I loved myself
Enough
To get up
Out of bed
And out of the house
I worked hard
To be kind
To my slow
Rise from sadness
I cried when I needed
To cry
I laughed
And grasped
Joy
In sweet
Moments
Of friendships
And dappled
Light through
Basement blinds
Reminding me
There is always
Another day.
This article was first published in the BC Catholic Newspaper on April 10th, 2019
https://bccatholic.ca/content/it-takes-a-forest-to-lift-a-spirit
Intertwining branches of tall mossy trees reach out. My heart feels free. I breathe in. The forest is nature’s cathedral. Oxygen rushes in refreshing my lungs and giving me a giddy feeling of lightness.
On a hike with a few friends, our pace is quick, strides matching as we climb around rocks and over roots. Moments of silence. Bird calls. Wind swishing evergreen branches. The clomp of hiking boots on packed earth. This is our music. A calm rushes over my body. Hiking grounds me and connects me to our Creator.
Respite and recovery liberate my mind and spirit. Walking through a canopy of trees was what I needed. Stopping for almond snacks, chocolate bark, and cool sips of water; I am energized to continue on. Almost at the falls. Our conversation and laughter fill the air around us.
“Careful!” my friend points to a poisonous plant at the path’s edge. I study its light green leaves and step away from it. Falling pine needles hit my hat. Mossy stones, old man’s beard, crackly bark.
In Peter Wohlleben’s book, The Hidden Life of Trees, he explains that a forest is a community. The trees “exchanges nutrients” to help “neighbours in times of need.”
And “a tree is not a forest. On its own, a tree cannot establish a consistent local climate. It is at the mercy of wind and weather.”
Many trees together create a “protected environment,” and “trees can live to be very old.”
Just as in nature I thrive in community. I can count on support and encouragement in the never-ending roller coaster of a mood disorder. Like the mother trees shading the young saplings to not grow too fast, my mother nurtured my growth as a child. And was there when I needed help the most. In a moment of despair when I had lost all hope, she intervened in my disturbed state. With her tireless care, I received the best aid. Medicine, therapy, prayer, and love. In times of recovery, walking in nature gives me the opportunity to wonder.
Fungi are dotting the ground. Fiddleheads on ferns. The sound of water rushing over rocks. We are close. Steep incline. Quick short breaths. Reaching for the last step to view Norvan Falls.
The two-hour hike was worth the view. Where would I be without the help of my family and friends? Isolated. Sad. Hopeless. More like a desert than a forest.
A deep breath in and I smile at my fellow hikers: friends, sisters. We made it. Time for lunch. No matter what, we all need someone to help us in difficult times. Everyone needs a team to encourage, motivate, and speak truth into our hearts.
Jesus, the good shepherd knows how much we need peace. “He makes me lie down in green pastures. He leads me beside still waters. He restores my soul.”
Hiking gives me the ability to rest in interior and exterior peace. To be open to growing in friendship and love. To find joy in being in another’s presence and to stay healthy physically and mentally.
Connecting to the Creator among the trees strengthens my drive for life. “Even though I walk through the valley of death, I fear no evil; for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me.”
This article was first published in the BC Catholic Newspaper on March 18th, 2019 https://bccatholic.ca/content/stand-by-me-lord
Walking in the cold Saturday morning air on my way to Mass, I felt sadness.
Hearts shatter, minds weaken, and dreams falter. Love is the answer, yet I know the weakness of human love and the battle to hope.
“Who will heal me?”
I heard the birds singing and took my headphones out of my ears. This is nature’s music, I thought to myself, and better than anything I have on my playlist.
I walked by purple and yellow crocuses growing by a cafe and snapped a photo. My heart is yearning and aching for spring – a springtime in my environment but also in my interior life.
That is why I treasure the season of Lent leading up to Easter. A time for spiritual growth, self-sacrifice, and communion with Jesus.
It is a daily struggle to not fill the space in my heart meant only for God with other things. Retail therapy and indulging in delicious food are among the very enticing distractions.
I have been reading a lot of books lately to lift my spirits, the Bible being one of them. I want to know the Lord more, so that I may know his love for me. The book of Sirach is a new discovery for me, full of rich wisdom. The Mass readings from Sirach are a balm to my heart. “Cling to God and do not depart. Trust in God and he will help you. You who fear the Lord, hope for good things, for lasting joy and mercy.”
