Tag: relationship

Ctrl + Shift….. New perspectives

I’m not alone in this transition. It’s real. It happens to many of us and it’s scary letting go of what grounded us for so long. Who are we without our habits, traditions and patterns? I haven’t been sure where I now fit or where I belong but that is because I was trying too hard to hold on. I didn’t realize that if I just let go, I might feel free. If I let go, I might find more. How to let go of control and shift into new beginnings.


It was Sunday November 30, 2025. A bleak and boring afternoon and also bloody cold. I was walking the dogs and listening to my podcast. Truly boring until it wasn’t.

The dogs were unbelievably boisterous that day and for whatever reason, even though they had ACRES of land to romp and play, they chose to come charging up behind me and inadvertently took me out at the knees. It was so fast that I couldn’t even feel the world stop. I was flung up in the air and came crashing down to earth, smashing my wrist and ankle on frozen ground. I heard the bones break. It wasn’t pretty. I know this because it was one of those painful moments when you actually have to roll over and be sick because of the pain.

I gingerly lifted my head and looked to see the damage. My hand was curled like an aging wicked witch and I couldn’t move it. Broken. Definitely broken.

I am no stranger to broken wrists. Heck, I broke my right wrist the first time in 2019 and again last November. Both were “sport” injuries which made for good stories. This was nothing exciting, almost pathetic but terribly painful.

I was able to move to my side to get my phone. I called my family. This would have been a good time for someone in my family to answer. But no answer. Terrific. Now I was going to die out in the wilderness. Great.

I lay back down and contemplated what freezing to death might be like. I realized that it could take a while. Sure it was cold but it was a November cold, not January cold in Eastern Canada. It seemed like a better plan to try and figure out how to walk back to the car. That would be faster except that everything hurt. Even my foot. I would later learn that I broke a bone in foot. That would explain the pain.

I am not sure how but I finally made it back to the car and tried the family again. No answer. More voicemail. If I had been having a heart attack, I can assure you I would be dead before anyone answered. Like seriously, it’s not like I call them every hour of every day. Surely, twice in under an hour might have sparked some concern? “No problem family, I’ll be fine”.

Thankfully, a friend called just when I wasn’t sure what to do next and she was there in five minutes to pick me up to take me to the hospital. As for the dogs, I locked them in the car. F#ckers.

I remain eternally grateful that our little town has a hospital and a wonderful medical team. The xray confirmed that the wrist had shattered rather nicely and because it was pretty bad, they had to do a closed reduction. This sounded very civilized or maybe anything sounded good when under the influence of fantastic drugs.

A closed reduction is painful. They have to try and put the bones back into some sort of alignment which involved separating the bones and trying to put them back so they looked kind of straight. More drugs, a light anesthesia and at least the bones were stretched and kind of back together.

At this point, there might have been a little too much punch in the pills and I was sick. So sick. But good news, my family finally noticed that I was missing and arrived at the hospital. “Find My Friends” app is a miracle. It was Owen who kind of wondered where I was and noticed I was at the hospital. He thought I was visiting someone until he noticed multiple calls. Two and two still makes four and he came to find me and then called the rest of the family. To Megan’s credit, she was legitimately out of cell service. The new joke in the family is that they are going to get me a panic button to wear when I go out alone. Funny.

It was nice to have them there. Also, Wayne held hand while I barfed. I’m not really sure why he got me a garbage can as a barf bag. Hospitals have those cute little plastic bowls but oh no, nothing but the best for his wife.

Fast forward to the next day when my daughter Megan drove into the “big” city for an ortho consult. It was really incredible. Almost abandoned in the woods and less than 18 hours later I had surgery and was sent home with a plate and 9 screws in my arm and bundled up in a cast with strict orders not to pick up anything; not even a teacup for the next six weeks.

Great. The holiday season in a cast. That should be easy.

“Life is like a box of chocolates. You never know what you’re  gonna get.” ~Forrest Gump

My tombstone will never say “she lived life in free flow”. It will likely say,
“Shelley Sim – control freak and addicted to lists and yellow stickies” True story.

I have tried to control most things. The weather was exempt. My children were not. Well, until they fired me and I became redundant to their lives. It was bound to happen. They cut the string and it felt like being thrown off a building and falling aimlessly into an abyss. I wasn’t sure how I was going to land, if I was going to land, what would catch me.

I landed. It was messy and my ego was bruised. Twenty nine years I had control of the clan and then I didn’t. Who was I if not their “mother” with an abundance of unwanted advice? Now, I was an invalid and dependent on the children to drive me. I guess not all my unwanted advice wasn’t useless and unwanted as they willingly took up the task of “Driving Miss Daisy”. Megan even decorated the house for Christmas.

Speaking of Christmas, surely this was a domain where I could still have that sliver of control to keep the traditions. If only.

I dislike Christmas. It’s like Instagram on steroids and I cannot compete. I am not perfect. Yet I try. Christmas 2025 was not my best.

A shattered wrist made me dependent on others. I strongly dislike being dependent. Asking for help is uncomfortable. The universe was certainly having a good laugh.

