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(Self)Love is Battlefield

I think about self-love often lately. These past few months have been an extremely uncomfortable, messy and illuminating time for me, developmentally speaking. And while I can't be sure, being in the middle, I do like to think that I am on a journey to a more peaceful state of being. Even if I wasn't able to see that when I took the first steps. I am starting to realize that I have spent a lifetime fighting a war against worthiness. While there are external factors that certainly exacerbate this, I think it's safe to say that, in the end, these attacks have largely been one sided. Me against myself. And I'm ready to surrender. Cool the hostilities, as it were. I began going to therapy in September of 2018. I spent five months working with a counselor on the fact that I felt overwhelmed. Just... all of the time. Honestly. That was the whole reason I went to see someone. I was exhausted, drowning, unfulfilled and I didn't know why. After talking to me for approximat...
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Recent posts

My Experience with Sexual Harassment in the Theatre

Let me start off by saying that as I write this, I am overwhelmed by nervousness. I am scared that even though the content of this post is merely a toe-dip in the shallow end of this issue pool, that it is too much. I also fear that it is not enough. Does my voice matter? Is the little bit of my experience that I am willing to share going to make a difference? Really, I'm no one in this community- An emerging artists with little-to-no professional experience on her resume. I wonder if that makes what I have to say less important. Or is it all the more crucial because there are so many more of us at the bottom than there are at the top? I don't know. All I know is I have a voice and something to say, so I'm going to say it. Even if I'm not saying all of it. I am not brave enough to name the names of the men who have harassed me. I fear the repercussions- in my career, but also in my personal life. And that is the real issue for me as I don't have much of a career ...
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Nama-Stay Out of My Business

Some of you may know that I've been participating in a introductory one month unlimited yoga period at Junction 9 Yoga & Pilates. It's a great studio. It's clean and beautiful. They do classes on the roof and the lockers are free. I do not have a single complaint about it, although, this is my blog, so you know that I have a complaint about something .  I did a lot of yoga and body weight exercise when I was in theatre school, and have kept up periodically since. Mostly at home on my own. But as I have recently become way older than I was seven years ago, I decided I needed more structure in order to stay healthy, connected to my body, and work off some of the beer I consume, etc. I was beyond intimidated to start a formal "practice" for many reasons. I was worried that I wasn't thin enough, or strong enough or committed enough to dedicate myself to this journey. I was also concerned about judgement from the type of people I imagined would attend c...
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Please Don't Ask Me Where I'm From (Bonus: An intense look into my use of humour as a defense mechanism!)

I want to preface this entire post by saying that this is an expression of my personal experience, and I do not presume to speak for anyone else. I also do not dare to compare my annoyance with actual racism that persons of colour experience everyday. I just need to get this off my chest: Don't ask me where I'm from. There. I've said it. Please, for the love of all that is good and holy, stop asking me where I'm from. For a long time, I've struggled with this interaction. I continually have minimized my own discomfort for the benefit of not offending other people, but guess what? The more this happens, the more offended I get. At 26 years old, I get this question so often and in so many different ways, that I feel compelled to write an entire blog post about it. So, I swear, if anyone tells me I'm being too sensitive, they can go suck a whole dick. I mean it. To be fair, it isn't always "So, where are you from?" Just for the sake of clarity, h...
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Bigger and Better: A Story of Life, Self-Love and Thighs that Touch

Last year's shorts don't fit anymore. That's a discovery I made before work this morning. It's a hot one in Calgary and I've worn that pair of Levi's faithfully for three, maybe four, summers. I'm not going to lie to you, it stung a bit. And not just because the button pinched my muffin top. I had to face what I've known for a while, but could kind of ignore when I wasn't looking at it, like the mold growing on the tub faucet: I have gained weight in this past year. I looked at myself in the mirror, orange fabric straining against the pressure of belly button and 'bad' decisions, and I thought: "You're fat now. Look how fat and ugly you are." So, I took off the shorts and stared down at the huge pile of unfolded laundry, wondering what to put on my fat and ugly body. I found a pretty dress made of stretchy fabric and I looked at myself again and thought: "Not bad." And then I slapped myself (figuratively) and screame...
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Learning to Be Ugly (or My Hairy Journey)

As many of you know, I'm a bit of a rabid feminist. Or I'm getting there, at least. Maybe, if I keep working hard, some time soon the Feminazi council will promote me to "rabid." Fingers crossed. In any event, I wanted to put pen to paper (so to speak) about my personal experience with what is undeniably a feminist issue: body hair. If you have no interest in reading about my big ol' bush, I'd stop here. Because seriously, this is going to be 90% about my bush. Go ahead. There's the door. Oh. You're still here? Great. Let's begin. I have entitled this post "Learning to Be Ugly" because that's quite honestly what it feels like. I'm sure my thinking that way is part of the problem, but I'm not trying to be a perfect paragon of feminist ideals, here. I'm just trying to tell you about this journey I'm on- my hairy journey. That's also a good title. I'm going to go back and include it as a parenthetical. There. ...
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Operation: Bikini

I had a bit of a weird interaction today while shopping for a bathing suit and I wanted to share it with you all because... WELP, it fucking bothered me. Now, I haven't bought a new bikini in probably five or six years. There are many reasons for this, but chief among them is the fact that my old black one still fits juuuust fine. I decided that that excuse wasn't good enough for me anymore because I am a goddamn sexy twenty-five year old woman and I deserve better bathing suit habits than someone's spinster aunt. So, on this rainy Friday morning, just ten short hours after crushing a 20 oz pint and a huge plate of poutine at the pub with my homies, I decided to take my bad self to the mall to try on some bikinis. I had previously avoided going into Swimco on my hunt because, even though that is where I got my last suit, they don't generally carry sizes above a D-cup and I have enormous cans. After not having much luck- and I'll be honest, I've been looking fo...
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