One thumb up, one thumb down.

I was in the middle of co-facilitating an all day training about a week ago. There were about 50 people in the room, watching me. I stood up from the chair I was sitting on to answer some questions. I had a microphone in my left hand and I used my right to pull the chair back so I could walk around it.

My thumb dislocated and popped back into place. I wanted to cry because it hurt so bad. It always does.

It happens on occasion but it’s becoming more frequent now. This was the second time in a month.

The swelling is immediate but the pain, it hurts like hell. As much as I want to scream, I have to stay focused on what I’m saying. I can’t let the audience know what just happened. The topic is a serious one.

The first day is always the most painful, then it gradually eases off over the next week. I have no idea what kind of damage I’ve done to it but I know exactly when it started.

New Years Eve 2003.

I was out celebrating with about 25 of my cousins and friends. We were at a hip hop club in the west end of the city, where we spent every Saturday night before that. It was a small, intimate club that was filled with regulars every weekend. New Year’s Eve brought a different crowd, unfamiliar faces to a familiar place.

We had our usual seating area blocked off and we were all scattered at the time. I was on the dance floor with my boyfriend, my sister, and my 16 year old cousin, who we brought in despite her not being of legal drinking age. Knowing the owners had its perks. There was a group of about 3 men, one was obnoxiously drunk. He had his back to me on the dance floor but kept crashing into my side. I let it go a couple times but when he almost knocked me over, I pushed him off with my arm. He immediately turned around and got in my face. He was looking for a fight.

Fuck you.

That’s all I said to him. He stepped closer towards me and with his face now right in mine, he says…

Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you.

My boyfriend was the only male I was with at the time. It took only seconds for this guy to realize that. Before he even had a chance to react, the guy turns to him and punches him in the face.

Everything went black with a rage I didn’t know existed inside me. The entire club erupted into a fight and I saw nothing but this guy’s face in front of me. I started punching. I don’t remember how many times my hand made contact with his face. I don’t remember anything before another man grabbed me from behind and picked me up off the ground. He carried me away kicking and screaming and all he kept saying was “stop, just relax, stop!” I couldn’t see him but I thought it was my cousin. I was screaming for him to put me down because I could see my entire family involved in the fight now. He put me down and my boyfriend grabbed me and pulled me into his arms.

I came back in that moment. Terrified. I had no idea where I had just gone.

The fight ended shortly afterwards and the group of men were taken out by security and undercover police. The owner brought us all a round of drinks, the DJ started playing music again, we hit the dance floor and rung in the New Year 20 minutes later.

But the damage had been done; physically and mentally.

I had rediscovered a darkness I didn’t know I was still living with and it would take almost a year for my hand to heal, though it would never be same again.

People often comment about my laid back, relaxed attitude towards life. About my ability to remain stable in times of crisis. How I always seem to be the level headed one when others cannot be. This has served me well.

While it is true that I am a very consistently steady individual, I was not always this way.

I’m steady because I know what I’m capable of. I’m laid back because the result of my escalation is something I never again want to see. It took that moment for me to finally admit to myself how much anger lived inside me. How much pain I held onto for so long. It was only a matter of time before that anger came out, and I’m grateful that it didn’t end worse than that.

My thumb is a reminder of that darkness.

For the last 13 years, I’ve used it as such. Every time it dislocates, I check my anger. I see where I’m at mentally and make sure I’m in a good place. It’s been a very long time since I haven’t been, and yet, my thumb keeps getting hurt.

The reminder has served me well. It really has. However, as I get older, I realize that maybe it’s trying to tell me something else now. Maybe, just maybe, I should finally see a doctor about it. My fighting days are over, I’m more concerned about arthritis.

I’ll make an appointment on Monday.

Flick of a switch

“Sometimes you do the sweetest, most thoughtful things and other times you seem so cold and detached.”

There it is, one of my least favourite descriptions that people use to describe my personality.

It’s a statement I’ve heard on several occasions during the course of my life.