There are a few things that anchor our Christmas season. The biggest is that our family leads a community dinner for December 24th. For this year, it was anticipated that we would be making over 550 meals. For someone that can’t stand cooking, there is irony that this is the event that I am passionate about. What I do believe is that I am not the only one that dislikes Christmas and preparing meals is a way of ensuring that people feel seen and that they belong. It’s an effort and I am eternally grateful to my community that they care the same way I do. Food costs are high and yet, my little community gives generously. It’s not just the donations but also the 70 volunteers that gather to peel hundreds of pounds of vegetables and deliver meals as well as serve to those who come to the sit down evening dinner on December 24th. Normally, I have it all “under control” Until this year. This year, I was royally f@cked.

One should never order food under the influence of opioids. Why I felt it was a good idea to order LESS food than 2024 knowing that I had over 100 more meals to prepare still boggles my mind. It was a startling moment on the night of December 23rd when we ran out of food. Help. I needed help.

I called everyone I could and by some miracle, everyone I called answered with further generosity. More volunteers came, the grocery store delivered and our new little boutique market cooked more ham in their fabulous new ovens. While I am not a fan of Christmas, I do appreciate a good miracle. The universe may laugh as I am humbled but it smiles when I finally get the message. Sort of. There was more to learn.

With Christmas Eve behind us, I could focus on the family and Christmas Day. We have certain traditions and this year, I had my mom and her husband, my dad and his fiancée along with my father-in-law. We also had our youngest son Owen and we were excited to have our daughter Megan and her fiancée join us for Christmas morning. So far so good.

The plan was for us all to gather first thing Christmas morning but we had to wait for Megan and her partner. Her fiancée has his own family traditions. He needed to go see them. Really? They live here, “our” family had come from afar. Can’t we be the priority? Rude. So we waited. They arrived and it was lovely. Different but lovely and yet, I confess to being irritated. I had a vision of what it was supposed to be and had a difficult time bending to having to wait. Sharing is not one of my strong suits. I also was missing our eldest son who was thousands of km’s away working in Alaska. It was a “gap” and it went against “tradition” and how I wanted it “to be”. Oh wait, is that the Universe having another laugh. I think it is.

Christmas dinner was also going to be different. Megan was hosting at their place with all her fiancée’s family. Twenty eight people in total. We arrived and I felt awkward. My awkwardness manifested as annoyance. I made a big deal out of small things. Why did HIS family have stronger presence and where was the “tradition”? Please give me back control so that I could “manage” this. Now the Universe was just howling with glee.

I was upset because things were changing. Things weren’t as they once were, where it was familiar and comfortable. I wasn’t just redundant, now I felt that I had lost my place. Of course this isn’t true. Things just shifted. Traditions were changing and the family was expanding. From the outside, this should be a seamless passage but it’s harder than it looks. Again, the theme of 2025, holding on too tight and not seeing that the chapter that was about to unfold included new traditions and the opportunity to be accepted into a larger family that had so much to give.

Megan’s fiancée’s family is nothing but lovely and kind and caring. I just felt outnumbered. He has a BIG extended family. What I should have seen was a family opening their arms but I was still stuck in wanting to “control” what it should be, how it “used” to be. Everyone else had wonderful desserts, I ate humble pie.

My dad wasn’t feeling well so I took him and his fiancée back home. I was glad for the time with him and enjoyed the rest of the evening but I lamented that we weren’t all together sitting by the fire in front of the Christmas tree. The rest of the crew stayed at Megan’s and participated in the Cornhole competition. Who plays Cornhole at Christmas? They did and Bert, my father-in-law at age 86 got second place! He was a star!

Christmas was different than I had hoped and imagined. This mid-life bit really is tricky. People move on. Things change. Evolution. Not that it really worked out for the dinosaurs.

Life moves on. The Prime Minister of Canada, Mark Carney, gave a superb speech this past week at Davos. He said, “We know the old order is not coming back. We shouldn’t mourn it. Nostalgia is not a strategy,”. While my life is not world politics, the sentiment applied. I was holding onto nostalgia and not adapting to change.

My daughter has a wonderful husband to be. She is marrying into a large family that loves to be together and is very eager to embrace us. I want to also embrace them and have to let go of what was and be enthusiastic about new beginnings but I wanted it on my terms. So silly. How lucky we are that she has found such love with so many people. It’s a mother’s dream that her daughter is so loved and yet, I was a stick in the mud. That needed to change. I needed to change. I needed to grow into a new reality that come with new traditions and new relationships. I was just mourning old ways and if I kept holding on, I would be left out. Did I mention the dinosaurs? I wasn’t being left behind, I was being invited to be a part of something new.

When I visited my sister in November, she gave me a book called SHIFT – 7 Mindsets for an Inspired Midlife, written by Peter Reek. It seemed timely to pick it up post Christmas. Barely into the book, everything “shifted” for me.

“The first half of life is all about building – identity; achievement a place in the world. But the second half invites a different kind of work. It calls us inward. It ask us to loosen our grip on the self we’ve so carefully constructed and begin the gentler, braver process of release. Our focus shifts from crisis to opportunity. It’s a change to refocus, redefine, and realign our lives with our deeper, more spiritual aspirations.”

“Embracing midlife is recognizing and seizing the opportunity that comes with age. It’s shifting from a mindset of acquisition to one of meaning and purpose. As we navigate this journey, we can find peace in the transition, knowing our experiences have equipped us with the wisdom to live more authentically and purposefully. The second half of life provides us with the opportunity to leverage the hindsight of the first. We can step more deeply and confidently into who we are and focus on the relationships and pursuits that are most important to us. We can also let go of those things that have kept us from doing so.”

