Acts of Great Self-Love: Healing, Wellness & Biimaadiziwin
This photo came up in my memories today and it caused a very visceral reaction. I was 15 pounds under my normal weight, which I had lost over two weeks of a major depressive episode. I felt very emotionally fragile. The inner turmoil I was experiencing at that time, the absolute self-loathing, was so strong that it drove me to a place of wanting to escape. I wish I had saved her a bit sooner, so that those days hadn’t turned into months that turned into years. That person who deprived herself of nourishment and kindness. It’s a year later and I thank her for persevering, staying the path, and ensuring that Evie still has a mother alive and thriving.
When I started this blog, I committed to being vulnerable and sharing my truths on what has helped me in my career. A big part of that has been self-care. This entry is a one-year reflection on my journey toward healing, wellness and Biimaadiziwin.
Content warning for subject matter of suicide/anxiety/depression.
One of the strangest realities that I’ve come to understand about becoming a lawyer, and a premise and result of living in a capitalist society, is that you learn how to be a high-functioning professional - even when your life is falling apart.
I thought I had it figured out - my healing path. Being an over-achiever, I assumed this was just another task I could conquer and excel at. As turns it out, that was a hilariously unrealistic assumption. I stumbled along the way, responding to crisis as it occurred and relying on coping mechanisms that I had developed over a lifetime - some that worked, others that didn't. I am lucky, in the sense that I've had a lot of role modeling in my life. My parents and family overcame adversity and trauma, leaning into our culture as a source of healing and wellness, and instilled me a strong sense of Anishinaabe identity that I've been able to call on and ground myself with. I will never take for granted the tools that were given to me to live a good life, Biimaadiziiwin.
Of course, life is hard, and it is completely out of our control. I grieved over my own as it took unexpected turns. I lost irreplaceable people to death, suicide and relationship breakdowns, and it left me spiraling.
I dealt with it all in ways that felt good at the time. For the most part, my approach was a healthy and positive one. I started eating better. I exercised regularly. I went to therapy. I limited my alcohol intake. And then there were the seemingly harmless habits that turned out to be massively destructive over time. I threw myself into work and stretched myself too thin. I put the emotional needs of others before my own. I became too focused on my outward appearance, my public image, ascribing to mainstream/Western beauty standards. I developed severe anxiety over what others thought of me to the point of obsessively checking my social media notifications over how many "likes" or "follows" a post had received. I relied on the validation of men I was in relationships with as an indicator of my self-worth.
And here's where it became complicated and nuanced. I convinced myself that the only way I was going to heal was by becoming sober. That this was the Anishinaabe way forward. I conflated the idea of sobriety as the be-all and end-all to my struggle with crippling anxiety and depression. But what I failed to recognize, was that it wasn't the relationship I had with alcohol, or any substance for that matter, that I struggled with the most - it was the relationship that I had with the person in the mirror. It was the relationship with my spirit, that inner child that I was no longer nurturing in a way that made her feel worthy of love. And that this relationship with ourselves is intrinsically woven into our Anishinaabe ways of healthy living, regardless of whether I was sober or not.
I ignored mending that relationship with myself to the point that I no longer felt worthy of living.
Even after being sober for 100 days. Even after reaching my goals of regularly exercising, going to therapy, finding a medication that worked for me - taking all of the steps that we are encouraged to take in our struggles with mental health. I was so certain that I was living biimaadiziiwin, the good life. I was at the height of my success in all other aspects - having graduated law school, on the cusp of finishing articles, raising an incredible little human, finding independence on my own.
In spite of all this, I still recall the day I felt that dark pull so strongly:
"I don't want to be here anymore."
The first time I said that out loud to someone, was to my Mom. Along with it, came immediate feelings of regret and guilt. With a history of suicide in our family, and knowing that these are words of nightmare for a parent, I knew it would be painful for her to hear. I should have never doubted her though. She is the strongest woman I know. In that moment, she took my hand and held it tightly. And she continued to hold that space as every crevice in the space around us filled with waves of relief and despair.
Thank Creator for our mothers. They say that in our deepest moments of pain and suffering, we call out for our mothers. I called for her when I birthed Evie. I called for her when my father and brother died. And when the will to live was draining from my spirit, I called for her again. I feel extremely lucky that she is here with me, and that we have a relationship in which she answers that call with love and tenderness.
My journey changed when I learned how to hold myself with the same tenderness my Mum held me that day. To love myself as greatly as she, and others do. To give respite to the ridiculous expectations that I impose on myself to somehow "keep it together" while maintaining the "grind". The "hustle" mentality that we tend to glamourize was figuratively and literally killing my spirit. The fear of failure and having made mistakes was such a loud voice in my head that it beat me into a sense of feeling unworthy of all the great things that I had been gifted and worked hard for.
The greatest challenge was changing that message from "I am unworthy" to "I deserve a good life".
And then taking a hard look at what a "good life" actually means for me.
As it turns out, the good life wasn't sobriety. It was learning to enjoy in moderation. And finding a different release when I felt that urge to numb the pain.
It wasn't through validation and self-worth via public admiration or romantic relationships. The good life was nurturing healthy relationships in my circle of friends, family, and with my daughter.
The good life was finding solace in the silence of being alone and learning how to self-soothe. To say all the things to myself that I wanted to hear from others:
"You are beautiful as you are."
"It's okay to rest."
"You are loved with no regard."
It’s a year later and I’ve learned that healing is not an end-goal and it's never linear. Healing is on a continuum that changes with the time and world surrounding us. A year later and we are living through a global pandemic where everyone is struggling with the question of, how will we survive this? The answer escapes us all and that collective fear is very, very real. But now more than ever, having survived this much, I believe in the power of great acts of self-love.
There’s a phrase in Anishinaabemowin that I learned to say recently, and I hope it rings true for those who need it.
Kizhawenimigoo. Gaawiin kibezhigosii.
You are loved. You are not alone.
——
If you are struggling with thoughts of self-harm, please reach out. And if you see others struggling, reach out to them even further. Meet them where they are. Even those who seem the strongest and put-together on the surface struggle in silence. I am forever grateful for those who recognized when I needed help and offered it.
As much as I recommend it, counselling and therapy is not cheap. It is largely inaccessible and thankfully, there are some great humans out there who put together lists of free mental health resources. This table below was recently shared online by a lovely lady named Lindsay Campbell outlining mental health professionals/therapists covered through FNHIB and taking virtual appointments (Winnipeg region). For a comprehensive list of Indigenous crisis supports, please review this very comprehensive collection put together by LifeVoice (click link).