Acquaintances use it during the “getting to know me” stage, to try to understand who I am really am. (Good luck with that!) Depending on how committed I am to that relationship, I either do my best to give them an explanation of why it may sometimes feel that way or they get a shallow explanation and I move on. My philosophy for personal relationships is simple, accept who I am, as I am, or walk away. No hard feelings, trust me!!! You can expect the same from me in return. I have no interest in changing who I am and/or forcing anyone else to change who they are.

It’s not often that this will come from someone I consider a friend, but here it is. He’s sitting across the table from me, “sometimes you do the sweetest, most thoughtful things and other times you seem so cold and detached.”

There is a sadness in his eyes that make his words feel like a smack in the face. When coming from someone I care about, no other statement makes me feel more misunderstood. No words hurt me quite as much.

I can feel the flicking of a switch inside me that immediately takes me to my defensive line. I’m sitting on the fence that divides two very strong emotions, sadness and anger. I stay there for a second, trying not to fall to either side of that fence. I process what explanation this conversation requires. He recognizes where I am and I can see that he regrets his words.

But it’s too late to take them back now.

I take my relationships seriously, and my loyalty knows no bounds. There is little I wouldn’t do for someone I love. My relationships last a long time, and anyone who I consider a good friend knows this about me. There is never a question about my love and reliability. Never.

While I may unplug for a while to focus on myself, all of my friends/family know I am just a phone call away if I’m needed. Always. You send out the bat signal, I’m at your door with two coffees and the biggest hug you’ve ever had. Ask anyone.

People often tell me how lucky I am to be able to detach from a situation like it’s a strength. I’m not sure how lucky that really is. Sometimes it feels like a curse. When someone I care about makes this statement, it stings. Bad.

My need to detach comes from a dark place, these moments are reminders that those places continue to shape me. Everyday. Every action. No matter how far I’ve come from that world.

It’s a cold world I live in sometimes.

Still, I make no apologies for how I chose to survive.

He knows this.

There is no explanation needed and we move on to the next topic.

Boys are gross. 

So my preteen (from hell) decided to lose his shit the other day.  It was awful. Hours of screaming, crying, threatening to run away. His hormones are raging and he’s struggling.  

Luckily, or unluckily for him, he has two parents who are in this field. So, he gets a mix of conversation and problem solving possible strategies for helping to manage his anger. Not in those words exactly but let’s just call it what it is.

One of the things we tell him to do sometimes when he starts to escalate is to go take a bath. Cool down. Relax. Enjoy some quiet time in a private space. Process your thoughts before reacting. Take the damn time out.  Take it before I throw you out the window!!!!  But I don’t tell him that last part, that’s an inside voice. 

This was one of the options presented to him the other day. He thought it might be a good idea, which made me happy. His time out also helps me get MY time out!  It’s a double bonus. 

We decided to go for a mommy/son run first.  I love those times. We have some pretty serious conversations while walking. He tries to talk when we are running but that’s not my thing.  Normally, I run with music but I’m on momma bear high alert when I run with my kids, so listening to music is not an option.  To not have music is already annoying enough but when he tries to talk, I’m not having it. Our mommy/son runs involve intervals because of this; jog, walk, sprint, walk, jog, etc.  

We jog next to each other during our jog periods.  

We have serious conversations about serious issues while walking.  

We full out race during the sprints (I still kill him in the races).  

This is what we do. It’s our thing. One of our many things.  I love it. 

So, we choose to do that on this night, which brings me back to the original reason for this blog…

BOYS

ARE

GROSS 

The bath was an option that was on the table for cooling down.  We had already established that before going for a run.  Going for a run meant he would be taking one anyway. So, when we got home, I asked him if he was going to take his bath now.  

He looked at me and said “I’m just going to take a bath to relax, I’m not going to use soap or anything.”

Really?

You’re already doing EVERYTHING else, why not take a couple minutes and wash the preteen/just went for a run stink off your body?  

Gross!  Gross!  Gross!

