Recent Episodes

In 2021 I chose to change my first name to Avery as a way to make peace and grieve the loss of who I used to be and what I used to be capable of. I only changed my name in practice, though, and haven’t done it legally.

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I am the queen of double standards.

It’s easy for me to excuse forgetfulness, mistakes, or the harmful words and actions of others and say “well they’re just doing the best they can.” But when it comes to the times that I forget, that I made a mistake, that I said something wrong or hurtful, or that I did something I know I shouldn’t have done – well … I can be terrible to myself.

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I have a confession to make.

To be honest so far I’ve been playing it safe. Sharing carefully crafted vulnerable stories is a safe space for me.

In this episode, though, I’m going to share my opinion on something that might be a bit controversial. And that scares the shit out of me. My inner people pleaser who doesn’t like to rock the boat is not a fan of what I’m about to talk about – but I’m going to do it scared, because that’s what I do.

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My partner and I were getting ready to leave the Boston Pizza restaurant we just had dinner in before joining a group of people to go see the Blue Jays baseball team play at Rogers Center in Toronto. My sister was getting married in a few days, and everyone who was either family or part of the wedding party were getting together to watch the game. Just before we left the restaurant I slipped away to the washroom. There were three stalls, and so I picked one of the available ones and immediately heard someone crying in the stall beside me.

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I have a lantern tattoo on my right arm, and although it is beautiful, my favorite part is that the glass in the lantern is broken. The little winding cracks in the glass are very intentional and I want to share why.

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One night I collapsed on the floor in a ball, ugly crying with my whole body shaking while our treadmill whirred on beside me, not noticing I’m not walking on it anymore. But that’s not actually where this story starts.

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My friends and I were walking in the streets of downtown Vancouver during a warm summer night. I was wearing a cheesy dollar store tiara and sash that identified me as the bride, I felt so celebrated, loved, and cared for at my bachelorette party. After going to two craft breweries to have a flight of beers – side note this was the first time I’ve ever had a flight of anything like that, so it was super fun. If you’re ever in Vancouver, check out Parallel 49 and try the hibiscus beer. It’s so good.

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When I was in grade one we were making a craft with a colonizer settler covered wagon, celebrating discovering the “great frontier” which I now know is a lie, but that’s another story.

Anyway, there we were: a bunch of six year olds coloring pictures of wagons, horses, and using safety scissors to cut them out. When we were ready to fasten the pictures of the horses to the wagon, we were supposed to go up the parent volunteer and ask them to help us use a brass fastener to join the two pictures so that the horses could move a little bit.

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My patient was really sick, with 7 or 8 medications running at the same time through their IV’s, a ventilator breathing for them, and another machine running to help their kidneys clean their blood. Everything was temporarily in it’s precarious balance as is so common in ICU patients.

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