• Disillusionment is the painful collapse of a long-help belief.

• Embodied knowing or somatic knowing is the difference between understanding something in your mind versus feeling it in your body, your cells, your nervous system.

• Existential reckoning is the confrontation with the fundamental reality of being human: imperfect, limited, capable of both love and harm simultaneously.

• Gnosis is an ancient Greek word that describes direct, experiential knowing, as opposed to intellectual knowing. It’s used in spiritual and philosophical traditions to describe truth that lands not in the head but in the whole being.

• Identity grief or Grief of the self is the mourning a future version of yourself that you now realize was never going to exist.

• Integration used in trauma therapy, this word describes the moment when something that was known cognitively finally drops into the body and becomes real at every level.

• Kensho is a Japanese Zen term for a sudden, piercing insight into the nature of reality. Not the final destination, but a moment of deep seeing that changes everything after it.

• Moral injury is the distress that comes from acting in ways that violate your own deeply held values.

• Paradigm shift, when your entire internal framework reorganizes around a new truth. The world looks the same from the outside but something fundamental has changed in how you experience it.

• Radical acceptance: deeper, more honest relationship with reality

I know some of you might think I’m so unrealistic. But I bet some of us, somewhere deep down, carry a quiet hope that one day we simply wish we didn’t hurt anymore.

I think I knew it cognitively, but deep inside there was an energy, a belief, that hoped for a perfect life, a perfect result. I went through something similar before, about my wish for society to be perfect. I used to be so angry about the world, it was unbearable. I see so many people in that place and I can recognize them. That desperate hope that the world, and ourselves, will one day be kind, happy, healed.

This time, it seems, I’m going through it at my own individual level.

I thought one day I’d be perfect.

I thought one day I’d have no triggers, I’d be assertive, not aggressive, not passive, just right. I’d be kind. I’d have a body I’d like and I’d be ok showing off, I’d have no physical pain. I wouldn’t hurt anyone. I’d have a job I loved and a business that helped people and paid my bills and more. I’d stay calm. I wouldn’t cry as much, although I like my tears 😊. I’d be happy, joyful. I’d understand everything, with some kind of mathematical formula that makes sense. I’d always be right, and if not, I’d apologize and accept it. I wouldn’t feel fear, sadness, anger, all those emotions we don’t like. I’d be healed. I’d have enough money to stop worrying about pennies. I’d never argue with the people I love…

(breathe)

But recently, something shifted. Not in my head, but in my body, in my bones, in a place much deeper than thoughts.

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I carry wounds from my past, like we all do, in different ways. And what I realized, not cognitively this time, but somatically, viscerally, in a way I can’t even describe, is that people who have been hurt will hurt also, themselves and/or others. Not because they want to, not because they’re bad people, but because pain, when it lives in the body long enough, finds its way out. One way or another.

I thought that by now or soon enough, with all the healing work I’ve done, and I have done the work deeply for over 12 years, I thought one day I’d be done: healed, kind, perfect.

And then over the past several months, came the realization that cracked me open.

I understood, really understood in my gut, in my chest, in my nervous system, that I have been hurting people around me. Not intentionally, not maliciously. But hurting them nonetheless, in ways that echo the pain I know myself. And that realization hit me like a wall.

The impossible equation: I don’t want to hurt others, but I do, so what’s left???

Someone who has been deeply wounded will wound others: themselves, the people they love, someone, somehow. That’s not a comfortable truth, but it’s a true one.

The grief is real: the gap between the ideal I was hoping I’d be one day and the reality of being human is painful. It’s actually a specific kind of grief that doesn’t get talked about enough: mourning the ideal self. The healed, whole, perfect version of you that you’ve been quietly working toward for years.

And now I have to accept a new picture of myself, one that includes all parts of myself.

I will always get triggered. I will never be perfectly assertive. I will hurt people, even when I don’t want to. I will always have parts of my body that frustrates me, emotions that overwhelm me, fear and sadness and anger that show up uninvited. And… I will also always be, deep down, a generous and kind person. I just don’t quite believe that last part yet.

What I’m learning, slowly and painfully, at a somatic level not just a cognitive one, is what it actually means to own all of yourself. To accept all parts, without the hope of one day becoming someone else. Part of the real work is self-regulation: learning to feel safe enough, learning not to overreact, while still allowing yourself to react. And also acceptance, learning to be realistic instead of holding onto a fantasy that was never possible to begin with.

