When I was young, I dreamed of the future. I dreamed of marriage and motherhood. I dreamed of who I would one day love. I dreamed of how many kids I’d one day have. I dreamed of the profession I’d one day do (geologist? interior decorator? teacher?). I dreamed of the house I’d one day live in. I dreamed of the future.

Later, my dreams were with worry. I dreamed of parents that loved each other. I dreamed of a world in which my mom was happy and whole. I dreamed of my father’s laughter and lightness returning. I dreamed of no more yelling, no more anger. I dreamed of different answers than those I was seeing – violence and harm. I dreamed of what should have already been given.  

In high school, I dreamed of difference. I dreamed of escaping the mountain. I dreamed of being a part of the busy, fast, moving world. I dreamed of a changed family dynamic that I could understand. I dreamed of meeting the standards of beauty. I dreamed of being liked and being wanted. I dreamed of that which I didn’t have – difference.

In college, I was in a dream itself – one albeit finding and fumbling. I dreamed of getting my life together (it took a few tries). I dreamed of being someone that my parents could be proud of. I dreamed of accepting myself. I dreamed of getting the grades for which I’d be found worthy. I dreamed of friendships kept, relationships lasting, and me not fucking it all up. I stayed in said dreams for many a year.

These days, I dream of peace. I spoke of this peace recently. It is peace within myself. Peace within my living arrangements. Peace within the chaos that is raising children. Peace within my professional landscape. Peace with my parents. Peace with my brother. Peace with my changing friendship circles. Peace with my ex. Peace within my love life (or at times lack thereof). Peace within my body. Peace within this world. I dream of peace.

Future me, what will you dream of? And will you find it?

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There’s been a shift as of late, a space being made for someone new. I’ve met someone. And as I dip my toes into the feelings of “new relationship” – rushes of dopamine, hints of love drunkenness, and joys over the tiniest anything and everything – I watch myself. Curiously, critically (I am me, after all), and reflectively. I watch what I do and how I act. I wonder.

Am I love bombing?

Am I trauma bonding?

Am I doing that codependency-affection-flooding thing?

Am I going to mess this up, too? (she says, always laying blame inevitably at her feet)

Am I going to turn into my mom – again? (… see above)

I worry, as worrying is me, and poking with ALL the questions at ALL the things with ALL the thoughts is what I do.

I wish to not elaborate here on the answers to the questions above, however, as the answers to all of them are no (when I’m in my right mind, that is, however rarely that may be).

There is something that I keep coming back to though. It’s an excerpt from “Captain Corelli’s Mandolin” by Louis de Bernières, which reads:

“Love is a temporary madness; it erupts like volcanoes and then subsides. And when it subsides you have to make a decision. You have to work out whether your roots have so entwined together that it is inconceivable that you should ever part. Because this is what love is. Love is not breathlessness, it is not excitement, it is not the promulgation of eternal passion. That is just being in love, which any fool can do. Love itself is what is left over when being in love has burned away, and this is both an art and a fortunate accident. Those that truly love have roots that grow towards each other underground, and when all the pretty blossoms have fallen from their branches, they find that they are one tree and not two.”

During the last five or so years of my marriage, I thought of this quote often. Every time it came up on Facebook memories, I re-posted it. Be it to justify and make pretty the reality of my dying marriage, or to cling to it out of hope that where we were at was normal, this quote saw me through. All of our love had burned away, but we had roots. I couldn’t see at the time that those were roots of habit, stubbornness, predictability, and convenience, however. Roots that when finally given a proper looking at practically crumbled, but that’s a story for another time.

These days, I look to this quote in light anew. It is not the roots of it upon which I reflect this time around (there hasn’t been time yet for those roots to grow), it’s the temporary madness. It’s the breathlessness. It’s the passion. It’s awareness that these are times of pretty blooms.  It’s the curious inquiry as to how one helps those pretty blooms last longer. It’s the realization that I am (happily) one of those fools, but at the same time, possessing of agency and mindfulness this time around to better support and guide the narrative, choice, and decision.

It’s hope. It’s open eyes. It’s excitement. It’s tempering. It’s adoration. It’s balance. It’s foresight.


Something I would have given anything to have those sixteen years ago.  

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My self narratives.

A year of beliefs, taken from a year of conversations. All the following came after my words, “I am…

Boring as hell.


Terribly socially awkward.


Complicated and not easy.


Silly keener.