He goes on to say that our best years are not behind us but ahead of us. “The second half doesn’t start with a blaze of glory, but with a deep breath. A lighter step. A willingness to let go of what no longer serves us.” “The road ahead isn’t about become someone entirely new. It’s about becoming more of you. Clearer. Kinder. Less burdened by the weight of proving, and more alive to the wonder of simply being”. Lastly, this stage of transition is a paradox. “The quiet mark of wisdom. Learning to live in the stretch between what was and what’s next”.

Living between what was and what’s next; Control-shift. A way forward. I get that now.

Much of 2025 was about this paradox. I was trying to hold on when in fact, it is about what’s comes next. This sentiment has given me comfort. I’m not alone in this transition. It’s real. It happens to many of us and it’s scary letting go of what grounded us for so long. Who are we without our habits, traditions and patterns? I haven’t been sure where I now fit or where I belong but that is because I was trying too hard to hold on. I didn’t realize that if I just let go, I might feel free. If I let go, I might find more. How to let go of control and shift into new beginnings.

I found solace in the following parable.

In a small village, there lived a woman who often felt weighed down by habits, routines, and fears she wished she could outgrow. One evening, while working at her old computer, she accidentally pressed Control + Shift, and her application updated instantly—new layout, new perspective.

She paused.

It struck her that life, too, has its own “Ctrl + Shift” moments.

Control, she realized, was about recognizing what she could hold in her own hands—her choices, her reactions, her willingness to grow.

Shift was about lifting herself just a little higher—changing her angle, her mindset, her approach.

And so she began to practice this quietly powerful command in her daily life:

  • When old frustration returned, she pressed Control—taking ownership of her response.
  • When fear whispered familiar doubts, she pressed Shift—choosing a different thought.
  • When life presented the same problems again and again, she pressed Control + Shift—updating herself instead of waiting for the world to change.

Over time, people noticed that she walked with more calm, more clarity, more purpose.
Someone once asked her, “What changed?”

She smiled gently.
“Nothing around me changed,” she said. “I just learned the power of Ctrl + Shift—to take control of the moment and shift who I am becoming.”

So here I am in 2026. Shifting. Understanding the need for a reset. Being willing to update myself. My resolution for 2026 is to do more things that I think I might be terrible at. So far it has been incredibly fun. With a broken wrist, I couldn’t join in on winter activities and had to search out new activities. I joined a group making homemade cards. Most of the group made four, I was happy to have completed one. I painted ceramics. My creation was worse than anything I could have done in a kindergarten class and resembled an underwater Armageddon. Despite the instructors belief that it would look “better once fired”, it was still awful but I had a great time.

I’ve also taken up Cornhole. It’s fantastic! Once I laid down my obnoxious bias of what it “should be”, it gave way to new connections and I’m having the time of my life exploring new hobbies, new relationships and new ways to connect. Maybe midlife is actually something to look forward to. Maybe, it’s awesome.

Life is messy, transition is hard and the curve balls are brutal and the Universe laughing doesn’t help.

What I have learned is that I if I lean in, I find better connection and can be delighted by the unexpected. Way back in an earlier post, I cited “it doesn’t happen TO you, it happens FOR you.” True story.

2025 was a difficult year. Not knowing where I fit, wondering if I was relevant and being confused about what would feel the void. I left 2025 feeling grateful for the lessons of connection and the glorious results of being vulnerable and asking for help. It has opened my world wider. I don’t have to have control. I can have vision and I can enjoy the ride and the many wonderful people that I meet along the way. I want to make the shift and let go of the control. It’s had its place but no longer and that feels so much lighter.

Yes, I’m scared. I don’t know what it will look like. It’s humbling and it’s hard but it’s far more fun than holding on to what no longer works. Nostalgia is not a strategy; it is what was and those memories are beautiful, it’s just not the future of our reality. I need to adapt. Maybe it’s ok to let go of things that no longer work. This might mean letting go of relationships and habits that used to be comfortable but they no longer work. It’s doesn’t have to be dramatic rather soft change that allows me to live more authentically to who I am. “Shifting” doesn’t have to be a loud change, rather it’s quieter. The ability to blend into a new reality. To be open to what comes next, to try new things.

My “shift” is to embrace the ambiguity of not knowing but being optimistic instead of static. To lean into the adventure and not know the outcome. To stay focused on values that matter rather than traditions that might have held me hostage to what was. I will say it again, this is not easy but I will be the way of the dinosaur if I don’t get with the times and make these shifts.

We don’t know what’s ahead. It can change in a second. I realize that the secret sauce is to live in the moment. My need to control in the first half of life was to lay the foundation. That was accomplished. That chapter is complete. For 2026, I want to learn to learn how to cross the chasm; the stretch that exists between “what was and what’s next”.

I wish you the very best for 2026. That whatever has been holding you back, you can lay it down and be less burdened and less weighted down by any “should’s” that you are carrying. And if you are in free fall between what was and what might be, you are not alone no matter what stage of life. Find a hand to hold and buckle up. You can do this. What if the best years are not behind us but really are in front of us!

With care and love for all that 2026 brings,

Shelley

I’m not alone in this transition. It’s real. It happens to many of us and it’s scary letting go of what grounded us for so long. Who are we without our habits, traditions and patterns? I haven’t been sure where I now fit or where I belong but that is because I was trying too…

Being Fired & Letting Go….