This is what some might call disillusionment. But not the shallow kind. This is deep, embodied disillusionment, a knowing that has moved from my head all the way down into my body, my energy, my DNA. It’s painful. And it’s also, I’m beginning to think, exactly the work that needs to happen. It’s what we call integration in psychology.

There’s a name for what I carry: C-PTSD. The C stands for Complex, Chronic, and/or Childhood. Perhaps all three at once. I first heard it described as Chronic, which felt really accurate for me. Childhood fits too. Complex is the clinical term, but for me, it’s all of those things woven together.

Here’s what I’m sitting with now, and what I want to leave you with:

Maybe closing that gap, between who we hoped we’d be and who we actually are, IS the healing. Not becoming perfect. Not finally being done. But grieving the fantasy of perfection, and learning to be at peace with reality instead.

It doesn’t feel like healing when you’re in it. It feels like loss. Like collapse. Like standing in the rubble of something you built your hope on.

I wonder if that’s what people mean when they say “healing is possible.” Not that you’ll become who you dreamed of, but that you’ll stop suffering so much over the distance between that dream and the truth.

The gap closes. And maybe, slowly, so does the pain.

I’m not there yet. But I think I’m on my way 💛.

And here is what came up when I reverse engineered what I’ve been experiencing, in case you’re been experiencing something similar in your life before -see the definitions in Glossary here:

• disillusionment, identity grief or grief of the self, moral injury, existential reckoning, radical acceptance, embodied knowing or somatic knowing, Gnosis, integration, paradigm shift, Kensho.

Lots of those terms seem similar, they’re just used interchangeably depending on the context and culture. Apparently it’s a profound spiritual and psychological event. Rare. Uncomfortable. And real.

🌱 If you’re struggling with your mental and emotional health, you’re not alone. I’m offering counselling sessions as an RTCc, and I’d be honoured to support you on your path. Reach out anytime :) Contact me

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So. I’m supposed to be happy, to be celebrating.

And yet... there wasn’t much joy.

There was relief, yes, after waiting for six weeks, relief was enormous. But joy? Not quite. Partly because I quickly realized that not all extended health insurance plans actually recognize the RTCc designation, which means I’m still missing out on potential clients who want to use their benefits. I understand on their end. Still frustrating on mine.

It’s a bit like finally turning 16 and getting your driver’s license, but still having to drive with an experienced driver in the passenger seat. The freedom you imagined isn’t quite there yet. One more step still to go.

And then July happened.

Without going into too much detail, I went through a really difficult time in July until early August. Nothing really big occurred on the outside, except the long wait for my registration. But something old and deep surfaced from within, an old belief that had been quietly waiting for the right moment to come up. It shook me more than I expected…

And apparently, astrologically speaking, July 2026 was... a lot. If you follow that kind of thing, you might know about it. I’m no astrology expert, but something did feel different. Heavier. Like old things were being pushed to the surface. When I talked to some friends, it seemed like I wasn’t alone in feeling this way. I’m still making sense of my experience.

All of that: the difficult inner work, the astrological intensity, the emotional weight of July, overshadowed what should have been a moment of celebration. The RTCc arrived in the middle of the storm. And storms have a way of taking over good news. Survival first, again!

Sometimes we’re supposed to be celebrating something, but life doesn’t pause to let us. Other things are happening at the same time. Or the thing we worked so hard for turns out to be less complete than we hoped. Or the joy we expected just... doesn’t show up the way we imagined it would.

There’s actually a name for this gap, the difference between what we think will make us happy and how we actually feel when it arrives. Psychologists call it the “impact bias”: we consistently overestimate how good or bad something will make us feel, and for how long. Our imagination of how things will feel is always more dramatic than the reality. That’s not a personal failing. It’s just how humans work.

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In my case, it seems like there will need to be a few more steps before I can feel truly content with where I am. And I’m learning to be okay with that. One step at a time.

There’s always something else to do, always another milestone further down the road. But today, 8 days after receiving those “letters” after my name, I’m choosing to simply be content with what I have. To keep going. To keep asking myself whether I really want this, and answering yes. Yes, I want to be a counsellor. A good one. A kind, empathic, grounded one, who can hold space for people and offer real, practical support.

