I’ve long felt nothing but contempt for religion and Bible because of the bloody history of Christianity. I’ve felt the oppressive nature of the Bible, the “do as I say, or else” nature of “God”. I feel like the Bible is a book of horrors designed to scare people into following this new “God” and scare women into submission. And now, I have another reason (as if I needed another one) to detest religion and the Bible.

Over a thousand (and still counting) innocent children were murdered by Christians at Indian Residential Schools across the nation and buried in mass or unmarked graves, just like what happens during a genocide. I believe all former residential schools should be searched,

Christians have a long violent and bloody history. They have tortured people who wouldn’t convert for centuries. All done in the name of their mysterious God. Just look up the Inquisition; or forced conversion of pagans in early Christianity; or the Holy Crusades; or the witch trials; and so much more. They have spread hatred towards anyone not like them. They cry persecution but history tells a different story. But I digress.

White European Christian colonizers tried to eradicate all cultures but theirs all over the world, and in Canada, Indian Residential Schools were created to that end. Children were forcibly removed from their homes and their culture to attend one of the one hundred and eighty residential schools across the nation. They were not permitted to speak their own language or practice anything from their own culture. When they were allowed to write home their letters had to be in English so their parents couldn’t read them. They were routinely washed with harsh chemicals to try bleach the colour off their skin, they were beaten, mentally and sexually abused, and starved in the name of God.

The churches (especially the Catholic church) who ran these schools owe Canada’s Indigenous People a huge apology. Reconciliation must be a priority, not enough is being done. I am of the opinion that the evil guilty parties who are still alive should be gathered up and criminally prosecuted for the abuse and murders of Indigenous children. I believe that the Vatican and the other churches involved should pay damages to all their victims or surviving families in cases where the victims are deceased. I know it may just be a pipe dream to see them pony up but a girl can dream.

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For so much of my life I’ve felt like I was 3 Ft tall with no one to catch my fall.

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I had to call my dad the other day to ask if he was still able and willing to help my pay for my continued therapy sessions. I had been dreading it for nearly two weeks before I finally made the call. I prepared myself, I prepared a script and imagined what I wanted my conversation to look like. I didn’t expect what actually happened.

Here’s a bit of history; my parents and the rest of my family practically ignored my kids their whole lives because of who their father is. My daughter’s forgiving on this but me, not so much. Still, I never wanted my relationship with my parents affect my daughter or son’s relationship with them. My son doesn’t speak to them but my daughter does. This Father’s Day, I reminded my daughter to call my dad as I do every year.

So, when I called my dad about therapy he mentioned my daughter called him on Father’s Day. Aside from the reason for my call, we talked about my daughter and granddaughter for a moment. As we talked I started to feel angry, I don’t believe my parents deserve to be in my daughter’s life but that’s the way she wants it and I support her.

A few months ago I would have lost my shit and told him exactly how I felt but not this time. I repressed the urge to tell him off and remind him of how they treated my son and daughter. How I had to frequently hear how nobody in my family liked my daughter and everybody thought my son was weird. I more or less stuck to the script and brought the conversation back to therapy.

The conversation ended and I shook and cried. I sat with some pretty uncomfortable emotions and did some breathing to calm myself. Getting into an altercation with my father would have solved nothing, it just would have made things worse for me. I’ve been down that road before and it has never worked out the way I wanted. I didn’t angry text him later either. No, it was better to sit with the uncomfortable emotions for a shorter period of time than I otherwise would have. My whole day wasn’t hijacked by negative thoughts and feelings.

Holding back and avoiding further conflict was not easy; refraining from sending angry messages to him was not easy but I did it and felt better for it. We have no control over the thoughts or feelings that pop up but we do have control over our actions. Changing my actions changed the way I felt and how long I felt that way; and my thoughts were changed from all the ways my family has hurt me to how to fill the rest of my day.

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I was sent for an MRI and to see a urologist back in April because of some uterine fibroids, my OBGYN found a couple of small cysts in my bladder, and I am constantly leaking urine. At that time the urologist was investigating the cysts and to see if there might be another reason for my incontinence. She couldn’t find another cause and she did a biopsy from the one of the cysts.

I’m expecting my OBGYN to follow up with me on my MRI but when? That is the magical mystery question. While I’ve been waiting to hear back I’ve been feeling more bloated than ever, I’m fatter than I ever was and I look to be about eight months pregnant (from what I’ve read, uterine fibroids can give you that shape).

I know I can’t be the only person whose health care plans came to a screeching halt when the third wave of Covid-19 hit Nova Scotia. With my history of medical trauma though, the wait has become almost unbearable. I’m hesitant to reach out to my OBGYN directly right now because Covid-19 has thrown a wrench into their plans as well. I’m sure they wouldn’t be this far behind if they had a choice.

In the meantime, I did make an appointment with my GP for something else and she was at least able to tell me the results came in and there are no nasty surprises so I must simply wait. At least now I can wait without worrying myself sick.

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On occasion I’ve had to ask myself if I was making excuses or if circumstances had a role to play in my poor decisions. Even though there is fine line between the two, there is a monumental difference. An excuse is a justification and implies an attempt to remove blame whereas circumstance is the sum of essential and environmental factors (as of an event or situation)-as per the Miriam-Webster Dictionary.

Self-reflection without judgement is important for me. It gives me an opportunity to sift through and separate excuses from circumstances; the without judgement is that hardest. Judgement just invites ruminating in harmful way. By judgement, I mean labelling something as either good or bad or judging myself to be a good or bad person because of X, Y, or Z.

In my mid-twenties I left (mentally) abusive ex-husband number one, I had a toddler and a baby in tow. I had a bilateral mastectomy the same year; and I ended up in another (physically) abusive relationship. The final straw to that one was when he beat me up in front of my kids. That’s when I called ex-husband number one to ask him to please come get the children until I could get myself back on track. Because of the wording of the agreement he had me sign I wasn’t able to get them back without spending thousands of dollars I didn’t have and potentially traumatizing my kids. Those were my circumstances at the time. The guilt gnawed at me for years until I could accept that. Anyone in my position might have done the same thing.

Visits with my children were few and far between as I lived in Ontario and the ex took them to New Brunswick to live. After my children were gone, I left the boyfriend and started drinking very heavily to dull the pain. I hid from my responsibility to heal at the bottom of a bottle. I used my feelings about my circumstances as an excuse. I can see that now, and I can see it without judging myself-at least most of the time. Over time my drinking stopped and I moved to New Brunswick with (mentally) abusive ex-husband number two and his daughter.

It’s a relief to be able to own up to my decisions and mistakes without making excuses or judging; and it’s a relief to be able to identify where circumstances played a more significant role. It’s a useful skill to have when building or repairing relationships; and exercising self-compassion.