Letting Go of the Version of Him I Needed

 

I sat on the couch and words fell out of my mouth. Not the kind you rehearse so your hurt or expectations don’t make the other person too uncomfortable, but the kind that happens because something in you just breaks open.

I watched how my partner had tried so hard to meet my ever-shifting needs and expectations. How he had learned to sense when my mood would shift, usually into anxiety, and would try to figure out the right words or tone that would land exactly the way I desperately needed them to. How he was making himself smaller or different or whatever I needed him to be because the thought of disappointing me felt so heavy.

I had thought I was the only one tracking moods and shaping myself to fit what I thought the relationship needed. But I was realizing, with a pain I can’t quite name, that I didn’t really know the person in front of me anymore. Not because of a lack of love or effort or care, but because I was so scared he wasn’t who I needed anymore that I superimposed my ideal onto who he really was.

But here was the kicker. When I started to realize that I was slowly eroding the great between us, I knew it was far scarier to imagine each of us slowly disappearing than to face my fear that he wasn’t absolutely everything I needed. 

And he isn’t. And that’s okay. (Or at least it will be.)

The gift, though, has been calming my nervous system long enough to see him. Like, really see him. How, when he responds to questions about his inner life or how he sees the world with sound, imagery, metaphor, and symbolism, something in me feels more spacious. It bypasses my constant internal monologue and feels like I finally get to rest in the song, painting, or photograph he’s creating for me.

My Struggle With Flow

 

There’s this guy I know. We’ll call him Joe. One of the great things about Joe is that he seems genuinely happy just being wherever he is, doing whatever he’s doing. I’m not saying he doesn’t have struggles. He’s human, after all. But what I love about the way he lives is the sense of flow it seems to create.

The nemesis of flow is constant analysis, and this is where I falter. My brain is always searching for patterns, reasons, and the bigger meaning behind everything. What does this situation say about you, me, and the state of the world around me? I'm stuck in an endless loop of depth created by heaviness and fear, a depth that may have helped me survive at one point but now just leaves me exhausted and teary-eyed when someone talks about being in a state of flow.

Sometimes I watch people on the bus and wonder what thoughts are running their lives. Maybe that thirty-something man who is laughing as he texts is sending an emoji in response to a silly meme of a howling husky puppy. Or that twenty-something woman picking at her nails is making a mental note to book a mani-pedi this week.

I used to think it was sad that people didn’t spend as much time as I did searching for depth and meaning. I believed it meant I would somehow have a more fulfilling and purposeful life. But in reality, it keeps me from truly living in the only thing that is real — this one moment.

How great would it be if I could spend less time trying to figure out the why and simply be content with the what.

Well, You Have Some Audacity!

 

I had a conversation recently that surprised me.

My new job has the title Office Administrator, but really it’s a hodgepodge of IT, streamlining office procedures, design, and social media. By far, my weakest area is IT. My brain just doesn’t understand the underpinnings of IT - nor does it want to.

I was trying to upload OneDrive and M365 data to an external hard drive but it wouldn’t let me because the drive apparently needed to be partitioned. What the af does that even mean? I had spent the day frustrated by technology, and now this?  

My brain kind of exploded, and words just started tumbling out of my mouth. In front of my new boss. Well—to my boss, really. I wasn’t rude but I did express that all this IT stuff is beyond what an admin usually does and maybe I’m not the right person for this job and that I might not live up to his expectations. He responded that I could still learn a lot of these things. And then, even surprising myself, I said, But what if I don’t want to? What if I don’t want a job where I need to know all this IT stuff?

He seemed taken aback… and honestly, I felt grounded.

I’ve only had this job for a month, and here I am saying, But wait—what if I don’t want this job?Searching for a job is awful. There are few part-time jobs out there that would work for me, and yet here I am willing to walk away because I don’t want to spend my days doing a job that is full of frustration and little joy. 

What amazed me, though, was that I wasn’t nervous during this conversation and I didn’t spend the rest of the day agonizing over it. I felt like I had the right to create a life that I actually wanted to wake up for every day. Not just a right—but a responsibility to find joy and meaning.