And as I write this, I can feel a small opening, a little space where something that might be pride is quietly showing up. Pride for the journey. For the ups and the downs. For still being here, still going, even when it was hard. Even when the joy didn’t come when it was supposed to.

I’ve come a long way. And look at where I am now!

And as Rick Hanson says: let’s soak that in for at least 20 seconds. 🤍

🌱 If you’re struggling with your mental and emotional health, you’re not alone. I’m offering counselling sessions as an RTCc, and I’d be honoured to support you on your path. Reach out anytime :) Contact me

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Right now, that’s exactly how I feel. 😠

And I know I’m not alone. I’m thinking of people in particular as I write this, people who have it even harder than me. People waiting for visas, stuck where they are for weeks, months, sometimes years. My present situation is small in comparison. And yet my body doesn’t seem to know that.

Application date + 4 weeks

I’ve been waiting for the approval of my registration as a counsellor. Four weeks now. And I’m mad.

I’m mad because the association doesn’t publish how long the process takes on their website. I’m mad because a few of my classmates have already received theirs, including one who applied after me and received hers in less than two weeks. How is that fair? How difficult is it to process applications in order?

I emailed them to ask if they had received mine, and they replied telling me to contact them if I hadn’t heard back within six weeks. Six weeks?! My classmate got hers in less than two weeks, and you’re telling me I might have to wait six weeks or more? And I’m supposed to stay calm, be patient, and just trust that it will arrive?

So much easier to say than to do.

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Meanwhile, I can’t do anything. I can’t create directory listings to get new clients. I can’t access free supervision. I can’t promote my services. I’m just... stuck. Some days I feel like I’ve processed some of the anger and I feel okay. Other days are much worse, like the day another classmate told me her registration had been accepted, or like right now, still sitting here for four weeks.

What about me? When do I get to move forward?

I’m checking my emails constantly. Every time I open my inbox, there’s a small spike of hope followed by a small collapse. Over and over again.

Why waiting without knowing is so hard. It’s not just in your head

Here’s something I find both validating and fascinating: the reason waiting without information feels so unbearable is actually rooted in how our brains are wired.

Our nervous system is designed to scan for threats and then act. Fight, flight, freeze. The problem with waiting is that there’s nothing to act on. No enemy to fight, no door to run through, no problem to solve. Just... uncertainty. And our brain genuinely doesn’t know what to do with that.

Research shows that uncertainty activates the same stress response as an actual threat, sometimes even more intensely. In one study, people who knew they would receive an electric shock were less stressed than people who didn’t know if they would receive one. Not knowing is genuinely harder on the nervous system than knowing something bad is coming. At least with bad news, you can grieve, adapt, and move forward. With uncertainty, your brain stays on high alert indefinitely, burning energy, waiting for a signal that never comes.

There’s also the powerlessness piece. When we have no control over an outcome and no information about the timeline, we lose our sense of agency, our ability to influence our own life. And that feeling of helplessness is one of the most psychologically painful experiences a human can have. It’s not weakness. It’s biology.

In my case, what made it hard was knowing that my classmates had received their registrations, sometimes faster than me. That added a layer of injustice on top of the uncertainty. And injustice, it turns out, is one of my core belief. I’ll come back to that.

This is also why I avoid unnecessary paperwork and government processes whenever I can. Every time I have to deal with bureaucracy, it adds a layer of stress that sits in my body. What would help? Simply knowing how long things take. And if it takes longer than expected, tell us why. Even the Skytrain tells you how long until the next train. Even a pedestrian crossing counts down the seconds. Surely it’s not impossible to keep people in the loop.

I checked my emails two times while writing the above, by the way.

The cycle keeps going. Frustration builds, I breathe through it, it eases slightly, then something triggers it again. Like a pressure cooker that empties and fills again, over and over. It goes from frustration to something closer to depression, and then back to frustration again. And so on.

Application date + 6 weeks

It’s now been six weeks and I’m still waiting. So I emailed the association again.

Today was a bad day. A really bad day. I could feel the weight of it in my chest and all the way down to the top of my belly, that particular kind of fear that sits in your body like a stone. I lay down on my bed for a while. I cried, which helped release some of the pressure. I talked to my new supervisor, which also helped in the moment. But the pressure built back quickly.