And then come the questions that stir my soul. “Or has anyone persevered in the fear of the Lord and been forsaken? Or has anyone trusted the Lord and been disappointed?”
Each Lent I meditate on the Way of the Cross. Jesus felt real pain and knows what it’s like to lament. Illness, rejection, and despair can be united to him. He knows our pain. His death is not the end. Our hope is in the resurrection. His love is redeeming.
I arrived a few minutes before Mass and settled into a pew, gazing at the tabernacle and the crucifix. Wanting hope, healing, forgiveness, and mercy. It comes with the cross, Good Friday, the cold, empty tomb and the unfailing warmth of the Resurrection.
After Mass, I had a comforting latte with a friend as we tucked into a sunny corner of a cozy Main Street cafe. Inspired by our conversation I played her newest ukulele as she drove me home. When I got home, I listened to one of my favourite songs – Stand by Me, which I often play on my own ukulele.
The lyrics are few, but the message is clear. No matter what happens, “If the mountains should crumble to the sea, I won’t cry … no I won’t shed a tear. Just as long as you stand by me.”
We all want love. We are love. Lent is a reminder that Jesus is the greatest lover and friend. Jesus also wants us to stand by him. He wanted the presence of his disciples as he prayed in the Garden of Gethsemane. Dying and rising, he gave us everything, to the last drop.
So this Lent I will stand by the Lord, relying on his strength when I am sad. I will take delight in his passion for me. I will sing and play Stand by Me on my little ukulele.
I am not the only one who aches for ultimate happiness. Jesus heals. And, as Sirach tells us, “faithful friends are life-saving medicine and those who fear the Lord will find them.”
First published in the BC Catholic Newspaper on February 12th
https://bccatholic.ca/content/delicious-dessert-a-divine-gift
I quickly polished off the salty meal and stared warily at the neon pink pudding on my hospital food tray.
Luckily the lady beside me – I’ll call her Pam – loves the colour pink. Pam has dementia and doesn’t talk a lot. I turned to her. “Pam, do you want my pink pudding?”
“Yes!
She ate it with gusto. It disappeared in a few seconds. I looked around the long table in the psychiatric ward to see if anyone else’s stomach had turned at the sight of the unnaturally coloured dessert. Everyone stared at their food disenchanted, but I don’t think the food was the real problem.
Instead of pudding, I enjoyed the apple juice and tea. The meals were sub-par and only staved off the raging appetite caused by the side effects of the anti-psychotic medicine. It was my first time in an adult mental hospital, and I was a teenager. I didn’t know how long I would be there, but I could at least rely on Pam to eat my questionable desserts.
Food has such meaning and memory for me. Now, one of my favourite desserts, besides ice cream, chocolate and pie … okay, the list could go on … is mango pudding. My sweet tooth is a weakness I can’t hide. It’s funny that the pink pudding was so disgusting to me, whereas the sunshine yellow pudding brings me joy. I love eating it, making it, and sharing it.
At a baptism for my friend’s daughter, I enjoyed the feast after the beautiful sacrament. I had just finished eating a few cubes of mango pudding and thought to myself, “If only I could have more mango pudding!”
Then I received a text message from another friend. “Are you home? I have something to bring to you.” I let her know when I would be home so she could swing by. I could have easily walked back to the dessert table to fill my craving but instead continued in conversation with the friends at my table.
An hour later, I opened my door, and to my surprise she was standing there holding a large container of … mango pudding. I think my heart skipped a beat. And then it donned on me. The Lord hears all our thoughts, wishes, and prayers. If he can answer such a little, insignificant desire of mine, how much more will he grant the bigger desires of my heart?
Giggling, I welcomed my friend in for a quick cup of tea. After chatting with her, I shared my story and asked for her recipe. It is a family recipe, but she kindly shared it with me. Making mango pudding and sharing it at parties or with friends and family gives me so much happiness.
From an aversion to neon pink pudding in the hospital to a fondness for the fruity and creamy mango pudding, I marvel at how the dessert acted like a messenger. That God has better and more delicious plans for me than I have for myself. With God there is abundance. With God there is communion.
My hunger for more moves me to reach outside of myself. If I bake banana bread, I give some away. Lively family dinners are a regular affair. Eating lunch with colleagues refreshes my spirit for the rest of the day. Trust that God will give good gifts.