I think audacity is a positive trait. It gives me the strength and presence of mind to show up as myself even when it’s inconvenient or uncomfortable for others. What I want and need matters, and I will voice it even if that means changing course again and again.

 

The Rocky Road of Resume Rejection

                Looking for a job is frustrating, overwhelming, and terribly lonely. I just want someone to tell me how elegant my filing systems are and how my excel sheets are like a work of art. Sending out resume after resume, into what feels like a void, makes me feel like I have nothing of value to share with the world. When I hear other people talk about how they get complimented at work, even for things that should be easy like writing grammatically correct emails and not losing their sh*t with customers, I feel all sorts of jealousy rolling around in my tummy.

Apparently the best way to find a job now is networking. To me, networking means small talk and small talk is boring. I can deal with discomfort, but boredom makes me sigh loudly and slump in my chair. Like, I don’t care how you feel about another day of rain or how you’re adding soft close kitchen cabinets or what your new favourite excel feature is. (Actually, the excel thing might be interesting.) I want to know what makes you feel so much joy that you lose yourself in the moment or what makes you cry in the shower because you just feel so defeated. But most humans, especially those you don’t know well, just aren’t comfortable sharing the parts of themselves that really matter.

So, how do I get through this job searching awfulness? Right now, it’s listening to Pink Pony Club and letting my finger tips flutter over the keys so that for a few minutes I can get lost in a world where an exposed heart matters more than paying the mortgage.

Week 10 Kindness Story: 3 Things I've Learned About Kindness

 

  I may not be able to fix the economic, political, environmental, and social problems plaguing the world, but I can focus on making another person's day just a little easier or more enjoyable. Hopefully reading these kindness stories has brought a smile to your face and a warmth to your heart.

After some contemplation, here are 3 things I learned about kindness over the last 10 weeks:

1)Kindness asks for vulnerability. Being kind means showing up with an open heart which can feel scary but it’s how we bridge the disconnection that leads to loneliness.

2)Kindness calms anxiety. Focusing on what other people need gives us a momentary break from languishing in our own struggles.

3)Kindness feels good. I know this sounds simple but I’m trying to do more things in life that just feel good.

Week 9 Kindness Story: A Chance Meeting

 

When we're struggling, a kind gesture from a stranger can make us feel seen and supported. My partner, Kevin, shared a story about how two strangers (we'll call them Ross and Mark) connected over beer.

     Kevin was working in a tasting room and noticed that Ross seemed to have a number of stressful phone calls about a financial issue. When he finished his phone calls, Mark approached him and asked if he was going to get another beer. When Ross said he was saving his money Mark kindly placed a $20 in front of him and said, “Why don’t you get one for each of us”.

    Ross was stunned and it took a few moments before he could respond but they spent the next couple hours chatting over a beer. I don’t know if they talked about their problems, fantasy football, or movies they’ve seen but I highly suspect that Ross will never forget that kind gesture.

Week 8 Kindness Story: In the Eyes of an Orangutan

    Looking into the eyes of an animal can be disarming; they have a way of being with us that feels accepting and supportive. My sister shared a story with me about a special connection developed between a young man and an Orangutan at a wildlife refuge in Borneo.

    The young man, a university student, had gone to volunteer at the wildlife refuge but soon became homesick. One day a male orangutan sat down next to him on a log and gently put his hand on the young man’s leg to comfort him. The young man looked into the compassionate eyes of the orangutan and could feel the concern the animal had for his new, human friend. 

    I think most of us could use an emotional support animal. I’m more of a cat person, but if an orangutan wanted to move into our condo, I wouldn’t say no. 

Week 7 Kindness Story: A Week of Random Acts

    I enjoy it when research validates my belief that being a good person is beneficial for everyone involved. Recently, I stumbled upon a study conducted by Oxford University and Kindness.org that predicted an improvement in wellbeing for those who performed acts of kindness for 7 days in a row.

    The results showed that performing at least one act of kindness for 7 days straight increased happiness, life satisfaction, compassion, trust, connection, and feeling positively about humanity. Further to that, the study found that the more acts of kindness that were performed the more wellbeing was boosted. 