It got me thinking about the million times this, or something like this has happened. At home. At work. Everywhere.  People “fake” clean themselves ALL the time!!!!  I see it everywhere. 

I see it at home all the time with my disgusting boys.  I see them wet their hands with water and run as far away in the other direction in hopes I don’t notice. I’ve seen them sprinkle water on the soap to make it look like they used it. I’ve seen them put just enough soap on their hands to make them smell good in case I ask to smell them when they leave. Gross!  

I see it in public washrooms from the door cracks. I watch people turn on the water and stand in front of it and play with their hair until the water has been running long enough to make whoever is in there believe that they washed their hands.  Then they ruffle some paper towels, throw it out and call it a day!  Gross! 

That shit takes thought and effort.  You could have actually washed your hands more easily and quickly then in the time it took you to pretend. 

If you’re already making all that effort anyway, why not just do it?  Or not do it. Pretending just seems like a waste of time. Own your grossness or clean yourself properly.

I don’t get it.

After all that, my son and I decided to make smoothies before the bath. Chocolate peanut butter banana strawberry almond milk hemp hearts and chia seeds smoothie, to be exact. Yum!!!  Somehow we got to talking while enjoying our smoothies.  Then it was bedtime and he kissed me goodnight and went to bed.  

About 20 minutes later, I realized there was no bath.  He got me!  Punk!!!!  

He IS gross but at least he owns his grossness.

History Repeats Itself 

I’ve been looking forward to April 12, 2015 for half my life. 

17 years. 

Since April 12, 1998. 

The day I almost died. 

Since that moment, I’ve waited to celebrate this one.  

17 years on borrowed time. 

I’ve doubled my life. 

I am grateful. 

I’ve celebrated the anniversary every year since.  Counting down to this exact moment.  This day. 

On April 12, 1998, I attempted suicide.  That was the best failure of my life. 

I had never fought so hard to survive as I did then.  And I survived.  I knew that my life had to be about something more. Something bigger than what it was.  Something better than how it felt.  Something. 

The days that followed were all about setting goals for myself.  Preparing for that something.  Whatever that something was. 

I thought about where my life had been. Where my life was now. Where my life was headed.  I thought about the things I had wanted. The things I had sacrificed. The things I was doing, not doing and wanting to do.  I thought. Every single day.  

I made a list.  

I wasn’t interested in a life without spontenaiety, so my list didn’t include a plan. Just goals.  How I would reach those, that remained a mystery even to me. I just knew that I would.  

I made a list of all the things I would do in the next 17 years.  Everything I would have accomplished by April 12, 2015. 

A few months ago, I reviewed that list.  I went back to see where I was, to ensure that I would have it completed in time.  I had.  I had done every single thing I said I would do.  I was doing everything I wanted to do.  Every single thing. 

It was amazing. 

A feeling of absolute completion. Accomplishment. Satisfaction.  Pride.  

And then it hit me like a ton of fucking bricks.  I had planned the rest of my life as if it were going to end on April 12, 2015.  I hadn’t considered what my goals would be like after that.  As far as I was concerned, I was done. 

At 34, I had done everything I set out to do.

And then things got weird.  I found myself mourning the end of this stage and completely unsure about what the next 17 years would bring.  

I thought about where my life had been. Where my life was now. Where my life was headed.  I thought about the things I had wanted. The things I had sacrificed. The things I was doing, not doing and wanting to do.  I thought. Every single day.  

I’ve always had to feel like I was in control of myself. Of my life. Of my choices. Sure, I understood that absolute control was impossible, but if I could control something, I would. And I did. 

The day I found myself crumbled on the ground was the day I realized I was not in control.  I had somehow, without even realizing it, recreated the end of my first 17.  I designed the last 17 years as if they were my end. My last ones. Then I mourned it. Believed it. And I set the scene.  Right down to the emotions. 

At no point was I actually suicidal but I didn’t care if I lived or died. Looking back, I guess I never have. 

People ask me every day why I’m not scared to do the work I do.  The answer is simple, I’ve never feared death. 