Here’s to dessert and to the divine!
First published in the BC Catholic on January 17, 2019
https://bccatholic.ca/content/quebec-churches-cured-my-cold-and-loneliness
Quebec City. Snow piled high. Icy footsteps on the sidewalk. Adventuring, alone. Black winter boots, a toque, and a splash of homesickness.
It was the winter of 2008. Christmas over, I travelled to Quebec. The program Une Année pour Dieu (A Year for God) was a time of discernment. I was seeking to find out if God was calling me to a religious vocation. I also volunteered for the Diocese of Quebec, joining a group of eight young adults preparing for the 49th Eucharistic Congress and discovering our vocations.
Had I been able to speak French fluently, I would have felt more at home. Missing a flight, I hardly slept while hugging my luggage in the airport. I had just visited my family for Christmas, and after arriving at the convent of the Sisters of The Good Shepherd, I went straight to bed. I was extremely fatigued and slept almost a whole day. They thought I had died because I slept so long. But the following evening when they heard the fridge door open in the middle of the night, they were relieved that I had awoken.
Early mornings. A new language. Living in a convent and working at the Diocese of Quebec was so different than my regular routine back home. I had a hard time adjusting to this new reality.
The side effects of my medication helping to balance my moods was uncomfortable, especially the cystic acne. I couldn’t speak the language well, so it was difficult to get the help I needed. I wasn’t used to the very cold, long winters of eastern Canada. I ripped a pair of frozen jeans when I arrived at the diocese. I shovelled the snow away from the wrong basement bedroom window. I was becoming frustrated and homesick. I was almost ready to take the next plane home. And the snow kept falling.
Looking for a cure for this new feeling of homesickness, I began to make more phone calls to my family. When my sister sent my sheet music to play the piano in the convent, I was delighted. Joining a church choir with my friend and roommate Isabelle brought unexpected joy. Dinners, prayers, and Mass at the community of Famille Marie-Jeunesse gave me a sense of belonging.
Another way I tried to cure my homesickness was to go for walks with friends. We would go sightseeing or stroll around the Plaines d’Abraham. Since Quebec City was hosting the International Eucharistic Congress, most churches were open in the evenings for silent adoration. Bundled up in my winter gear, I would trek through snowy streets to beautiful old churches. Walking uncluttered my mind, and an hour of adoration cheered my heart.
As my time in Quebec ended, I made a few realizations. First, that I wasn’t called to the consecrated life. And second, that even while living with bipolar disorder, I can be fearless. Moving across the country to discern God’s call, all while learning to speak a new language, took courage. This self-knowledge has helped me to challenge myself in different areas of my life. When I returned home, I continued to speak French, not wanting to lose the language. Occasionally, I even dream in French.
Homesickness reveals our love of family and desire for connection. Staying focussed on my goals and keeping in touch with family and friends helped get me through the year.
“The world promises you comfort. But you were not made for comfort, you were made for greatness.” – Pope Benedict XVI
First published in the BC Catholic Newspaper on December 18, 2018 https://bccatholic.ca/content/baby-jesus-brings-joy-to-a-hurting-soul
Living in a group home was a time of waiting I wish I could have avoided.
I was waiting for a breakthrough in my mental health. I had been discharged after spending a month in a psychiatric ward. Wanting a change, this was not quite what I expected. Being home in my comfortable surroundings was what I looked forward to. Sharing a house with four other adults who had chronic disabilities was an adventure I faced with trepidation.
We grocery shopped, cooked for each other, took turns with chores, and volunteered in the community. Our schedules were given to us with little consultation, but the weekends were ours to plan.
Each Saturday I planned my visit with my family that would take a 3-hour bus ride, returning Sunday night. I did this for about seven months.
My time in the group home was bittersweet. During the time leading up to Christmas I spent quiet evenings in the kitchen making crafts. Painting, knitting, and decorating became a time of reflection. Advent is a time of waiting. Waiting for the most perfect gift. A king. A little baby. How adorable. How humble.
Being away from home, I focused on the little things I could change in my life. Being happy that Mary said “Yes.” That Jesus became flesh. I spent afternoons working out in the gym, swimming, reading in the library, and visiting the elderly at the seniors home where I volunteered.
