Trigger Me

 

Trigger Me

Relax

That’s the word my stepfather used before he started in on me.

Relax

Each and every time.

Relax

I knew what was coming.

Relax

I was just a kid.

Relax

The sexual abuse went on for three years.

Before he touched me, he would always tell me to relax.

I was fifteen when I escaped and left home.

No longer would my stepfather tell me to relax.

Many factors and hellish moments filled those days, and months, and years.

They are still a part of me.

My only choice was to come to terms with it.

My stepfather telling me to relax was a problem.

My therapist, Buddhist teacher, or friend telling me to relax was not the problem.

Even I could tell myself to relax.

Trigger words are all around us.

Let’s neutralize them instead of allowing them to haunt our lives.

I started to find it all ironically funny.

That was probably the moment I decided to make friends with my fucking trigger word.

Relax.

My stepfather no longer owns me.

Cancel him.

Cancel his hold over me.

Cancel it all.

But let me keep my ability to relax whenever the fuck I want to.

Or choose to.

Some hurts stay forever.

Some things are beyond my reach.

Some anchors still hold me back.

But not reacting to a word is comparably easy to fix.

Bottom line

Relax

if I stay

Again… What’s Next?

Four years ago I wrote a blog titled “What’s Next?”

I had no idea what the future would bring but knew being elected as a Vancouver Park Board Commissioner would be an experience I would never forget.

Politics, Covid, meetings, Stanley Park, media interviews, heat domes, golf courses, access, and talking and talking and talking and more.

Fast forward 4 years and now I know what it’s like to run in an election and lose. November 7th was my last official event as an elected official. It has been a ride.

So… what’s next?

My goal at the Park Board was always to speak up for seniors and people with disabilities. Clearly that is never going to end. No matter where I am or what I’m doing this will continue. It has to.

The line “what’s next” came from the West Wing TV Series. When President Bartlett was ready to move on he would say “what’s next.” Everyone around him understood he had already turned the page. I don’t know if I’ve totally turned that page but I do know it’s time.

My book was supposed to be written four years ago. It’s time. It’s overdue.

Being a politician and elected official is an experience everyone should try. Public service mixed in with being a public person. The balancing act was daunting.

Many people showed me their kindness and compassion throughout these four years. I’m going to focus on that and not the hate that often comes along with the position.

I could never have survived without John Coupar sitting at the Park Board table with me. He was my mentor, partner, and teammate. He has become a great friend.

John and I at our last official Park Board meeting

Thanks to all of you for your patience and encouragement.

I hope you’ll stick around to find out…

What’s next.

 

 

 

Sandra Third

My mother died on Wednesday. It’s weird to be saying this. It’s strange to be thinking about it. It’s too surreal for my mind to accept.

I never met my mother. Well of course, that’s wrong. We met at the hospital on my birthday. Sadly, I will never know what happened that day. Did she hold me for a moment, or was I just hustled away? I do know she took the time to name me, but I’ll never know how or why.

For the past thirteen years I’ve known a bit about my mom, but only a few small details. Her name, where she lives, and most important, that she has another daughter.

During all those years I’ve only seen a handful of pictures.

During all those years I kept her secret and the vow I made to not tell her family I existed.

During all those years I kept my distance and just carried on.

My promise ended on May 11 when I accidentally blew her cover.

Now everyone knows. And now Sandra is gone.

Some place in my brain won’t accept this.

Some place in my mind must think it’s unfair.

Some place in my heart is broken.

Today I read her obituary, heard all about her life and even saw some old pictures. Snapshots of Sandra when she was a young woman. A glimmer of the woman I met in the hospital that day.

For fourteen days I was Cheryl Lee Third. I was Sandra Third’s daughter.

Today I’m Tricia Barker.

No matter what, I will forever be Sandra Third’s little girl.

 

COVID and My Depression

Like so many others, I wake up in the middle of the night.
Sometimes I get up and write.
Lately my depression has been filling my 3am thoughts.

COVID and My Depression

My depression has been waiting on the sideline.
Waiting for the chance to step up.
Waiting for my guard to drop down.
Waiting for the moment to step in.
Waiting to take over and rule the day.
Waiting.

My depression is patient and bides it’s time.
It plays a very long game.

Covid gave my depression a battering ram.
But I’m pushing back as hard as I can.
Covid gave my depression keys to the door.
I’m struggling to keep it shut.
Covid gave my depression all the passwords.