Our youngest, Owen, arrived back from college and announced “Mom, I’ve got this”. I wasn’t really sure what this meant. Did he mean that he might finally clean his room? Give the bathroom a scrub? Take out the garbage? Make dinner? What did “I’ve got this” mean?


I never wanted children. I leaned more towards having a cleaning lady. The math made more sense. Also, I do love a good clean floor. It continues to surprise me that I have three children and 35 chickens. More surprising is the 10-year gap between our eldest and the youngest. Many think our youngest, Owen, is a result of a second marriage. Not so. I have vague recollections of a six pack of Corona and a sunny afternoon. But that’s another story.

For 29 years I have been a mother to three wonderful children. Yes, I made mistakes and have fully committed to paying their therapy bills but overall, they are great and they bring me joy. I spent years cheering at games, volunteering at bake sales, coaching, excelling at 50/50 sales, attending parent committee meetings and being a part of launching young souls into the world of adulthood. And then, this past April, I was officially laid off. More directly, I was fired.

Our youngest, Owen, arrived back from college and announced “Mom, I’ve got this”. I wasn’t really sure what this meant. Did he mean that he might finally clean his room? Give the bathroom a scrub? Take out the garbage? Make dinner? What did “I’ve got this” mean?

I hoped it meant the above but apparently he meant something different. He was ready to “adult”. However, “adulting” is a staged experience where he gets to pick and choose. He may think he is an “adult” but clearly, I am still the cleaning lady. See paragraph one. This isn’t quite what I was aiming for.

I had been hopeful for domestic contribution not separation papers. Owen meant that he no longer wanted my help. He felt that we “don’t work well together”. He also cited that I “complicate things” and my follow through was not the vision he had. This would be a good time to also insert that while college was fun, it was a painful academic experience and I “made him do it”. All this led to. “Mom, you need to just let me do it myself. I don’t need your help”.

Fired. No retirement party, no watch and not even a letter of recommendation and certainly no pension. I had been unceremoniously “dismissed”.

I always knew the mission was to help them spread their wings and fly but secretly, I didn’t want to let go. I still wanted to hold the string. More like a kite than a bird. And then, Owen cut the string.

To quote the Lion King, this is “the circle of life”. I went through it with our older two kids who are 29 and 26. The difference is that when they let go, I still had Owen. Now, I just have me and who am I if I am not needed as a mom? And please don’t tell me that I am the domestic help. That hasn’t been the most rewarding volunteer experience.

The reality is that my kids are grown. My chapter of being the centre of their world is over. I have been laid off and am redundant. All those wonderful moments of being busy with them is something of the past. Our relationship has changed and I have to get used to the fact that they don’t need me the way they used to. In fact, they have assured me that they don’t need me at all. Well, unless I invite them for dinner. Great. More dishes.

One might think that I would rejoice in having all this new found time. In truth, I am bored to tears. I miss being busy with kids and volunteering. I miss cheering at games and my days being full with their activities. I miss being needed. Now what?

With Owen returning home in April and making his grand statement of independence, I had to ask myself what was my next move. Sure, it’s great that my daughter Megan asks me to watch her puppy but really, it’s not quite what I was looking for to fill my days. I had to start thinking forward and figuring out my next moves.

I took up gardening. I heard people loved it. Planting little seeds and delighting as the little heads popped up promising bountiful crops. So I tried it (again!). I planted all the little seeds and lovingly watered them and watched their little heads pop up. Small glitch. I wasn’t quite sure what was supposed to be the start of my bounty and what was a weed so I just let it all grow and thought I would just figure it out. It turns out that my lovingly planted cilantro seeds died and I spent months nurturing a very pretty selection of weeds. I have decided that I will serve the world better by supporting farmers markets. They take debit cards and no skill required.

Since I crossed off gardening from my list. I had to keep looking. Life was a clean slate and I further decreed that summer 2025 would be the Summer of Yes! I would say “yes” to everything and see what happened.

My husband Wayne and I were invited to join a group on a fishing trip to the West Coast of British Columbia. I said yes. Ok, maybe I don’t like fishing, but in the spirit of adventure, I thought it would be a great holiday for us. We hadn’t had a holiday as just the two of us since before the kids were born. I thought it would be great. And it was. We met the nicest people and got to see a beautiful part of our country. It was an excellent “yes”.

We were asked to go on a hiking / rafting trip and again, I said “yes”. It was a glorious adventure that took us to places that I never imagined that I would see. And while it was amazing, my husband Wayne and I still don’t fully mesh over our versions of wilderness camping. Not going to lie, there were sharp tones and some terse replies and some long stretches of silence but no one accidently died in their sleep.

I don’t know what it is with me and Wayne. Why can’t we get along when the excursion involves a tent and a backpack? I think it has something to do with the fact that he is all geared up and he looks after himself. I don’t recall him doing the grocery shopping or meal planning or the packing but he does look good in those expensive hiking pants. I got grouchy because I was walking through the bush in my Costco shorts. My backpack was driving me crazy because it’s not my backpack. I had to borrow one. And my thermarest that was supposed to blow up to be a nice cushion had a hole in it. I guess after 25 years, things wear out. And not just me….