Not a leader and nor do I find comfort in it.

Entirely too curious.



A cheap bastard.

Being extra AF.


Afflicted with the curse of competency.


Movie dumb.

Pansy Canadian.

The worst.

Being very normal.

Truly terrible.

Not to be trusted with life.

Not very good.


So socially inept.


Oddly excited.

Too doom and gloomy.

Kinda doom reincarnated.

Paranoid AF.

Slightly panicked.


Fucking vexed.


Super freaking anxious.

Most proud.

Running solely on caffeine and stubbornness.


Born from the loins of crazy.

Absolutely rattled.

Not prepared.


Not innocent.

Not perfect.

Not without fault.

Two seconds from screaming.

Too predictable.


Utterly disenfranchised.

Wrong tho?

Over simplifying the fuck out of everything.



A heathen.


That way.

A giant confused noob.

Ready to commit violence.

Because I’m scared.

Incapable of making important decisions.

Slightly doubting myself.


Super vocal.


Legitimately terrified.


So enlightened.


Not drunk enough for this.



An exception to the rule.

So out of shape.

Going to conduct an experiment.

Asking for too much.

Not up to date.

A smarmy asshole.

Wont to do.

Entirely too honest.

Not worth it.

Not worthy.


Like, high on life right now.

SO relieved.

Sadly not surprised.

Accepting and embracing this reality.



So excited.

Guilty of.

Really bad.

Here for it.



For this plan.

Not sure why.

Not allowed.

Much more than what I look like.

Slightly biased.


A silly hopeful optimist.


Sleepy AF.

Very people-y, yes.

So fucking happy.

The least fanciest person of all time.

Not going to Google if that is a thing.

So boring.

Crazy owl lady.

Way overthinking this.

Not at all that calculated.

12 years old.

Going to weep with joy.

So god damn tired.




Lame AF.

Reading too much into this.

A terrible person.

Allergic to shopping.

Dumb and hopeful.

Going to be inexplicably joyous.

Dumb when sleepy.

Dreading this with my everything.

Still confused a bit but I always am.

I don’t know how (I am).

Low key embarrassed.

Wading in “I have no idea what I’m doing” waters.

Awe in the stupidity of humanity.

Most blessed.

Lacking cohesion.

Confirmed old.

So mad at myself.

Anxious and nervous.

Always 10 steps behind.

Busy, but often I am equally slacking.

Over it.

There with you.



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I see you, inner child.

I’ve been doing the work (as per Nicole LaPera), and have been asked to write letter(s) to my inner child. And so, I begin.

Caretaker Sarah,

I see you there, putting others’ comforts and well-being above your own, because that’s what you did as a kid. You did all you could to be helpful and good, so dad and mom kept loving you, even though it wasn’t you they were angry at – they were mad at each other.

I see you, needing to be needed, giving and giving as a means to help you feel worthy.

I see you, not listening to your own needs out of fear of being selfish or rude.

I see your need for approval from others, and a self-worth that depends on what others think of you.

I see you apologizing when you’re not even at fault.

I see you doing everything to avoid conflict at all costs, wanting to keep the peace you could never find in your childhood, at times to your own detriment.

I see you, struggling through being a constant giver to your children, feeling selfish and hallow by dare considering scaling back your selflessness for the sake of your own sanity, and then hating yourself when doing it.

I see you, I hear you, I love you.

They were mad, but not with you.

Anxiously Attached Sarah,

I see you there, struggling with self-esteem, believing you’re not good enough for someone to stay. This is a fear instilled into you by your mother’s inconsistent parenting, toxic emotional responses, and bipolar tendencies. Your childhood was a time of reeling and on unsteady ground. Where could you stand if you didn’t know where you stood with her?

I see you and your need for constant reassurance.

I see you there, among a lifetime of settling. Anyone that will have you, gets you. And then you get fixated, in love with love.

I see you there, clingy and needy. Terrified of being alone and abandoned, you pull and you need and you need. But then you panic and you push and push – what if they leave you? What if they find someone better?

I see you and your anxiety and jealousy and reading too much into EVERYTHING when your person is not there.

I see you, always afraid you’re going to mess it all up, afraid to speak. Fear driving you to deny your own needs for the sake of keeping the course – a course driven by anxiety, worry, and need.

I see you, I hear you, I love you.

She was sick and unwell, and it had no reflection on you.


You are enough, Sarah. You are enough.

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