I participated in everything they suggested: walks, baking cookies, singing carols. The challenge was and still is not to become too busy with shopping, parties, and prepping. Otherwise, I lose sight of the true light and meaning of Christmas. My mental health can suffer if I become too busy doing, instead of being.
I look back now with gratitude at that time of growth and place to heal my mind, about 14 years ago. My health and well-being has transformed since those times of deep depression and anxiety. It’s not that I don’t still have struggles. My illness is lifelong and has ups and downs, but there is a light that shines even in my darkest days. And that is the gift of Jesus’ love in my life. Little baby Jesus brings joy even to a hurting soul. I wait in excited anticipation for the peace he brings wrapped in swaddling clothes.
The Saviour of the world didn’t arrive in comfort either. In the darkest time of year, in the chaos of a messy stable, Jesus came to us in simple way. He was dependent on Mary and Joseph for everything.
If I were to put myself in the nativity story, instead of rushing around, I would hold Jesus in my arms. Mary would be resting beside me and Joseph telling a bedtime story, like my dad did for me. I would sing Jesus a happy song on my ukulele, praising his majesty. I would want to bring him some of my homemade speculaas cookies that taste like gingerbread. If I sat by his creche, my mind would calm and I would find sanity in adoration of him.
Christmas is a time of joy but sometimes it requires a choice to experience it. It fills me with peace that I am not alone. I am happiest when I place him at the centre of my life. The first Christmas after my diagnosis of bipolar disorder was full of love. My family came together and built a gingerbread house full of candy. We sang carols for our friends and neighbours. Instead of isolating and tucking away from it all, I was to be a gift.
I am blessed to be a part of such a nurturing family that helped me perk up at the joy of Christmas. May this advent be a time of slowing down, and noticing Jesus’ sweet presence in our lives.
First published in the BC Catholic Newspaper on November 15, 2018 https://bccatholic.ca/content/never-give-up-on-hope
It’s not that I wanted to die. I wanted an escape from unbearable pain.
“Are you okay?” my mom asked me.
“No, I am not okay.” I was 17 years old and I thought there was no point in living anymore. I thought my family would be better off without me. Despair doesn’t give you company. It leaves you alone, in your pain, tears, and hopelessness.
Deeply sad, in a very dark place, I uttered the words, “Help me!” and somehow God triumphed. My mom found me scared, helpless, and crying on the bathroom floor. I couldn’t lift myself up. She held me tenderly and gave me my fuzzy purple and white snowflake pyjamas.
My pent-up emotion began to thaw as her gentle hands led me to the living room and helped me to sit at the piano. As she made phone calls – “Lisa will not be going on the overnight Grade 12 retreat tomorrow” – I plunked the piano keys, playing my favourite song, Only Hope. After a few songs, I crumpled on the ground crying louder, shaking, and shouting, “Get the devil off me!” My mom calmly said, “Dad and I are going to take you to the hospital.” Her hands rested on my back, moving in slow soothing circles as she prayed audibly.
No one knew what was wrong. No one knew that I was suffering an episode of psychosis, a break from reality. The hallucinations, negative thoughts, and despair were all a part of it. My younger sister carried me down the stairs, as I, shaking with fear, leaned all my weight on her.
That hospital stay was the beginning of my journey to health with mental illness. Somehow, hope snuck into my home and my heart. I will never forget the kindness of my family now and during that time. They are truly heroes and healers, but they never get enough credit. I love them immensely.
This month of November we remember to pray for the souls of the departed. Most of us know someone who took his or her own life or know someone who has been affected by the suicide of loved one. I remember in my prayers my dear cousin who took her life a couple of years ago.
Father Chris Alar, MIC, director of the Association of Marian helpers, shares his message to pray the Divine Mercy chaplet for the deceased. And that there is “hope for those who’ve committed suicide.”
The Catechism (2282-2283) tells us: “Grave psychological disturbances, anguish, or grave fear of hardship, suffering, or torture can diminish the responsibility of the one committing suicide. We should not despair of the eternal salvation of persons who have taken their own lives. By ways know to him alone, God can provide opportunity for salutary repentance. The Church prays for persons who have taken their own lives.”