You see, while I was cooking, cleaning, organizing, planning and nurturing for the future, everyone else was adventuring and had the gear. I missed the memo that there was life outside of being a mom. I get grouchy with Wayne because after all these years, I think I just wanted him to look after me. I wanted him to see if I had the right gear, to check and see what help I needed and to acknowledge that the ten year gap meant that I stayed home with Owen while he was out and about with the older two. Those ten years was a decade that I didn’t develop skills, or build up gear. I stayed home. And yes, that is somewhat melodramatic. Even as I write it, I see it as a little whiny (maybe a lot) but there is a sprinkle of truth. I shouldn’t have gotten grouchy. I just missed the memo to not only care for the family but also to care for me.

So I pressed on and said YES to a bike trip in Quebec. That was a tough one. For years, we have done everything for the kids so it was new for me to spend indulgently on myself but I forced myself to say “yes”. A friend and I traveled to Montreal and then spent a week biking to Quebec City. It was marvelous. We also stayed in hotels.

In September, When I got back from biking, I entered a baking competition, signed up for hockey school and ripped out the damn garden. I didn’t win the baking competition, sucked at hockey school but felt exhilarated with eradicating my garden of weeds. Fresh start.

My children are grown and I am adrift and looking to find new direction and purpose. I feel left behind. I think that this is common. I think others might feel it too. I think each of us have an ache when things come to and end. When a career comes to an end, when friendships run their course, when relationships wither and definitely when loved ones die.

Anna Quindlen described this as the “before and after”. Maybe I have written that before but it continues to resonate deeply. It describes change with pain and loss. The feeling of being left behind through no fault of our own or maybe we made a choice to make change and that process was hard and left us feeling raw. Change is inevitable but bloody hell, no one mentioned having to become a contortionist to survive this journey called life.

The feeling of being left behind has also forced me to peek out the door and stare in the mirror. Who have I left behind? Who did I let go without severance or notice or even a reason? If you are hearing my insides churn, they are. Karma appears to be real. It’s making me think where I need to do better and what amends I need to make. I’m worried that I have likely hurt people and have been oblivious to my callousness. Now I feel really nauseous. Life is somewhat unrelenting as we get hurled against the rocks to perhaps become weathered and smooth. I likely have as many thank you notes as apology letters. Oh good. Something to do other than mop the floors.

Life is not easy. It’s complicated, messy, uncertain and at times unkind and unrelenting. I hate the ache. I despise being untethered from a sense of purpose and to top it off, my favourite jeans don’t fit anymore. Just when you thought it couldn’t get worse. It does.

Winston Churchill said it well. “When you’re going through hell, keep going”. I never understood that quote, until I did. But what I also understand is that it is hell going through change but it gets better if I stick it out.

Yes, I was fired but that doesn’t mean that my children don’t love me. They are just ready to be their own people. It’s just different. The chapter is over but the story goes on. The characters develop and new plot lines begin.

Loss hurts and change is painful. I feel that. If you have had similar feelings, you are not alone. We will lose opportunities, friendships, loved ones and it will hurt in places we didn’t know it could hurt. When we are robbed of something we love, it’s easy to keel over and gasp for air. And while we will be forever changed by the loss, there will be room to grow towards something new. We won’t be the same but we can be something new.

I am going to keep looking for ways to say YES. Yes to new friends, ideas, adventures and new hobbies. I will also keep baking, trying to improve at hockey but I am ok giving up gardening. I am also learning to feel empowered to break patterns. Sometimes, Tuesday night dinner is cheese and crackers. If anyone wants something different, they can cook. I was fired and now, I am free.

Here’s to holding hands when our hearts hurt and to believing in new beginnings.

With love,

Shelley

2025 and What I Learned From the Girl in the Itty Bitty String Bikini…..

Now this gal was tinier than her bikini and both my friend and I wagered that she wouldn’t be able to dip more than her big toe before retreating back to her towel but that’s not what happened. She marched right up to water’s edge, broke through waves and never flinched as she immersed herself deeper and deeper into Novembers ocean waters. She was brave and fearless and I wanted to be just like her (but not wear the bikini!)


January 1st. I choose to hit “snooze”. I am not ready to embrace a “New Year” and definitely not ready for “New Year – New Me”. I am saving myself for Monday January 6th and embracing a gradual entry into the new year and slowly adjusting to potential life changes. Call this the “evaluation stage”.

“New Year – New Me” doesn’t resonate. There is nothing “new” about me. I’m more about modifications with room for upgrades. I’m also realistic enough to recognize that if “lose 5 pounds” has been on the list for the past 6 years, I’m not actually that committed. Time for a new story line.

In order to look forwards, I have to look backwards. Sometimes we pay attention to more of the “ugh” than the successes. 2024 was a big year for me. I finished my schooling, changed careers, we celebrated 30 years of marriage, we sold our house of 18 years, moved, survived chemo, saw our youngest graduate and learned a million lessons about gratitude and humility along the way. In short….we made it through some muck and came out ok if not a whole lot stronger.

So now that we came through, I realize how different the landscape is. Our new house is lovely. I feel like we have kind of “adulted”. For the first time in 30 years, I have more than one bathroom. I have a fridge that makes ice AND dispenses water. If that’s not enough “adulting”, I also now have a coat closet where guests can hang their coats. Heck, I even bought hangers.

And while all that is lovely, the reality is that the kids have embarked on their own adventures. The health crisis is averted and I feel an emptiness. I don’t have hockey games to volunteer at or grad meetings to attend and just recently, I left a board after 16 years because it was time to make room for younger people. For me, 2025 is the year of “now what?”