    This seems like a win-win situation to me. Being kind to others is also being kind to ourselves.

    

Week 6 Kindness Story: Paying it Forward

 

Have you ever bought the car behind you their Grande Mocha because the car in front of you paid for your Tall Caramel Frappe? I like to think of this as a kindness train. My mom told me a story about how she recently hopped on one such kindness train.

She had gone shopping at a local deli and when she went to pay with a $100 gift card, she was told she could only use that particular card online. Let's just say this didn’t go over particularly well. A kind man in the line up behind her could see how flustered and angry she was so he offered to pay for her order. At first my mom tried to stop him, but he insisted.

When she got home, she decided the best thing she could do was pay the kindness forward. She decided to give a donation of $100 to Doctors Without Borders because it made her feel good to help less fortunate countries in some small way. It's heartwarming when people do what they can to keep the kindness train chuggin' along.

Week 5 Kindness Story: The Kindness Adventure

 

Children remind us that kindness can be an exciting adventure instead of an awkward chore. Watching them share joy with such authenticity and ease is inspiring especially when they are dealing with their own struggles.

My sister, Laurie, has spent many years volunteering as a counsellor at summer camps for children and teenagers who are struggling with cancer. She shared with me this lovely story of a 10-year-old boy.

The camp had a Carnival Night where children played games to win “bucks” that can be used to buy toys. What stood out about this boy was that he was running from game to game trying to collect as many bucks as possible. After the Carnival ended, the counsellors helped him count his bucks and he bought a beautiful doll. What was so kind about that? The prize he won wasn't for himself but a gift for his younger sister.

Week 4 Kindness Story: A Sister's Love

 

Have you ever met someone who’s so impressive it should be maddening but because they are such a lovely person all you feel is inspired? That’s my sister, Laurie. Although she sent me two kindness stories about other people for this project, I decided she deserves a story just about her.

In my early 20’s I had made an emergency appointment with my psychiatrist because I was starting to feel unsafe living on my own. During that appointment he decided he was going to admit me into the psychiatric ward for the first time because my depression and psychosis were getting out of control. Stunned and terrified, I drove straight to Laurie’s office after my appointment to let her know what was happening. Through tears we decided that she would take me to the hospital that night.

                Although that first night was horrible, what I found out later warmed my heart. Laurie had brought her pajamas to the hospital so that she could sleep on the floor next to me. Imagine volunteering to stay in a place where there were some very mentally ill people just so your little sister wouldn’t be so scared? I’d call that a pretty substantial act of kindness.

Week 3 Kindness Stories: The Art of Listening

I have this knack for creating a safe space for people to open up about their struggles without fear of judgement. When I used to work in hospitality this happened frequently. Strangers would just start telling me about their relationship and work problems or even past childhood trauma and addictions. Often, they would share a lot of personal information and then look at me surprised and say,” I have no idea why I just told you that”.

Although I do have strong active listening skills, I believe strangers share their innermost struggles with me because they don’t feel they have anywhere else to share them. They are looking for people who are willing to put away distractions and hold space for them without judgement or advice. I think an amazing act of kindness is to listen to someone else’s struggles with compassion and curiosity. 

People carry around countless worries about life and they often don’t even realize it until someone actually gives them the time and space to unburden themselves.

Week 2 Kindness Stories: A Kind Word in a Struggling World

 

How many parents reading this feel like they’re failing their children at least once a week? Once a day? Mallory, a mom of 2, believes that a great random act of kindness is taking the time to offer a parent empathy and encouragement. Someone to witness their struggle and tell them what an awesome job they’re doing.

A few weeks ago, Mallory was watching her son’s basketball game and noticed how the coach was trying to balance instructing the team and entertaining her own children. Both children, under 5, were climbing the coach as if she were a tree and asking a spit fire of questions like only preschoolers can. What stood out to Mallory was how this coach didn’t seem to get frustrated but remained “calm, cool, and collected”. At the end of the game Mallory made sure to stop and let the coach know how impressed she was with her parenting skills.

