It starts with a bowel movement

If I am stressed about money, or talking about big plans, or feel the need to write a blog post that makes me uneasy; I find myself needing to poop first. I take that as a sign that my body is telling me to push past the 'crap'.

My best friend asked me what happened to the book I was writing. I had started it, a few people had read the few pages that I had put together and the feedback was all the same. "It's dark!" "I like it but it needs more detail, more descriptive language". I returned to those pages and what had started out as a work of fiction turned into more of an autobiography. I can only write what I personally know and feel. As I opened Pandora's box of childhood memories, I regressed into a black hole of despair. It seemed easier to live through those days as a child because I wasn't aware of how horrible it was but choosing to go back in time as an adult, with all the wisdom and knowledge I have now; it became all-consuming. I was losing sleep thanks to some flashbacks and I was less productive during the day because my mind would wander as I was easily triggered. Needless to say, I stopped writing the book.

I turned my life around when I decided to cut out the people and things that bring me down. In that category are some family members and the one that people have a hard time relating to is my mother. This week my mothers brother passed away. My heart is broken for my Uncle Tony's daughter and wife. I don't have a conventional relationship with my aunts, uncles and cousins. My best guess is that we (the cousins) have suffered the spiderweb of drama that is a result of our parents European upbringing. I hear tidbits of their history. Some of it pretty normal but other parts are downright disturbing. I have invited my mother to open up to me about such matters, if only to try and understand why she is the way she is. She lives in a world of deflect and forget; if its not discussed, it didn't happen. If it is discussed, change the subject or get angry enough to make it stop. She uses this same coping mechanism with her adult life and her actions as a mother. Responsibility and accountability are not her strong suits. I am not discrediting how difficult it is to face up to one's mistakes or admit that you would have changed a thing or two.

I am choosing to break the cycle. I want to face the past head on; not by writing a book but by being open on why I do the things I do. I demand a better relationship with the ones I love and those who love me back. I don't want to talk about the weather and get one word answers to the question, 'how are you?' The narrative is repetitive because there is no foundation of a relationship, like a broken record for the last 30 years. Her needs, her feelings, and all the things you did wrong against her. A never-ending guilt trip with the disguise of motherly love. As you read this, I am not trying to draw a line in the sand, for people to pick sides. I do not want anyone fighting my battles for me or getting defensive on my behalf. If I have a problem with either of my parents, my siblings or my friends, I will take it up with them. I ask for the same in return, if you find I have hurt someone you love or care about, I don't need your opinion unless I ask for it. Everyone means well when they share their advice but I ask that you trust my process because this is how I've been able to move on. THIS is how I am able to answer the question, "how did you turn out so well-adjusted?" My mother knows my mailing address, I gave it to her in the last letter I sent her explaining why I am keeping my distance. I gave her an open door to communicate when/if she is ready. As I move forward, I will continue to do what is right for me and my peace of mind. I have no regrets, no resentment, and more importantly, no anger. I feel sadness and sorrow at times but I have the emotional intelligence that allows me to express myself in writing. It all starts with a bowel movement...

Our last photo taken together, when her friends had a party for her getting her

Canadian Citizenship

By looking at this photo, you'd never know how damaged our relationship was/is