The association emailed me back late afternoon to say they had nudged the team processing my application. I was told I could reach out again in another week if I still hadn’t heard. That partly helped, at least I knew I didn’t have to wait another six weeks. But part of me expected the worst and assumed it could take another six weeks anyway.

And then, I checked my emails one more time.

There it was. The acceptance email. After all this time.

I felt this big ball of pressure just... disintegrate. Vanish. It wasn’t happiness just yet. It was relief. And underneath the relief, a kind of sadness, recognizing just how much tension my body had been holding for weeks. After dinner I went for a walk and released a lot of it, exhaling hard, shaking my body the way animals do after a trauma. It actually helps.

And then I shared the news with a few friends. Because good news you can’t share with anyone isn’t even half the victory.

What I’m taking away from this, as a person, and as a counsellor

Almost 24 hours later, I’m starting to feel something like freedom again. But there’s still a kind of scar, a lingering tenderness in my chest and belly where all that tension lived for so long.

What do I take from this experience, beyond the obvious relief?

First, even when a situation looks small from the outside, the suffering it causes can be enormous. This is not proportional math. A registration approval is not a terminal diagnosis. And yet my nervous system treated it like a genuine threat for four weeks. That’s not dramatic, that’s just how the nervous system works. It doesn’t distinguish between a real danger and a perceived one. As a counsellor, I want to remember this. I never want to minimize what a client is going through just because the situation looks manageable from where I’m standing.

Second, the suffering is often amplified by what the situation triggers underneath. In my case, I truly believe that if I hadn’t known my classmates received their registrations faster, my reaction would have been much less intense. The wait would have been frustrating, but the injustice is what sent it into a different level. And justice is a deep core value of mine. When it’s violated, something in me reacts very strongly.

So I’ll ask you the same question I’m asking myself: what belief or core value does your waiting situation touch? Because that might be exactly where the intensity is coming from.

If you’re in this right now, waiting without knowing, stuck without control, checking your emails compulsively, I feel you. I really do. It’s a hard place to be, and it’s so easy for people on the outside to say “just be patient.”

Be kind to yourself in the meantime. Talk to someone. Shake it out of your body if you can. Breathe long exhales especially. And know that the intensity of what you’re feeling isn’t a sign that something is wrong with you.

It’s a sign that you’re human. 💛 But easier said than done. I hear you.

🌱 If you’re struggling with your mental and emotional health, you’re not alone. I’m offering counselling sessions as an RTCc, and I’d be honoured to support you on your path. Reach out anytime :) Contact me

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Chaque année, le RFCB organise un congrès où une cinquantaine de femmes francophones vivant en Colombie-Britannique se réunissent pendant un week-end pour tisser des liens, dans un magnifique centre de retraite situé quelque part dans la province. Cette année, c’était au Bethlehem Centre à Nanaimo, un lieu à but non lucratif niché juste au bord du lac Westwood, où nous pouvions nous baigner si l’envie nous en prenait – ce que j’ai d’ailleurs fait !

Le thème de cette année était « Constellation de femmes », une invitation à se reconnecter avec soi-même, entre nous et avec la nature. À l’image d’une constellation, chaque femme apporte sa propre lumière.

Je tiens tout d’abord à remercier l’équipe du RFCB pour cette organisation exceptionnelle. On ne se rend pas toujours compte de l’ampleur du travail que requièrent des événements comme celui-ci, non seulement sur le plan physique et logistique, mais aussi sur le plan énergétique. Merci donc pour ce nouveau congrès magnifique. J’attends déjà avec impatience le prochain.

Je tiens également à prendre un moment pour rendre davantage hommage au RFCB, car, honnêtement, je n’avais aucune idée de l’ampleur de leur travail avant de commencer à participer à des événements d’une telle envergure. C’est une chose d’être membre ou de donner un coup de main pour un projet ici ou là. Mais c’est quand on commence à vraiment voir tout ce qu’elles font (les programmes, le plaidoyer, le travail communautaire) qu’on prend conscience de la véritable envergure de ce que représente cette organisation.