I am not afraid to die. 

It sounds strange but there it is.  I enjoy walking on the edge of the cliff knowing that I’m strong enough to not jump.  I crave that feeling.  Not wanting to die but not caring if I live. 

And so, the universe gave me the lesson I needed. The real lesson about life and death. 

I returned home from my mission to painful news of another death. This one hit home. So close to my heart. It hurt.  

Here I was, mourning my own end. Fearless.  Not caring.  And what I had to see that day, was shattering. 

17 years ago, seeing my sister’s face when she found me.  I saw in her, what it would look like if I was gone. 

17 years later, walking towards her lifeless body, I saw what life looked like for my friend, now that her mother was gone.  

History repeated itself. 

I repeated history. 

This is the end of 17. 

April 12, 2015 is a few days away. 

I am so proud of where I’ve come from. I am amazed at where I’ve been. I’ve lived more in my 34 years than many do in 80. 

But I have a newfound excitement for whatever remains of my life.  A thirst for it.  A hunger.  There will be no more 17 for me after I celebrate this milestone.  

Just days. Every day. Weeks. Months. Years. Living. Truly living. Doing. Being. 

Creating. 

That’s the only goal I’m setting for myself.  I will create.  That’s it.  

Watch me. 

 

 

Today almost sucked. 

I’m continuing to battle this nasty respiratory thing.  My lungs are no longer hurting, which is great, but I’ve been left with a dry, hacking cough.  There is very little relief that isn’t extremely temporary at this point.  Lozenges help for a couple minutes. Water helps for a couple more.  Still, it’s been non stop action at work as I enter my final week in Sierra Leone.  It’s going to be a busy one. 

This cough has kept me from getting a solid night of sleep for a few days.  I’m exhausted and feeling quite run down.  Last night, I woke up in a pool of sweat at 4am.  I got up to rehydrate myself and could barely breathe with all the coughing.  As I checked my phone for the time, I saw a message from Jeremy. The message was sent four hours earlier to inform me that my mother had an accident at work.  She tripped over some electrical cords and dislocated her shoulder in the fall.  She was taken to the hospital and had to be put under in order to get her shoulder reset.  

Here I am at 4am. Tired. Dehydrated. Sick as shit. And now wide awake at the thought of my mommy getting hurt on the other side of the world.  

Good luck getting back to sleep after that!!!!

I message Jeremy for an update, he tells me he spoke to her earlier and she sounded alright, likely because of the pain meds.

My mother is 65 years old, her health is a constant worry for me.  She never seems to be truly well and it’s like pulling teeth to get information from her.  She is not the picture of health on a good day, neither of my parents are, but she’s had an exceptionally rough last few months.   Still, being near her, I’m often the one who meets her at the hospital following medical procedures.  I’m happy to hear that my sister was able to meet her, but sad that I wasn’t available for her when she was likely scared, mostly alone and in so much pain.

At 4am, so many thoughts go through my mind.  I try to stop thinking but it’s obvious that sleep is out of the question.  I get up to shower at 6:30am, go for breakfast at 7am, and prepare for a day of workshop facilitation for 50 of our local staff members. 

The first workshop starts at 9am.  I’m co-facilitating with Claire, but I have the first half of the session.  About 20 minutes in, I break into a coughing fit and have to stop for water.  

I get that awful feeling you get when your throat is so dry and you can’t stop coughing.  My eyes start watering and I feel like I’m going to throw up. Awesome.  I somehow get over that and continue to facilitate while still feeling incredibly nauseous.  After a little while, I ask Claire to take over.  I sit for a while. Exhausted. Sick. Nauseous. And I start worrying about my mother again.  

This sucks. 

I’m trying to keep it together but eventually have to leave the room for some air.  I start to feel better and go back in just in time for our small group breakout.  I walk around helping everyone with their discussions, start coughing again and have to leave. This goes on for the next hour and a half before our first session ends. 

I start to feel better during lunch, and opt to stick around for the second session. 