Father Chris explains in the pamphlet Divine Mercy After Suicide, you can “pray for your loved ones who have died, even if they have died 10, 20, or 50 years ago.” The pamphlets are available through https://www.shopmercy.org/pamphlets-prayercards.html. He also gives a talk on the topic at: https://www.youtube.com/DivinemercyandsuicideFr.Alar.
As I paced those hospital halls at age 17, I gripped my rosary in my hand and held on to hope when I couldn’t recite the prayers. In the wisdom of St. John Paul II, “I plead with you – never, ever give up on hope, never doubt, never tire, and never become discouraged. Be not afraid.”
Let us pray with St. Faustina, “Jesus, I trust in you!”
First published in the BC Catholic Newspaper on October 15, 2018 https://bccatholic.ca/content/finding-purpose-out-of-darkness
Have you ever wondered why you are on this earth? What were you made for? Why you struggle in a certain way?
I have been reflecting on the more turbulent years when I was suffering more seriously with mental illness. I wanted to find happiness. I wanted to find wellness. And I wondered, what was the point of this mental anguish?
As I began a journey of finding help, and health, I also became a hope finder. My most profound experiences of hope were in living out my Catholic faith. I discovered the power of prayer, receiving the sacraments, reflecting on Scripture, and regularly confessing my sins. It was a turning point for me when I began to believe that I am beloved. That I am not my illness, I havean illness. That I am a precious daughter of God and my worth comes from him.
After much therapy and opening up to my friends with my story, I found peace in owning my challenge and using it to guide others. Talking about mental health and resilience shatters the stigma that I hold about having an invisible illness. I realized, my story is not my own, and it becomes a story of victory. Christ died and rose from the dead to bring me new life. In my times of darkness, when I was despairing and giving up, Jesus was with me the whole time. He never abandoned me and never will. Maybe I was meant to come out of the pain and share with people in the thick of it that there is hope. That life is worth living. That it gets better.
In the podcast Don’t Keep Your Day Job: Make a Living Doing What You Love, https://www.dontkeepyourdayjob.com/Cathy Heller says, “The opposite of depression is not happiness; it’s purpose. If you are on the planet, you have been assigned a purpose.” I hold fast to the words of the prophet Jeremiah, “For I know the plans I have for you, says the Lord, plans for welfare and not for evil, to give a future and a hope.”
Finding purpose out of darkness is God’s pièce de résistance in our lives. Sharing my story is healing, allowing me to reveal the hope that I hold – and that everyone can have hold of, too.
I am now excited for the Sanctuary Course (which I am a part of) that will be available for download online this month. At the Archdiocese of Vancouver offices I was interviewed by Daniel Whitehead, executive director of Sanctuary Mental Health Ministries, about my experiences of recovery from a mental illness. It’s for a short video in this course, each session starting with an inspiring video focused on eight individuals’ stories, mine included.
The eight-part course for small groups is intended to “bring hope and healing to people and churches across Canada.” It’s a tool to help people of faith learn how to “sensitively create communities of care for those of us facing mental health challenges.”
In the study you will read, process, and discuss topics on themes such as: “understanding mental health and mental illness, challenging stigma, and the recovery journey.”
You may know a family member, a friend, a colleague, or someone who struggles with mental illness. This is a great opportunity to discover more about self-care, companionship, and loving others. The materials (video and text) will be available for download at an affordable price (under $150) at sanctuarymentalhealth.org. You can even order print copies, if you like.
Everyone struggles with something. If you have a mental illness, you are going to be okay. Each new day is an opportunity to discover the unique call God has for my vital life. With wonder and awe, I seek his will for this beautiful and messy masterpiece. Sometimes, it’s about offering up my suffering, knowing that this too has purpose.
First published in the BC Catholic Newspaper on September 19, 2018 https://bccatholic.ca/content/hope-is-the-wind-beneath-my-feet
The third kilometre of a five-kilometre race is the hardest. I discovered this when I took up running again recently. My muscles became tired and my breathing more ragged. The heat was unbearable. Doubt crept in. Thoughts like, “I should stop, I am not fit for this,” popped up in my mind. “It’s too hard.”
But with a quick decision to continue running, I pushed through the pain. A surge of the will rose up and determination took over. “I can do it. I want to complete this race. I need to do this for me.” I want to be a runner, an athlete. And I want to be a saint – a spiritual athlete.