Le RFCB existe depuis 1990, et ses programmes vont bien au-delà de l’organisation d’événements. Elle aide les nouveaux arrivants à s’intégrer en Colombie-Britannique, gère des programmes destinés aux jeunes pour leur enseigner ce que sont des relations saines, propose un service de ressources mobile pour les femmes dans toute la province, œuvre pour mettre fin à la violence conjugale au sein de la communauté francophone et défend les droits des femmes tant au niveau provincial que fédéral. Et ce n’est qu’un aperçu.

Je suis ravie qu’elles aient pris le temps, pendant le congrès, de nous présenter ces projets, car certaines femmes, comme moi, ne sont pas toujours au courant des activités des associations à but non lucratif.

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Au cours du week-end, nous avons profité d’un programme complet d’ateliers : yoga du rire, cercle de partage entre femmes, séance guidée pour nous aider à enfin nous lancer dans un projet que nous repoussions depuis longtemps, et une visualisation pour nous reconnecter à notre sagesse intérieure. En plus de cela, nous avions accès au lac pour nous baigner, à un sentier de randonnée, à une séance de yoga le dimanche matin (que j’ai laissée de côté pour dormir, sans aucun regret 😄), à des activités artistiques et à des jeux le samedi soir, ainsi qu’à de délicieux repas tout au long du week-end.

C’était mon troisième Congrès. Honnêtement, je ne sais pas vraiment pourquoi je n’y avais pas participé avant Covid ; je pense que je n’étais tout simplement pas aussi proche de la communauté française à l’époque. Mais pour des personnes comme moi, des immigrées vivant loin de chez elles, renouer avec notre culture d’origine est quelque chose de presque impossible à expliquer pleinement. Je passe la plupart de mon temps en anglais, avec des amis et des collègues non français dans ma vie quotidienne. Et pourtant, dès que je suis avec « les miennes », quelque chose change.

Il y a quelque chose qui devient plus accessible. Quelque chose d’invisible qui s’installe et permet à mon système nerveux de se détendre, de se sentir plus à l’aise, plus en sécurité, plus soi-même. Ce je-ne-sais-quoi qui n’a pas besoin d’être expliqué, car toutes les personnes présentes dans la salle le ressentent déjà aussi.

Et puis, il y a cette dimension supplémentaire que représente le fait de passer le week-end entre femmes uniquement. Il y a une complicité qui ne nécessite pas beaucoup d’explications. Des difficultés similaires, des souffrances similaires, des réalités quotidiennes similaires à bien des égards.

Un moment de ce week-end m’a particulièrement marquée.

Une femme souffrait énormément de crampes menstruelles. J’ai tout de suite compris ce qu’elle vivait, je passe par là... Je lui ai donc apporté mon aide. Je me suis souvenue d’une posture de yoga pouvant soulager ces crampes et je l’ai invitée à l’essayer. Je lui ai tenu la main pendant les moments les plus difficiles, je lui ai préparé une bouillotte à poser sur son ventre et je me suis simplement assise à ses côtés, pour être présente, pour traverser cette épreuve avec elle. Une autre amie nous a rejointes et a apporté une couverture ainsi que des huiles essentielles.

C’est ça, la sororité en action.

J’étais content d’être là pour elle. Elle a accepté mon aide, d’autant plus qu’il s’agissait de son tout premier congrès.

Je le répète, comme je l’ai dit dans mon article de l’année dernière : si vous avez un groupe d’amies avec lesquelles vous avez envie d’organiser une retraite, n’attendez pas. Pas besoin que ce soit sophistiqué ou coûteux. Comme le dit le dicton en anglais : KISS : Keep It Simple, Sweetheart ;) Vous n’avez pas besoin d’un endroit spécial ni d’un programme parfait. Il vous suffit d’un espace sûr, de bons petits plats et de vos amies. Un espace pour se montrer vulnérable, pour partager les moments difficiles, et, tout aussi important, pour rire et s’amuser.

🌱 Et si ce dont tu as envie, ce n’est pas seulement un week-end entre filles, mais un soutien plus profond, quelqu’un pour t’accompagner dans les moments difficiles, c’est exactement pour cela que je suis là en tant que conseillère en santé mentale. N’hésite pas à me contacter à tout moment. 🌱 Restons en contact

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Every year, RFCB organizes a Congress where around 50 French-speaking women living in BC gather for a weekend to connect, in a beautiful retreat centre somewhere in the province. This year it was at the Bethlehem Centre in Nanaimo, a nonprofit venue tucked right beside Westwood Lake, where we could swim if we felt like it, which I did!