I make it through my whole speaking part before getting sick again.  Then it’s a repeat of the morning session until we finally finish at 4pm. 

I somehow manage to keep it together enough so that the local staff don’t notice how sick I feel.  They are amazing and I want them to get whatever they can from our sessions together.  If they knew how sick I was, they would have turned their attention to taking care of me.  That wouldn’t be good for anyone. 

By the time we clean up, wait for the driver, pack the car and go home, I have about an hour to rest before dinner. 

My colleague and I planned a team appreciation dinner for our local staff for tonight.  It has been difficult for everyone since the staff reduction, where 3 of 7 were asked to stop working in the ETC and be on standby.  We decided to invite all of them out for a nice “family meal” in order to celebrate the overall accomplishments of the psychosocial/community health team.

Our team doesn’t always get along well with my colleague and I know that being sick tonight is really not an option.  So, despite having a somewhat miserable day, I get dressed and ready to go.

But first, a phone call to my mother.  

She doesn’t recognize my voice and immediately gets concerned when she realizes it’s me and how sick I sound.  She asks about the doctor who contracted Ebola and is now in the US, the nurse from the UK with Ebola and my colleague who recently went home with malaria.  I guess she has just as much reason to worry as I do.  I speak to my dad briefly, he starts crying and hands the phone back to my mom, who is also crying now.  I’m happy to hear that she is feeling alright, and I tell them both that I love them and will see them soon. Time to drag myself out of my room to the waiting car. 

Today continues to suck. 

We arrived at the restaurant and wait for the rest of the team to show up. When they get there, they thank us for the opportunity to have this meal together and begin with “the program”.  I’m laughing as I realize they have used this opportunity to say an early goodbye to me and my colleague, as it is unlikely we will all be together in one place again.  Listening to the agenda of this program, I’m not really sure how this meal is going to go. Still, we are all in good spirits….on with the program. 

We open with a Christian prayer by Ernest, followed by a Muslim prayer by Adbul.  One of the most beautiful things I’ve experienced in Sierra Leone is the freedom to practice your religion.  Sierra Leone is approximately 70% Muslim and the remainder is mostly Christian (with a few others).  There is no division between the two, both are respected equally and they pride themselves on that.  Meetings usually start with either a generic prayer, or one of each.  

After the prayers, we move into the “do’s and dont’s for Sandra”.  This is where we go around the table and each member of the team gives me their impression of me, a brief summary of our experience together, things I do well and areas of improvement.  This is done with nothing but love and so, although somewhat nervous, I embrace the process and sit back with a smile. 

Michael is up first. 

“Sandra is beautiful.  She is really beautiful.  She is truly a beautiful person, on the outside but also on the inside…”

So far, I like this part of the program. 

I sit there quietly, taking in every beautiful word spoken.  You rarely get the opportunity to hear what kind of impact you’ve had on someone or what impression you’ve left with them.  This open sharing of gratitude is overwhelming.  I receive every word with an open heart and a big smile.

“You could never know Sandra just by looking at her.  You wouldn’t be able to understand her depth and passion and knowledge if you judged her solely by her appearance…”

“…Sandra is a very curious person. She asks questions, not because she needs to know everything but because she genuinely cares to know about everyone.  You feel comfortable talking about anything and everything with her…”

“One thing I really admire about Sandra is that she is a person who minds her own business.  She knows what she needs to do, and cuts right through the drama and gossip to get it done.  Sandra brings peace wherever she goes…”

“From the minute Sandra walked into that tent, you could feel that she was completely unassuming…”

And although there were a lot more “Sandra is beautiful” comments in there, which I always appreciate, my absolute favourite was a story that Abdul shared. 