As I contemplate 2025, I needed to take stock. I am a slightly plump middle age woman who doesn’t know how to use an eyebrow pencil or have hobbies. I likely indulge in too much wine, call my children too often and there is a good chance that since I just discovered how “reels” work, I might never get out of bed. OMG. I might as well go buy 10 cats and buy brown shoes with “sturdy insoles”. I suck. You can see why I hit snooze. I am not ready to launch into 2025. There is more contemplate. Being happy with cleaning more than one bathroom and rewarding myself with ice cold water from my fridge seems pathetic.

It’s not that I don’t want to take on new challenges, I just get overwhelmed. I want to travel but the “world is your oyster” just makes me realize that I am not a huge fan of oysters. What if I hate my choice? I search and choose and semi-plan and then get overwhelmed and find it easier to immerse myself in the deluge of Netflix options. Pathetic.

I need a serious overhaul.

A few weeks ago I went walking with one of my oldest friends and she said “I just didn’t want to be that person any longer and I stopped”. That resonated. I totally understood what she was saying. I don’t want to be a new person (far too exhausting) but I do want to take steps to shed habits that don’t reflect who I want to be. I want to start being who I thought I would be and not compromising on that vision. I had started to stop breathing and contemplated buying cats. I hate cats (no offence) but I want to start to live and not just exist because I stopped mid-sentence in this journey called life.

I likely feel this acutely because of what we just went through with Wayne but also because of the path we walked with my friend Tera. Last year she hadn’t been feeling well and while we all hoped it was just “something”, we never imagined that in April 2024, she would be diagnosed with a rare live cancer.

Tera and my husband Wayne went through early chemo treatments together. They got hooked up and then played crib. Her mom always made the best lunches and then they napped. As time progressed, they both needed transfusions and both went through weird complications. Our sons were best friends and when it came to graduation, neither of them could fully participate because they were so immune compromised.

As time went by, Wayne’s numbers got stronger but Tera wasn’t bouncing back. No one said the word “terminal” but that is what is was. I was wracked with guilt and confusion. Who gets chosen to leave and who gets to stay behind? How does this work and how is it fair?

These aren’t new questions. We all ask them when someone we love and care about is tapped to leave. I tried to ask Tera about her feelings and she wasn’t prepared to engage. I was angry and I awkwardly expressed that to her. I voiced out loud “why you?” to which she replied, “why not me?”.

I can’t describe that moment. “Why not me?”. I had a thousand answers that I thought I might hear but her answer closed the door. She said, “I’ve had a good life. I’ve done things I’ve wanted to do, I’ve watched my son graduate and so much more. I have good friends and I have good memories. I have no regrets.”

Tera was a community titan. She was fierce in her advocacy of kids and she bulldozed her way through any obstacle to ensure our kids, in our small town had access to bigger opportunities. She held a picture of possibility in her head and she encouraged us to jump on board. Let’s be honest, we didn’t have much choice, she was compelling and we fell in line and because of her, the world was technicolour.

Thanks to Tera our kids played in two provincial championships for ball, provincials for soccer, won two provincial U18 hockey championships and her son and our son Owen went to New Brunswick as part of Team BC for Nationals for softball. For a town of less than 2300 people, she opened doors we didn’t know were possible. She was a force and she did it for the kids and what she wanted them to experience and as a result, they experienced things that would otherwise been left invisible.

Tera and her son Devin after winning Provincials. March 2024

She wasn’t just a visionary, she was more. She had been my daughter’s kindergarten teacher and she was the mother of Owen’s best friend Devin. From birth, our sons have been intertwined just like Tera has been intertwined in my life. And while we were intertwined, I have to say that we were not a traditional version of friends. We didn’t hang out on week-ends and I wasn’t invited to girls-get-aways but when things had to get done, we came together. We shared values; we showed up, we leaned in, we pulled it together and we didn’t back down. Our friendship was built on shared ethics and no matter what, I could count on Tera to be the difference.

Once she received her diagnosis, she arranged a gathering of women who she felt closest to. She organized an entire afternoon to pedicures, manicures, conversation, laughs and yes….. there was the option to get a tattoo.

I was incredibly touched that I had been asked to join this group of women and of course, I chose the tattoo. Not because of “group pressure” but because a valiant and courageous woman knew that she was not long and wanted to create a bond between women that would last beyond her time. Symbols matter. Relationships resonate and each day, this symbol matters to me.

The months passed and I truly wanted to believe that there was hope. I invited her and her family to our Christmas party for December 20th and she said “you know I will come if I can”. I thought maybe she was having a bad bout but she knew it was more. She knew the truth and on Friday, December 13th at 2pm, she chose MAiD and she was gone.

I am not at peace with her passing and the tears still well up when I think of her and the gap that is left. I can’t imagine what it must have been for her contemplating MAiD (Medically Assistance in Dying). How did it go so fast and yet so slow? It was so fucking painful for her and yet, she never wanted you to know. When you “fight cancer”, you fight the pain, the hurt, the loss, the injustice and you fight to hold on but cancer is a beast. She was strong and brave and courageous and wouldn’t speak of death. She only wanted to hear the daily gossip, check in on the kids but she wouldn’t talk about her journey. What it must have been for her to make the final choice to leave her son, her parents, her sister, her husband and friends. If it hadn’t of been beyond bearable, I know she would have stayed on. On Friday December 13th, all I could think about was how many hours she had left. She was dying and her family was dying with her. While death might have been a relief, the loss remains immense and I am still angry. Why?