The theme this year was “Constellation of Women”, an invitation to connect with ourselves, with each other, and with nature. Like a constellation, each woman brings her own light.

I want to start by thanking the team behind RFCB for the incredible organization. We don’t always realize how much work goes into events like these, not just physically and logistically, but energetically too. So thank you for another beautiful Congress. I’m already looking forward to the next one.

I also want to take a moment to recognize RFCB more fully, because I honestly had no idea of the extent of their work until I started attending larger events like this one. It’s one thing to be a member, or to help with one project here and there. But when you start really seeing everything they’re doing (the programs, the advocacy, the community work) that’s when you realize the real scope of what this organization represents.

RFCB has been around since 1990, and their programs go far beyond organizing events. They support new arrivals integrating into BC, run youth programs teaching young people about healthy relationships, offer a mobile resource service for women across the province, work on ending domestic violence in the francophone community, and advocate for women’s rights at both provincial and federal levels. And that’s just scratching the surface.

I’m glad they took time during the Congress to share these projects with us, because some women like myself aren’t always plugged into the nonprofit or advocacy world. Hearing about this work firsthand is a reminder that some people are quietly doing the hard, important work of making our society more just and equitable. Often behind the scenes. Often without enough recognition.

So thank you, RFCB. I see you too. 🤍

You can learn more about their programs and how to get involved at reseaufemmes.bc.ca.

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Over the weekend we enjoyed a full lineup of workshops: laughter yoga, a women's sharing circle, a guided session to help us finally take action on a project we'd been putting off, and a visualization to connect with our own inner wisdom. On top of that, we had access to the lake for swimming, a hiking trail, yoga on Sunday morning (which I skipped in favor of sleep, no regrets 😄) arts and games Saturday evening, and delicious food throughout the whole weekend.

This was my third Congress. I’m honestly not sure why I didn’t attend before Covid, I think I just wasn’t as connected to the French community back then. But for people like me, immigrants living far from home, connecting with our culture of origin is something almost impossible to fully explain. I spend most of my time in English, with non-French friends and colleagues in my day-to-day life. And yet the moment I’m with “my people,” something shifts.

There’s something that becomes easier to access. Something invisible that settles in and allows the nervous system to relax, to feel more at ease, more safe, more like yourself. That je-ne-sais-quoi that doesn’t need to be explained because everyone in the room already feels it too.

And then there’s the added layer of spending the weekend with only women. There’s an understanding that doesn’t need much translation. Similar struggles, similar pains, similar daily realities in so many ways.

One moment from the weekend has stayed with me.

A woman was in a lot of pain from period cramps. I recognized it immediately, I’ve been there. So I helped. I remembered a yoga posture that can ease cramp pain and invited her to try it. I held her hand through the harder moments, got her hot water bottle ready to use for her belly, and just sat beside her, to be present, to go through it with her. Another friend joined us and brought a blanket and some essential oils.

That is sorority in action.

I was so glad to be there for her. She received it so openly, especially being at her very first Congress.

I’ll say it again, like I said it in last year’s article: if you have a group of girlfriends you’ve been meaning to do a retreat with, don’t wait. It doesn’t have to be fancy or expensive. As the saying goes: KISS: Keep It Simple, Sweetheart ;) You don’t need a special place or a perfect plan. You just need a safe space, some good food, and your people. Space to be vulnerable, to share the hard moments, and, just as importantly, to laugh and play.

🌱 And if what you're craving isn't just a girls' weekend but some deeper support, someone to sit with you through the harder moments, that's exactly what I'm here for as a counsellor. Reach out anytime. 🌱 Let’s connect

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Do you know which country, part of the so-called “advanced economy and developed world,” does not mandate any paid vacation or paid public holidays for workers? You might be surprised: the USA. Yep. The apparently-best-country-in-the-world, the American Dream itself. You can actually check it out on Wikipedia here. I was shocked when I first saw this a few years ago. Luckily many companies do offer paid vacation voluntarily, but of course it tends to be the bigger ones that do.

In France, workers get at least 5 paid weeks of vacation and work 35 hours a week. A dream. Why did I ever leave?! 😄 Well... nowhere is perfect.

