was required to use plastic utensils and hospital provided Styrofoam cups. I had to get used to asking to have a shower or be supervised while I washed my clothes. My room contained a bed and a chair, no decoration or windows to look out, only a large plexiglass window in the door so that the nurses could keep watch over me. 

Do you  know what, I miss that place. The ability to just decide I had enough human contact and just go to my room and close the door. The security in knowing that nothing would interupt the flow of each day. I had no responsibilities, no stressors just time and predictability. 

The people I shared the floor with were a real shock to me initially. Never, except for when I had toddlers in the house have I seen so many bare rear ends running down the halls. They soon became family to me. I spent time each day getting to know them. I listened to their stories, learned about their hopes and plans. They were all so very different, but the common theme through it all was, "I just want to be happy, be loved, be needed". 

The day before my release I was granted a 2 hour pass. I used it to hunt through the various hospital gift shops. I wanted my surrogate family to know that I heard them, that I would carry their stories with me once I left. I purchased several new magazines for the ladies as there were none there from the past decade. I purchased a cup of Tim Hortons coffee for a lady that used to stop and have one every morning on her way to work. For the one young woman I purchased a monkey (insert Bare naked ladies hit If I had A Million Dollars." Just kidding it was a small purple monkey with big eyes.

When I returned and handed out my treasures I felt like I had been given a glimpse of what small gestures could do. Maybe I fall short of my own expectations some ( read allot) of the time, but even if I never do anything right again, in that moment I was able to touch those people and show them I thought they were pretty great.

On my last night I made sure to walk a few extra laps with the elderly lady that had attached herself to me since day 1. I watched an extra episode of The Big Bang theory with my young friend, I spent some extra time doing a bible study  with another lady, helped a man practice his speech for his Dr. To let him apply for a job. Most importantly  I spent time walking with a young man that was convinced he had nothing to offer the world. I gently pointed out all the wonderful qualities I recognized in him after only a week, reassured him that he has so much to offer the world and encouraged him to have the confidence to let others see the real him. Pretty hypocritical huh. Yep, I can see it.

He left the day before me. Before he left he gave me a handmade Christmas card from  a pencil crayon he smuggled from the diningroom and a piece of scrap paper. On it he wrote that he appreciated my friendship and that he hoped I could see how much positivity I bring to the world. Pretty amazing huh! One week in the Psychiatric Ward introduced me to people that will have changed my thinking forever, given me time to contemplate who I am as well as time to just recharge by depleted body. I am so thankful for the time I spent there (not that I ever want to go again).