I’m fighting.
I’m giving it all I’ve got.
Right now there’s a 50/50 chance I won’t win.
Every day is a battle.
The door’s barricaded and I’m searching for another way out.
What happens if depression gets past my defenses?
What then?
I’m looking for the exit sign.
Where is that way out?
Fuck, did a window just break?
Do I stand my ground?
Can I hide until it disappears?
Do I call for help?
Can I outrun it?
Will it always find me?

In the end, I get to decide…

 

 

Elaine

She had the grace and elegance that made you think of women from another time. She was a force and hard to ignore.

When the cardio doctor asked me questions about her I said she could be brittle. He laughed and said, “Yes she can be.” I explained that came because she could barely see and was hard of hearing. “That makes sense” he replied.

I felt it was my duty to speak up for her. It was the last thing I would do for Elaine.

She lived downstairs and we would often cross paths in the laundry room. It’s a small apartment building so you got to know the other tenants. She was surprised to hear I was running in the civic election. She donated to my campaign and was thrilled when I won. I was thrilled with the joy it gave her.

We didn’t know each other well but always said hello in the hall.

Then one day she asked for my help. That day cemented a friendship. I never knew her well, never really knew anything about her, but she grew to know that if she called I could be down at her place in minutes.

Fix a toilet, write a cheque, talk to the landlord. Just little things. But it always ended with a joke and a laugh.

Tibetan Buddhism reminds us that true generosity is giving what is required.

I will keep reminding you that I didn’t really know Elaine. But we always giggled at life’s crazy ways. She had the best laugh!

Elaine called in a panic two weeks ago. I raced down to her place and called 911. I held her hand and told her not to worry because I would take care of things. It was the last thing I would say to her. She passed away four days later.

The truth is that I’ve learned more about Elaine since she’s been gone. She left a big imprint.

Why am I telling you this? Maybe it’s to remind myself that we all might need help one day.

And maybe even more important, I wish you could have heard Elaine’s incredible laugh.

 

 

Respect and Dignity

In a world gone mad, we could all use a little respect and dignity.

If your world has fallen apart, respect and dignity can sometimes make you feel yourself again.

This week I went for a walk with one of my favourite clients. It was the day before he was moving from his beloved home, where he and his wife had lived for years, to a care home. I pushed his wheelchair around the False Creek seawall and we took in some of Vancouver’s familiar places. We chatted about everything and nothing. For long stretches he was quiet and I can only imagine how he thought his life was about to change.

And it was.

I’ve worked with him for years. A very accomplished man but for privacy reasons I won’t give you his name or title. He’s funny and clever and has suffered from Parkinson’s for decades.

The next day, when he arrived at that care home, the staff were at the door to greet him.

They welcomed him and used his title and last name. And in that moment he was not just an old man in a wheelchair that needed help, he was a valued human being that had lived a life.

With that gesture they showed him respect and treated him with dignity.

He smiled.

I imagine they give everyone that comes through their door that same benefit.

And it makes a world of difference.

Life is often unfair. Getting to the end of your journey here on earth can be devastating and embarrassing and downright soul crushing. Being seen and treated as a person, and not just another decrepit old man in need of care, can make your time bearable.

But bearable isn’t enough. We should be making people happy.

That should always be our goal. In a perfect world we should treat everyone with that aim. But we don’t. These people have given us their years… let’s try to give a little back.

It’s the least we can do.

Respect and dignity.

Falling Through The Cracks

It’s easy to fall through the cracks during a worldwide pandemic. So much is based on the big picture. Governments move with the majority. Concerns are for the many. People in charge are responsible for overall numbers.

I’m worried about the ones that get lost. Sometimes they fall so far behind we forget they were even here.

When I tell people I’ve lost my day job and am having trouble paying rent the usual response is quick. “Well Trudeau announced that they have CERB, you can sign up for that.” “There’s rent money available.” “Have you gone to the bank?”

Do you really think I would lose my job and not hustle to source any available dollars out there to help? I know the advice is well meaning, but sometimes we need more than words.

Still, I fell through the cracks and then started to look around to see who was here with me.

It seems there are many of us.

And it’s not just on the financial side, but on every aspect of life. All the little details that keep the wheels turning are now misaligned. We are wavering. You are supposed to have back-up plans but really, who actually has them?

