Ask me how I felt about having the opportunity to speak at my former high school about my mental health journey on their very first social justice day.

The same high school where I first started exhibiting signs of depression and anxiety…

… I just didn’t know it yet.

I didn’t have the words or the proper understanding of what was happening inside me.

I didn’t know how to articulate how I felt.

I just felt alone.

To be able to share openly about my struggles — with students who may be going through the same things and • To guide them through some of the things that sometimes help me get to the other side and • To help them to feel that they’re not so alone — was a full circle moment that I won’t soon forget.

I am so grateful that these conversations are happening now in schools…

…that people like me are given the opportunity to get behind a mic and make a connection

…that, despite the fact that there is still a lot of work to do to reduce (and erase) the stigma around mental illness, we are moving in the right direction.

Here is a snippet from the end of my presentation:

"Taking time to focus on improving your mental health is work.

Remember: the work is in the mind and it is the mind that is sometimes working against you.

We have to recognize that every day is going to look different, we are all works in progress, and we are all just doing the best we can.

So let’s all offer ourselves grace…

• It’s not easy to break our habit of being hard on ourselves.
  
• It’s not easy to not beat ourselves up when we falter or take a few steps back.
  
• It’s not easy to not feel guilty when we take breaks for our mental well-being.
  

But here’s the thing: Mental illness is as valid a reason to take a break as a physical illness. 

If you’re heading toward burnout and you’re feeling especially anxious or overwhelmed, you need to prioritize taking breaks, taking care of yourself, and seeking support. 

My mental illness makes me question my choices every day. But by being honest with myself and others, by trusting my gut when I need a break, by moving my body when I can — and being kind to myself when I can’t — I’m putting one foot in front of the other on my path to overall mental wellness and self love. 

Simple, not easy."


🖤

(If you'd like to book me to speak at your school, business, or conference, please reach out)

just over here overthinking how i show up as a mental health advocate.

​my (irrational) thoughts sometimes tell me:

• i’m not “doing mental illness” well enough.
• my anxiety and depression aren’t “bad enough” for anyone to value or believe what i have to say.
• people are going to roll their eyes when they see another one of my (oversharing) mental health posts in their feed...

and my favourites, now that i’ve received the generous support of the mental health foundation of nova scotia for my podcast:

• i don’t deserve it.
• who am i to have such important conversations?
• when are they going to “find me out?”

time to freeze.
time to spiral.
time to self sabotage.

as i’m currently transitioning off of my antidepressants*, my (additional, irrational) thoughts are going something like this:

1. how do i know when my symptoms that became side effects, turned withdrawal symptoms are back to just being symptoms again?
2. are these (additional, irrational) thoughts because of my (lack of) medication or a result of my “true colours” coming back out of the woodwork?
3. what are my true colours, anyway?

either way:

• my (irrational) thoughts are louder than before
• my extreme highs are met with deeper lows
• i feel rage
• i feel alone
• i’m exhausted and i can’t sleep

but — AND THIS IS FOR ME AND MY EXPERIENCE ONLY — i need to find out who i am behind the fog.

and, in the meantime:

• i am keeping going and getting by.
• i am trusting my gut and finding my voice.
• i am resting and setting boundaries.
• i am (sometimes) doing (simply) the bare minimum.
• i am checking in and showing up…

when i can.
how i can.
the best i can.
as i am.

resetting. regrouping. reminding myself:
• it’s okay to take one step forward and two steps back.
• it’s okay to feel lost.
• it’s okay that my mind sometimes tries to talk me out of being myself… as long as i find my way back.

“STRENGTH is being BRAVE enough to talk about what’s hurting you on the inside.”

in case you feel any of the same and you ever need to talk:
— i hear you
— i’m here for you
— i love you

🖤

*transitioning off of my meds in consultation with my doctor and my therapist

As performed at International Women's Day Celebration by Brigid  |  2023

When I think of WOMAN, I think of my mother.

Courageous.
Resilient.
Kind.


When I think of my MOTHER, I think:
Love.
Connection.
Light.

For me, WOMAN and MOTHER are one and the same.

The MOTHER who held me up my whole life is the WOMAN I lean on.


When you’re not a mother and you lose your mother, your relationship with the word has no choice but to shift.

It still means all of the things it used to mean.
It’s just weighted differently.

It’s an emptiness at first… Followed by a desperate need to be filled.
It’s an echo in search of an embrace.
It’s past tense… but ever present.

You know that feeling of coming home after a long, stressful day – when your feet are aching and you’re exhausted – and you settle into that perfect you-shaped groove on your couch – with your favourite blanket and your pup on your lap? 

That’s what my mother was for me. 

That warmth.
That safe place. 
That long exhale...

She was my comfort zone. 
My anchor, my cheerleader, my confidante…

My ma.

And, though I still feel her here with me every day – and hear her voice in my head when I veer off track – it’s hard to navigate your way through life without your compass. 

I count myself very lucky to have a rolodex of thirty-nine years of happy memories with a mother and best friend that I can pull from at any moment. 

Memories of concerts and road trips and those hugs where her chin would tuck right into that ticklish spot on my neck. 

The mornings sipping tea and chatting with my ma – with Mandolin Rain on the record player in the background – are replaced with sipping alone and reflecting in awe of her incredible resilience through the toughest days. Her sense of humour right to the end. Her courage. 

I have spent a lot of my life playing it safe despite the fact that life is just too damn short. I’ve convinced myself that I wasn’t good enough, that I didn’t fit in or deserve a seat at the table. And nobody has tried to set me straight more than my mother. My whole life. Through years of depression, anxiety, irrational thinking… She always treated me with so much love, grace, kindness, patience and forgiveness. Even when I wasn’t easy to love.

She told me over and over again how much she wished I could give myself that same grace and see myself through her eyes.