I look at my tattoo every day and realize that she asked us to do this so she was able to hold on, to know that when things got hard, she knew she had a circle of trust to rely on. I told her that I loved her and I was indebted to her but it doesn’t make the loss ache any less. Why her? Why anyone who always punched above their weight and make the difference?

In the face of cancer, she didn’t dwell on death. She focused on life—on the people around her, on her values, on the moments that mattered. I will carry that lesson with me for the rest of my life. Tera showed me that a life well-lived is one where you don’t back down, you take chances, and you make a difference.

So as I step into 2025, I find myself asking: “What would Tera do if she had five more years?” She’d keep making a difference. She’d keep pushing the boundaries of what’s possible. I want to be able to say what Tera said. I don’t want regrets, I want to live a full live and I don’t want to stop short. I want to reach high.

I have a future, and I refuse to waste it. That’s why I hit snooze on 2025—because I’m still gathering my thoughts, but I’m ready to act. I’ve been too comfortable for too long. I’ve become an expert at convincing myself that it’s easier to stay in my bubble than to make the change I know I need.

But here’s the thing: change doesn’t have to be dramatic. It can start with something small. A few weeks ago, I was at a bistro, having brunch, and watching people do “cold plunging” in the ocean. Most of them shrieked and retreated quickly, but one woman in a tiny string bikini walked into the cold water without flinching. She stayed in for almost 30 minutes. I was fascinated and upon closer view, I wondered what she was holding in her hand. And I realized, she was filming herself. Maybe she was an influencer, maybe a “wannabe” influencer or maybe just documenting herself not giving into the cold. Whatever it was, her fortitude was inspiring. It made me wonder: what could I do if I believed in myself the way she believed in hers?

I have grown comfortable and likely this is my major vice. Coupled with my superb salesmanship, I can keep myself in a state of mediocrity forever. Here is a sample of my persuasive abilities:

“Oh look, a chocolate chip cookie for breakfast. That looks delicious”. “You should enjoy it. Yum, chocolate chip cookie dipped in coffee; that is the way to start the day. Why don’t you enjoy your morning? It’s just a little bit, it can’t hurt……” And with that….the cookie is inhaled, the second glass of wine enjoyed, the butter on fresh bread savoured….. I’m fantastic talking myself into things and then wondering “why is nothing changing?” Oh dear god, the obvious is so easy to hide in denial. No wonder people take in cats and pretend they are fine!

Given my talent for talking myself into vices, I needed something to revert the pattern. While I can’t fit a bikini, I could practice a cold water experience. It’s been a mild winter where we live and the lake that is normally frozen is still clear. I drove to the lake and walked straight in, dunked my head and was back in my car within 30 seconds. No health benefits enjoyed but I did show myself that I could do something uncomfortable.

I went back four more times and each time, I stayed in the water a little longer. At last count, I am at 30 seconds and can dunk my head. I am aiming to actually swim for at least 3 minutes. We’ll see.

It’s uncomfortable, but it’s been a small act of bravery that reminds me I can do hard things. And I’m ready for more.

2024 was my year of gratitude. In 2025, I’m committed to taking action—whether that’s traveling, pursuing dreams, or simply making a difference in my community, just as Tera did. I will take her torch and keep it burning bright. I’ll embrace change, and I won’t let fear hold me back.

So here’s to 2025—to making change, connection and doing what seems to be improbable. It doesn’t require a string bikini, just the courage to jump.

For 2025, I wish that each of you find your ambition and give it light and energy. It’s only our minds that limit our potential. I know that is the premise of every self help book imaginable but try cold water and seeing what you can do if you choose to endure just 5 more seconds. Change is incremental but it happens with consistency.

To you my friends, I hope that 2025 is the year you want. The year that makes you proud and the year that you stretch further than you imagined possible. I think we can. And we don’t even have to wear the string bikini to make it so.

With love and appreciation,

Shelley

“I” Before “L”…A love story.

Loss is hard. What I realized is that for 16 years, I had the chance to tell him that he was loved but I wasn’t specific. I would scratch his ears, rub his belly but when I was ready to get back to work, I would tell him to go lie down.

I do this with the people that I love. When I need to get back to things that I think require attention, I ask them to wait. It’s the equivalent of telling them to “go lie down” and I will get to them when I can.


Hobbes was a lovely dog. In August of 2024, he was 16 years old. He arrived as a pup and from that moment on, he had been a pain. He howled, he shed enough fur to make a coat; he was needy, he grew to be over 120 pounds and he was completely unruly. When he jumped on the bed, he took over. He was a big dog that claimed space; a ton of space. He demanded attention and in return, he was steadfast with his loyalty and faithfulness. He had one need…. “love me”.

It was Thursday August 1st and it was hot. Unbelievably hot. The type of heat that doesn’t let up and no sign of reprieve. A relentless heat with temperatures exceeding 38 degrees (100 F). For a country that is freezing most of the time, this heat was fierce. We had just sold our family home and I was waist deep in packing. Hobbes is normally underfoot but not that day. I looked for him and I found him under the trailer. At first, I thought he was just escaping the heat but as the day wore on, he didn’t move and I began to worry.

In recent weeks, he had struggled with stairs, he would walk slowly behind me and I was pretty sure that his sight was less then perfect. It’s easy to ignore the signs just to hold on for a little bit longer.

By early evening, and he still hadn’t moved, I knew the time had come and I called the family home. It was time to say good-bye.