In Canada we get 2 paid weeks, which honestly I don’t think is enough. And you only become legally entitled to a 3rd week after 5 years with the same employer, and realistically, only at the end of those 5 years, once you’ve fully accumulated them. As a nanny entering my late 30s, I started asking for that 3rd week anyway, because those of us in smaller jobs rarely stay with the same employer long enough to ever see it. So I stood up for myself and asked. Because, as I like to say: “I’m not 20 years old anymore.” 😄

Time off is important. Time off of any kind: a pause, a breath, a nap, a good night’s sleep, a weekend, a sick day, a vacation. All of it counts. All of it matters.

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This week I’m staying on Vancouver Island after attending the Réseau-Femmes congress, a perfect excuse to visit some friends, including one of my classmates who I haven’t actually met in person yet! I’m taking this time (almost) completely off, keeping just one counselling client. Time to relax and try not to think about work, business, or mental health, which I’ll admit I seem to be a little addicted to. Not the worst addiction in the world, but definitely one! 😄

I’m really looking forward to connecting with friends and just having fun. It probably won’t be super hot this week on the Island, but hey “c’est la vie”. And if there’s one thing we truly cannot control, it’s the weather. (I know, there are some scientific methods to influence weather patterns these days, but thankfully it’s not widespread yet!)

What about you? Are you taking some time off this summer?

What are you planning to do, or better yet, what are you planning to not do? Who are you planning to be?

Vacation doesn’t have to be fancy. It can simply mean staying home, resting, doing a day trip to a lake, or meeting a friend for ice cream. Which, for the record, is one of my absolute favorites. 🍦 I’ll be back to working all summer after this week, so I’m already looking forward to those girlfriend meetups at the beach with ice cream. The girlfriend part comes first, obviously, ice cream is just a bonus. 😄

I hope you get to take some time off too, whatever that looks like for you. Let your body, mind, and spirit rest and reset.

Happy holidays, everyone! Take care 🧡

🌱 If you’re struggling with your mental and emotional health, you’re not alone. I’m now offering counselling sessions, and I’d be honoured to support you on your path. Reach out anytime :) Contact me

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So here I am, writing about it anyway.

A few months ago, I was watching one of those comedian shows, and he was joking about his wife freaking out over pennies if they kept the lights on too long. My friend who was watching with me and I looked at each other immediately. We both knew that pattern. I also freak out over the lights and pennies, and I knew exactly what he was talking about.

It’s funny. And it’s actually not funny at all.

Last Saturday, I rode my bike downtown to meet some friends, knowing I’d take the Skytrain back because it’s a 50-minute ride each way and I’m no bike warrior. 😄 When I was about to leave to catch the train, I reached for my pass, and realized I had forgotten it at home.

And that’s when my mind turned on.

No pass means paying with my credit card. Which costs more. How much more exactly? I don’t know. Maybe a dollar. Maximum a dollar. Hopefully less.

The anxiety showed up immediately. That tight, familiar feeling.

As I’m writing this, three days later, I still feel a little knot about it. I ended up paying $3.35 instead of $2.70 with my pass. I was hoping it would be closer to $3.00. But no. $3.35. I could have saved $0.65.

Sixty-five cents. And I’m still thinking about it three days later.

The thought of riding my bike all the way back home just to avoid that extra fee actually crossed my mind. But I knew this was part of my work. Feel the discomfort. Reassure my nervous system that I’m okay. Let it go. Again.

I told my friend right before I left, and we both laughed about it, because we both knew what it meant. It’s part of the work. But I could still feel how much stress those 65 cents were giving me.

Pennies are scary. I know it sounds ridiculous. But if you’ve ever felt this way, you know it’s not.

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And here’s the thing, this doesn’t come from nowhere. If it’s happening to you, you must have a story as well.

I grew up in France, and from a young age I absorbed the message that at the end of the month, there’s no money left. I was shown the household bookkeeping, I could see it right there in the numbers. I was told to finish my plate, even when I wasn’t hungry, and I was told that some kids don’t even have anything to eat. I never had branded clothes, branded toys, or branded food. I watched my great-grandmother finish every last crumb on her plate. I always had food on my plate, and I’m grateful for that, truly. As an adult, I actually don't mind not having branded things, I'm even grateful for some of the things I used to hate as a child. 😄 But the message I received, quietly and consistently, was: money is scarce, and you have to be careful.