As I said one final good-bye to my mum – and in the months and months of grief, loneliness and self-reflection since – I think I finally do.

I finally “get” what she’d been telling me and the kindness she’d been modeling for me all those years. 

All those times when I was sitting off in the corner because I didn’t quite “fit in” at the family reunion.
Or I didn’t want to go to school because I was “sick”. 
Or I “really should do that (fill in the blank) because you always have a good time once you get there.” 

Though a lot of my memories from this time might be blurry, this one remains very clear: In those final moments in mum’s hospital room, a feeling (or a message or a wave, whatever you want to call it) washed over me... I am a warrior because of this woman. 

I am already enough. 

I’ve said the words, I’ve stuck the quote on my wall, I’ve dropped it into a powerpoint presentation or two, but it finally hit me in that moment: 

I am enough.

I’m sad that it took her leaving us for me to realize what she’d been trying to teach me all along… 

• I don’t have to always be “on” to be enough. 
  
• I don’t have to be “the best” before I even try. 
  
• Sometimes, I just have to get out the door for things to start looking up.
  

 
I know it’s easier said than done. I know that I’ll stumble more than once (and already have). But, I also know that it’s time to finally listen to my ma. To do what she has been training me for my whole life:

• To see myself through her eyes.
  
• To show up for myself, even if I’m scared.
  
• To do my best to let go of all of the misguided thoughts I have about myself. 
  
• To go easy on myself when I get off track or have to take a few steps back. 
  
• To be my true self – odd and flawed and full of courage and grace and good days and down days and days when all I can muster is a Law & Order marathon and a peanut butter and cheese sandwich. 
  

Because the reality is, I’ll never be the same person I was before she left us. But, if I can get through the rest of my life by walking the path that my mum carved out for me – by being kind, authentic and brave – just like she was – then I’ll be just fine.

When I think of WOMAN, I think of…


My mother.
My north star.
My eternal guide.


Jocelyn.

🖤

I haven’t written a post in awhile. But that doesn’t mean I haven’t been writing.

I’ve written a couple of blog posts for Truro Buzz, where I get to interview and spotlight some of the incredible organizations and people in my community.

Along with my husband Joey, I’ve written a third kids book in our series of books that centre around tough conversations with kiddoes through the eyes of our doggoes (coming soon…).

And I’m writing a non-fiction book.

There, I said it.

More on the specifics in a later post, I’m sure, but I want to make it known that, even if it doesn’t get finished for another seventeen years, it’s happening.

I’ve already shared this with a few people close to me and the folks in my Women’s Social Network, mostly as a way to make it feel more real and to actually hold myself to it.
​
In my most recent article for Hub Now, on behalf of the Canadian Mental Health Association, I wrote about the one year anniversaries that are looming over us this time of year. I discuss the importance of creating little things to look forward to so we can continue to make it through these tough times:

“Absolutely allow yourself to feel your grief over the loss of a loved one, the anxiety over the loss of a job, or the fear surrounding a ‘normalcy’ that doesn’t seem to exist anymore.

And then try your best to find something down the road that you can’t wait to celebrate.”

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: writing is the thing, more than any other thing, that always gets me through.

Whether it’s poetry, journaling, creating a play, writing a kids book, or crafting a caption for an Instagram post, for heaven’s sake, I enjoy putting ‘pen to paper’ and putting words together.

One of the best decisions I made this time last year, after mum died, was to start writing to her. For the longest time, I wrote to her every day… Just mundane stuff, mostly. The stuff I would normally text to her or call her about. And simply putting that stuff on paper not only helped with my grief, but helped me get through my day-to-day.

Now, I write to mum a few times a week. To feel that sense of normalcy. To get the thoughts I am aching to tell her in person out of my head. To connect.

I haven’t yet, but I plan to revisit these journal entries, letters, conversations — whatever you want to call them — with my ma. I want to see where I was in my grief journey and remind myself of some of the moments and memories I had along the way.

Yes, writing is the thing that always gets me through.

Writing my book will be my “something down the road that I can’t wait to celebrate,” along with all of the other, smaller milestones and celebrations that will pop up here and there.

Another chapter, more research, another connection with someone I admire...

The writing, like the story I’ll tell, will ebb and flow, shift and change, intrigue and inspire.

And I’ll be here riding the wave.
With pen in hand and purpose.
Looking forward...

🖤

​I don’t know how well you can see it, but I bought this “not sorry” necklace at a Rachel Hollis conference in Toronto before the world shut down and my world was shattered by the loss of my mum.

Since then, I’ve taken to crying in public places and answering honestly when people ask me how I am.

“I’m just okay”
“I’m having a rough week”

And guess what? I’m not sorry about it.

You may still catch me apologizing for welling up because I’ve had a lifetime of chronic apologizing I’m trying to shake myself of... But I’m not sorry.

I’m sad.
And that’s okay.
I have good days.
And that’s okay.
I have days when I just can’t cope,
and that’s okay too.

I’m thankful? Sure...

There are things I’m thankful for. My family, my close friends, my own health, my proximity to Victoria Park, my orchid that keeps on blooming...

I’m thankful for the memories of this time last year celebrating Thanksgiving at mum’s place on the lake. Despite all of us feeling in our guts that it was likely the last one, we smiled and laughed and took photos that I’ll hold dear for the rest of my life.

But there’s just one thing clouding my gratitude, you guys.

The sadness.

And, on a weekend where our country is gathering for the purpose of giving thanks, I’m not sorry for not joining in.

I’m gonna let myself feel the sadness.
And that’s okay.

I moderated a grief and mental health panel for CMHA mental illness awareness week this week and one of the panelists, Serena Lewis, said “grief is love.”

Well, ain’t that the truth. 🖤