What I find amazing about humans is that we often give to others what we, ourselves, need. We resonate with their struggle and extend the empathy and support that we crave.

My Otherworldly Abilities

 

It was a scary moment when I realized that I could trust someone enough to expose parts of myself that others had judged me for. That I could share things that had made others uncomfortable, and this person would actually support and encourage me in these areas.

For some time, I’ve had some otherworldly abilities that I can’t always explain and for a myriad of reasons I started to hide. They were just one more way to feel weird and unlovable. But I’ve found someone who believes I have these abilities and can do these things and that makes all the difference. We may not come to the same conclusions as to why or how, and honestly the truth is usually a hodge podge of beliefs, but he trusts I am having these experiences.

There are a couple ways these abilities have shown up in my life. I can sense and “communicate” with people who were once alive, like my sister, and sometimes it’s like I can tap into an energy that can’t be seen. This is particularly useful when I want to tap into a greater source of creativity.

I spend so much time feeling uncomfortable and embarrassed by these abilities but really, they are gifts. I want to celebrate them as a useful skill and not something shameful that needs to be kept hidden.

Week 1 Kindness Stories: Small Acts, Big Changes

  (Photograph includes Steph's grandpa and wife.)

 

One of my favourite people is Steph and I’ve been lucky enough to call her my friend for almost 30 years. She is the epitome of kindness so it’s no surprise that her acts of kindness story was the first one I received.

In the 1960’s, Steph’s grandpa was a school janitor in Vancouver. While cleaning the hallways during lunch he started to notice that some children would throw out sandwiches and fruit they didn’t want and then at the end of the day another child would come along and dig them out of the garbage. He soon found out that this child's family didn't have enough money to provide him with lunches.

This thoughtful man was quite poor himself, with a low paying job and 4 kids to feed. He knew what it meant to struggle and wanted to help where he could. He decided that when he saw a child about to throw out food, he’d tell them to put it on a windowsill instead. This meant the hungry child could come pick what they wanted without having to hunt through the garbage.

Over time, like many small acts of kindness, this grew into something much larger. These sandwiches and fruit left on a windowsill inspired the school to adopt its first lunch program. When we can use our own struggles to create empathy and change, that’s a beautiful thing.

Your Stories of Kindness

I don’t know about you, but I’ve been feeling hopeless because of all the challenges we’re facing at the moment. I’ve had this desire to make some grand contribution to create a kinder and more joyful world but all that does is overwhelm me and then I shut down. So, I've decided to try a smaller, more achievable goal. Each week, for 10 weeks, I’m going to share a story about kindness. I believe the world needs to be reminded of and inspired by the random acts of kindness that exist around us each and every day.

 This is where I need YOUR help.

 Do you have any random acts of kindness stories to share? It could be as simple as you giving someone a compliment or picking up trash on your favourite trail. Maybe a stranger bought you a coffee at Starbucks or helped you carry groceries to your car. It’s not the size of the act that’s important, it’s the care put into it.

Please DM or email me your story at brandinixon@hotmail.com.  It can remain anonymous if you like. 

"Your Body, My Choice"

      I mean how can….like who could…why would…this is bonkers!

    Rarely am I at a loss for words but when I first saw this trending slogan, I was unable to grab the nouns and verbs swirling through my brain and settle them into a coherent sentence. But time has passed and now I have a lot of words. Angry, disillusioned, exhausted, ashamed, and disgusted to name just a few. I pride myself in being someone who tries to understand all points of view, but I couldn’t give a flying f*ck what your side is if you declare that you have ownership over my body and choices. Honestly, I don’t even think you have a side. I think you’re just a bitter bastard.

    I grew up in an environment where men were constantly being blamed for trying to control women. I thought this was just an overreaction to unhealthy relationships but maybe I was wrong. There are actually men out there that really, truly, want to control women right down to their ovaries and uterus. And now I can’t unknow this.