Abdul and I only worked together for one shift before he was out on standby.  That meant we spent 7 hours together in my month at the ETC. Last week, I started to co-facilitate a resume workshop for the local staff that had been put on standby.  The first day, there was a communication error and we had 47 participants in one session and only 4 in another.  Adbul and Sandi, both staff on my team, attended the second one. I hadn’t seen either of them since the reduction.  We had three facilitators in the room and one participant when Abdul walked in.  I was so happy to see him.  This is the part of the story he shared…

“When I walked into that empty room, I was very uncomfortable. I didn’t know the other facilitators and I didn’t think Sandra would remember me because our time was brief.  I didn’t want to have to introduce myself.  Before I could even sit down or say anything, Sandra turned to me with a big smile on her face and then said to everyone, “this is Abdul, he is part of my team.”  She really touched me with that and lit up my heart.  She knows exactly what to do without ever being asked…”

That was beautiful. The whole thing was beautiful.  Not one piece of criticism, not one negative thought or feeling, just love.  I felt myself getting emotional as I thanked them all and told them what an honour it had been to spend the last month as part of their family.

The program went on. 

Ernest gave a brief history of Sierra Leone, how the civil war started and ended, the positives and negatives that came from the war and finally moving in to the historical corruption in the country. 

This was the perfect Segway to Michael’s brief snapshot of how the government in Sierra Leone works, the current political situation, hopes for the future, and some info on the situation with the Vice President that has escalated into us being on a heightened security, limited movement, lockdown of sort.  (Google it for more info, I don’t want to get into this now. Don’t tell my mother though, she worries). 

Next up was Abdul. He’s the comedian of the bunch so his role was to tell a few jokes.  This program continues to be awesome. 

Then we did the do’s and dont’s of my colleague.  It started with “he has a very flat personality…”  I started to worry that this might not end well but it was also full of love and all criticism was completely constructive. In all honesty, I thought they really took it easy on him.  I was glad they did because the evening was great.  Sandi ended us off with a Christian prayer, Ibrahim gave us the Muslim prayer and we all kept Jestina in our thoughts; the only missing team member who is currently struggling with a medical emergency in her family.

We said our goodbyes and my colleague and I sat and waited for the car.  The first thing out of his mouth almost ruined a perfect evening.  After what had just happened, I refused to allow any of his negative energy bother me. 

Today almost sucked, but it didn’t.


 

 

 

 

Systems (spoken word)

To say the system is broken
Is a fucking joke
A broken system is the
Only one we’ve ever known
For it to break it has to mean
It once functioned well
Too few in paradise
With the rest living our system’s hell
I still carry all the scars
Of walking through that fire
Channeled anger and the pain
Into a passionate desire
People questioned why I walked into
The system on my own two feet
But I travel the opposite direction
On this one way street
Change comes from within
So I knew I had to infiltrate
And so I sat and mapped out
Every move I had to make
Didn’t make it the first time I tried
Cause I was too political
So I mastered the ancient art
Of playing two different roles
Now I play both sides of the coin
Because I have to
Just as comfortable in kicks
As fancy business suits
Never hiding from my demons
I make my failures known
All the mistakes I made in life
The only way I’ve ever grown
I spill my secrets
So they don’t use them against me
Making sure the power
Stays where it’s supposed to be
And so they fear the things that
they will never understand
I don’t play by the same rules
So they try to force my hand
But outside their walls
People are blowing up their telephones
Telling them I’m changing lives
Of people they don’t care to know
Too many calls to ignore
But they want to see my contract ended
So they hand me my awards
As I walk out the door suspended
I keep a smile on my face
Cause that means more to me
Than any discipline the system
Can bring down on me
Five steps ahead is where I stay
So I get my apology
When you grow up on the streets
You learn how not to be beat
People ask me if I’m scared
To walk the streets at night
So much evil in the world
Ready for a fight
how do you fear
The only thing you’ve ever known
In city hall is where
I feel most alone
Scratching my skin
Because the egos make me itchy
I bite my tongue because
the bullshit makes me twitchy
But within the larger system
I don’t walk alone
There are a few of us
That really make it feel like home
Take my message with me
Across every division
I carry my head high
Because I know my mission
Create our own paradise
And increase the population
Fix this fucking system
And become a beautiful united nation