Luckily, most of us will pull through.

Then a ray of hope; almost a redemption. The spotlight turned and focused on our disadvantaged seniors. We can no longer deny they have been falling through the cracks long before COVID-19. Most of us have been ignoring them for years. These are the people without a voice and it’s easy to keep them quiet. Devastatingly easy.

If we learn one thing from this pandemic, let it be that we stop ignoring our compromised elders. Stop hiding them behind closed and locked doors.

Even if the spotlight focuses on the next tragedy, let’s not fall backwards and forget.

As the days and weeks and months of social change merge together, let’s take what we have learned and keep pushing to make things better. Let’s make amends.

This can’t happen again.

And as Desmond Tutu so wisely said, “There comes a point where we need to stop just pulling people out of the river. We need to go upstream and find out why they’re falling in.”

But for now…If you see someone falling through the cracks reach out and grab their hand.

Pull them back to the boat. Don’t let them drift away.

Today there are plenty of people putting on masks and gloves and holding many hands.

Tomorrow we’ll need to look around to make sure no one else is missing.

And maybe, just maybe, it’s time to start filling those cracks so we don’t keep repeating the chaos.

 

 

 

 

 

 

More Than Sadness

My depression had been taking a respite for about 2.5 years. I knew it wasn’t gone but I was enjoying the vacation from the torment. I was enjoying the space to weather bad days without a wrecking ball crashing through. I was enjoying the quiet.

Then COVID-19 hit.

It brought along my depression.

The creep was slow but relentless. I watched the shadows appear. I felt the dread manifest. It was a constant drip that turned into a tsunami.

My trick is to stand away from myself and watch. This has pluses and minuses. It’s easier to meditate and practice non-attachment, but also tosses aside compassion for myself.

Finding the balance can save my life.

A little aside, I’m not writing this as a plea for help. That’s not the intent. My point is to remind everyone that we never know what’s going on inside someone’s head. You can see a smiling face and there are tears behind the mask. A mad growl can be hiding fear. We just never know. People lie all the time.

On a bad day last week I sent out a tweet as I headed out for a walk. Yes, sometimes I take my depression out for a walk. The tweet was offhand, sent without an agenda.

During that walk I thought nothing mattered anymore. Nothing. What was the use?

When I got back home I read the responses from the tweet and was floored.

There were over 11,000 impressions. Many direct messages. All unexpected.

The next morning I woke up and the depression was still hovering. Still there, but manageable. Still there, but set aside enough for me to get on with my day.

I’m sharing this story because everything matters. You matter. And clearly your actions matter.

It takes an army to keep depression at bay. You never know if you’re one of the soldiers that’s helping fight the fight and fortifying the defenses.

To all those people that liked the tweet, sent a note, even just took a second to read my words.

Thank you.

Everything matters and kindness can make the difference.

 

 

Timing is Everything

Timing is everything.

Photography is often finding the perfect moment to take the shot. A sunrise, a gesture, a wave on the ocean, a deserted bridge. Sometimes you have to be patient to wait for the moment and sometimes you turn around and there it is.

Life’s like that, timing is everything.

We can be running out of time and don’t even know it. Randomness can be in your favour, or not.

COVD-19 has that power. Maybe that’s what makes it so scary, we can’t see it, but we know it’s lurking.

The best advice I can give people these days is what I’ve always encouraged my clients to do. I’ve helped people that are terminally ill with their bucket lists. Then at some point, as we get closer to the end, a few things become inherently more important.

And what most often becomes critical? Have you said everything you want to say to those you hold dear?

The time comes to reach out and tell everyone you know how you feel about them. Pretend it’s the last time you’ll hold someone’s hand, hear their voice or see them smile.

It might be awkward as hell. We humans aren’t built to say the obvious. But just this once, for this moment in time, ignore the fear and just do it.

Living under this COVID-19 fog, we never know when the next hammer will drop. The best way to be prepared is to say the words before it’s too late…

Go make that call, write that note, compose the text, zoom away. And don’t forget the person sitting next to you. Tell them how much you care. Don’t wait. Do it today.

If you say those things now you’ll hold that picture in your heart and it will keep you warm.

Timing is everything. Too late is too late. Regrets can destroy you.

Words can be soul saving…

They are everything.

And the time is now.