    Sadly, at least for now, it colors the way I see men. I know that’s not fair and that these bitter men don’t represent most men but when something hits you so hard that it shakes your belief in the goodness of people this is the outcome. Honestly, with woman’s reproductive rights on the chopping block in the States (and our political leanings are moving closer that way in Canada) fairness is no longer part of the conversation. Now it’s about self-preservation.

    Don't kid yourselves. This slogan isn’t just an absurd trend; this is a movement. And it’s terrifying.

                

                

 

When Success Becomes Scarier Than Failure

I’m finding that fear is starting to paralyze me as I get closer to moving cities and trying to pursue a more creative career. Underneath the fear is a spark of excitement but it’s like trying to find a single flame in a forest fire.

    My main fear in life thus far has been failure. And I really have failed at reaching most of my life goals. It wasn’t my abilities or determination that screwed it up but the inevitable moment when my bipolar symptoms took over and my life either slowed down or stopped entirely. After a few (dozen) crashes I would eventually have to admit that whatever goal I was chasing had been too stressful or intense. My mind can be a fickle bitch.

    However, fear of success is now fanning the forest fire. If failing before I even reached my goals was devastating, imagine the pain of reaching my goals and then being swallowed up into a bipolar nightmare. The fall would be so much more devastating and harder to recover from. I know I can recover from failure because I’ve done it plenty of times but crashing after success, I’m not so sure.

     I feel like I’m moving towards a life where I could spend more time actually feeling fulfilled and happy and less time anxious and angry. Living in a place that feels more like home and following dreams that bring me joy. I don’t know what will happen in the coming months and years of this new life I’m trying to create but at least I’m now scared of success instead of failure. That’s a win, right?

 

 

An Artist's Job

 

 I believe an artist’s job is to bravely traverse their inner world so they can help lead others through theirs. Often underpaid and underappreciated, artists give words and sights and sounds to the feeling's others have but can’t always name. Art can be disregarded as a luxury until someone crashes into love or loss and then it becomes imperative that they find a story or picture or song that they can point to and say that’s what I’m feeling.

As a writer, I don’t tend to see how my work affects others very often but as a reader I know it does. There’s this moment in writing before I spell check and search for synonyms where it’s just me and my voice. The rest of the world stands still, and my fingers just start dancing across the keys until I’m reading what I didn’t know I thought or felt. Sometimes painful and sometimes amazing, when I start to let my fingers tell my story I’m able to create a portrait that others can see themselves in. This may help them understand themselves, those around them, and their place in the world. When I’m open and vulnerable I give others permission to do the same.

Domestic Goddess?

I don’t own an apron, I think a “dash of salt” is a ridiculous and confusing measurement, and fancy ass pots and pans are wasted on me. Martha Stewart I am not. However, early on in the relationship with my husband, Kevin, I decided to fry him a steak. I tend to only cook meat in the oven because cooking on the stove top makes the smoke alarm go off but we all do crazy things when we first fall in love.

I arrived at Kevin’s place with the steak and he provided me with cooking instructions, a fancy ass pan, and a splatter screen. The recipe seemed simple enough. Oil and warm fancy ass pan, rub meat spices on the steak (gross!), and cook each side in 5-minute increments until done. Cool, I could do this. 

About 15 minutes later I went to find Kevin and told him the steak didn’t appear to be frying properly. He walked into the kitchen, froze, and then covered his mouth to try and hide his laughter. “Oh, honey”, was all he could get out.

Everything had started off fine. I had oiled and warmed the fancy ass pan correctly and rubbed the meat as needed but that’s where I fell off the correct cooking path. Sitting on the stove was the fancy ass pan, splatter screen, and steak but in the wrong order. For some reason it seemed reasonable to me that the correct order was fancy ass pan on the stove top, splatter screen sitting on top of said pan, and the steak sitting on top of the splatter screen. Basically, I was steaming the steak with oil.

I am actually quite intelligent but in some areas of life it’s like I’m new to the party. I once knew this guy who was incredibly intelligent. He read Nietzsche and studied Latin and Greek but sometimes went to his university classes with his shirt on backwards and inside out. That’s me in the kitchen. All backwards and inside out.