I run seeking the exhilaration the endorphins give me. Exercise is one of my tools for wellness. It’s amazing how even a short walk can change my mental state. Creativity flows and problems look smaller. My mental health flourishes when I am active.
When I was five, I tried to outrun cars when heading to school along farm fields. It became a game for my brother and me, and helped get us to school on time! Later I ran in fall races to win pumpkins. In Grade 3, I joined track and started running the longer races. I overheard my gym teacher say to my mom, “She runs like the wind!”
A few years ago, I trained for a race in the middle of a Vancouver winter, so running in the rain was the norm. The first splash would soak my feet and the discomfort became familiar. After that, I would run straight through puddles without a second thought. It’s amazing to see what I can withstand when I don’t rely on my own strength but the Lord’s. In St. Paul’s letter to the Romans, he says, “… we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not disappoint us, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us.”
Though I suffer from mental illness at times, I come out of it stronger. These experiences increase my will to live a life full of purpose. As a Catholic woman, I run to the source of my hope, Jesus. When I receive the sacraments of Holy Mass and confession often, they nourish my mind, body, and soul. As my feet fly over pavement, running shoes making a smacking percussion over the hum of cars, my spirit soars. Running gives me a wild feeling of freedom – it’s as if I am racing to my next adventure.
I recently heard a story about Mark Sullivan, author of the bestseller Beneath a Scarlet Sky. One winter day, he was seriously depressed. His brother had committed suicide a month before, his mother had brain damage, he was in a business dispute, and his latest book was rejected.
On the highway, in a snowstorm, he thought about committing suicide, but the thought of his wife and kids stopped him. He pulled to the side of the road and prayed in his car. He asked for a project he could put all his energy into. A few hours later, he went to a dinner party where he overheard a conversation about a war hero. A book idea came to him and that book became a #1 bestseller. This opportunity came only hours after he almost committed suicide.
We don’t know what good might happen the next minute, hour, month, or year. It’s worth living to find out. Hope is the wind beneath my feet.
First published in the BC Catholic Newspaper on August 21, 2018 https://bccatholic.ca/content/on-being-salty-and-bright
Summer makes dreams of spending time at the beach in salty air with sandy feet a reality. On the rocky beach at Lighthouse Park, I notice changes to the wooden dock. And yet the lighthouse remains the same.
When I was first ill with bipolar disorder, I remember someone who was a lighthouse for me on stormy days. For one month I was confined in a psychiatric ward with many other patients.
During the day, I was bored, fatigued, and longing to be well. With only TV, magazines and meals to occupy my time, the hours dragged on. Flipping through Today’s Parent and Style magazine did not entertain me for long. My family visited me often, bringing me hugs and a dose of well needed laughter.
When I was struggling to be well, I came to treasure moments in nature much more than I had before. Short, 15-minute walks made the hospital garden with its stone path and few rose bushes a place of solace for me. The nurse’s aide who accompanied us was open to chat with me about my various ideas for life after the hospital. She was a bright shining light of hope.
Every afternoon I looked forward to our visits in the garden. Not only was it a chance to leave the hospital ward, it was an opportunity to trust in the Lord’s healing mercy. Her smile filled the room as she invited anyone interested to “escape” for a while and breathe in the fresh air. She had a peacefulness about her that calmed my nerves. Our conversation was always light but could deepen in an instant. After a couple of weeks, I wanted to be like her, study her profession, and share the same joy for life.
I still seek out gardens and wild open spaces to clear the mind and unwind. Every summer my family and I find time to relax by the ocean. Hearing waves crash, sea gulls call, and wind in the trees transports me to carefree happiness. The salty scent of seaweed and the peachy warm sunsets are worth crossing the border to experience. If the weather permits, we gather around a campfire singing songs and roasting marshmallows.
In the Gospel of Matthew, Jesus speaks about being salt of the earth and light of the world. Without salt there is no flavour. Without light a town on a hill can be hidden. This lovely lady had both. The memory of her name escapes me, but these words from Scripture soak in like summer sunshine and salty air.
Let us be salty and bright. Our presence to others – the nurse’s aide to a patient – can bring faith to a forlorn soul. I will always remember her smile and readiness to listen in my time of turmoil.
Now, an ocean swim will be a great reminder to stay salty, and when I gaze up at the stars from my campsite, they’ll encourage me to be bright.
Stories of Resilience 