We had to roll him out from under the trailer onto a piece of cardboard so that we could get him onto the front lawn. We tried to get him to stand but his legs collapsed; confirming that he was trying to let go. Each of us took a turn being with him, stroking his ears, nuzzling the backside of his head. Each of us speaking softly to him, letting him know how much he was loved.

Yes, he had been a pain but he had been our pain. His big tail coming into a room and causing us to all lunge for our glasses on the table to keep them from being swept onto the floor. His slobbering tongue, his big paws, his incessant need to be loved. He was a big dog with a big heart. Everything he did was large including loving us hard.

When it was my turn to say good-bye, I held him close. For sixteen years, we had been together and so many of those days, I had been exasperated by him but at the end, I wanted him to know how much I loved him. I hugged him and told him over and over again, “I love you Hobbes. Thank you for loving our family, thank you for being a part of our world”. I needed to tell him that I loved him. I was clear. “I love you Hobbes.” And then he was gone.

I kept my t-shirt, the one that I had hugged him close in. I wanted to remember how he smelled, how it had felt holding him close. I wanted to remember him and all our moments together.

Loss is hard. What I realized is that for 16 years, I had the chance to tell him that he was loved but I wasn’t specific. I would scratch his ears, rub his belly but when I was ready to get back to work, I would tell him to go lie down.

I do this with the people that I love. When I need to get back to things that I think require attention, I ask them to wait. It’s the equivalent of telling them to “go lie down” and I will get to them when I can.

I only go 90%. “Love you” or “love ya” is my parting phrase. To get to 100%, I need to say more. I need to stop everything and be very specific and clear when I say “I LOVE YOU“. Full stop. Let it all hang out.

Saying “I love you” is different than “love you” or “love ya”. It’s deeper, more intentional and definitely more vulnerable. Try it yourself. Say “love ya” and then say “I love you”. Can you feel the difference? It’s hard. It makes me feel like a teenager again when I said “I love you” for the first time. I had to muster the courage to spit it out knowing that there as a very good chance that they would stand there looking at me like I was from Mars. It was agonizing to feel so naked and exposed then. I needed to say it out loud but would they feel the same? Maybe it was just me and after blurting my confessions of the heart, they would suddenly realize that their mom needed them home to fold laundry. Saying “I love you” as a teen was excruciating. It was vulnerable being a teen and nothing has changed. Love takes courage. Even now.

I’ve been working on this. I intentionally am putting the “I” before “L”. I need the people in my life to know that they are seen, that they matter and that I love them. Be clear, it’s awkward and invokes a blip of weird because people stop and it takes them off guard. I think they wonder if they have to say it back. No, you don’t. We aren’t in high school anymore. No one has to say it back, you just have to know that it is real and it’s how I feel.

“I before L”. I Love You. Words matter but relationships are tricky. They require work and I know how often I have tripped up. The times that I would be with family and allow myself to be distracted by emails and text. The need to “check” work when I really needed to be checking in with them. I often hide behind my phone to avoid being fully engaged. Guilty. I have let things slip. That’s not to say that work isn’t important but it has to be balanced. My family has told me that I when I am working it the best time to ask my permission because they know I am not paying attention. I try to deny these allegations and cite my extraordinary ability to be able to “multi-task” but it’s not true. I am often not present and I am missing out. This needs to change. I use my phone to avoid when it it should be the tool to connect; to call them, to text them to stop everything when I see that they are calling. They need to know that they are my everything.

Life is fleeting and it’s easy to let things slide because we think we have time. We avoid hard conversations, pretend that disagreements didn’t happen and delay making amends. We believe that there is time but time slips away and so do people if we don’t pay attention.

This is what I learned in the summer of 2024. It was family and friends who were there when it mattered and in return, I have committed to letting them know that they matter. It’s not something I am good at but I am trying harder.

My personality can be a bit prickly and likely my insecurities make it hard for me to feel vulnerable. I fear rejection all the time which is why “love you” is easier than “I love you“. My fear of rejection is why I hide behind work and other distractions and why “love ya” is easy to say. I LOVE YOU stops time and maybe that’s good, even if it feels awkward and messy.

Hobbes was there everyday. Everyday he greeted me and wanted my attention because he believed in our relationship. Maybe it’s odd to compare life to a dog but they are so uncomplicated with their love. They know how simple life is. Show up, listen, lean in and be there when it matters. The paw on the lap is the equivalent of holding a hand. It’s so straight forward. It’s consistency that deepens the relationship. The discipline to stay focused and engaged and avoid the temptation to distractions. We need to stay focused and not get lured by shiny bobbles that give the illusion of importance. Things are not important; people are. We can’t give into the distractions because one day, it will be over and I personally don’t want regrets. I don’t think I have the luxury of that kind of time. I don’t want what I perceive to be important to get in the way of who really is important. I can assure you, work never shows up when times are tough but people do.

As we approach the beginning of the Christmas season, I reflect on the relationships that matter. The people that count. Those that held our hand and got us through. This is a season of gratitude and I plan on slowing down the pace so that I can listen more intently, be more present and carve out the moment to clearly say “I love you”. “I” before “L”. My season wish is for deeper connection.

I hope that whatever your season brings, it comes with love and if you have fractures in your life, this season, you build a bridge that starts with love.

Thanks for being here. I never take it for granted that you could be doing something else and yet, you have read to the end. Thank you.

With love,

Shelley