Those messages don’t stay in your head. They move into your body. And your whole life they show up as a knot in your stomach over $0.65 on a Skytrain ride. And of course in some many other areas.

I’ve done a lot of healing work around money over the years. And there’s clearly still a lot more to do.

If you experience this kind of anxiety around money, you’re not alone. It probably didn’t start with the pennies. It likely started much earlier, in a moment, or a hundred small moments, when you learned that money was something to fear.

I don’t have all the answers. What I do know is that the work, for now, is this: notice the triggers. Notice them in your body. Breathe through them. And remind your nervous system, again and again, that you are okay.

It’s not glamorous. It’s not a quick fix. But it’s something. And some days, that’s enough. 💛

🌱 If you’re struggling with your mental and emotional health, you’re not alone. I’m now offering counselling sessions, and I’d be honoured to support you on your path. Reach out anytime :) Contact me

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I said hi. I thanked him. I wished him a good day. Making sure he could tell I actually saw him. Genuinely.

I like to do my best to treat everyone the same, whether it’s a sanitation worker, a supermarket cashier, or a police officer. I’ll be honest, I don’t always get it right. I had to go to the RCMP recently, and I wasn’t my kindest self that day. I’m not proud of it. I’m aware of it. I own it.

But this morning, something moved me.

I stood there thinking about this man, and all the people who do this kind of work. They show up every day, mostly in the background. We rarely see them. We think about them even less. And we almost never stop to actually acknowledge them, or have a real moment of human connection with them.

Without them, society wouldn’t go round. Not even a little bit. We got a glimpse of this during Covid, and we see it whenever there’s a strike. That’s usually when we’re forced to notice just how essential this work really is. But we shouldn’t need a crisis to remember it.

I felt a big wave of compassion, and a few tears came. I felt connected to this man at a human level. And I found myself wishing we could all slow down and connect more like this, instead of taking so much for granted in our day-to-day lives.

And I’ll be honest about something else too, because I think it matters.

Our bias toward people in service jobs tends to run pretty negative. We assume they’re not educated. Not smart. That they’re doing this job because they couldn’t do anything else. I know these thoughts exist, because I’ve had them too, and I’m not proud of that either.

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But I’ve also been on the other side of them.

I’ve worked as a nanny, including into my 40s. And I might have to again to pay the bills. And I’ll be honest, there’s shame that comes with that. Because I know what some people think: “She’s still a nanny at 40? She must not be very smart. She must not have been able to build a real career.” And that hurts. A lot. Even when I know that’s not the true story, not mine, and not theirs either.

Some of these thoughts are unconscious. We don’t even notice we’re having them. Which is exactly why it’s worth pausing, like I did this morning, and asking ourselves: who are we actually looking at? And are we really seeing them?

So today I’m thinking about all of you, all of us, who do work that often goes unseen. Service jobs, background work, essential work. Work that is rarely acknowledged and often not well paid, and yet holds everything together.

Without you, none of this works.

Thank you for showing up, humbly, every day.

I see you. 🤍

🌱 If you’re struggling with your mental and emotional health, you’re not alone. I’m now offering counselling sessions, and I’d be honoured to support you on your path. Reach out anytime :) Contact me

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I felt like there was no progress for almost 20 years, from my early adult years until about 40. No visible change at all. I never saw a counsellor, because they don’t really exist where I’m from in France, and psychologists are expensive. So all my healing happened through self-help. And it is so discouraging when nothing seems to change.

One of my osteopaths once told me a metaphor I’ll never forget. It’s like trying to open a stuck jar lid. You try 99 times and it won’t budge, and on the 100th try, it finally opens. That doesn’t mean the first 99 attempts did nothing and only the 100th one worked. No, every one of those 99 tries loosened the lid just a little, even if you couldn’t feel it happening. The 100th try gets all the credit, but that’s not the whole story.

It’s the same with healing.

It’s not that I tried hundreds of techniques over 20 years, nothing happened, and then the last technique I tried was the one that finally worked. No. I had to go through every single one of those other techniques, practices, and modalities, all working quietly in the background, to get to that final shift. I learned so much about myself and about healing throughout those 20 years. If I had started with that last technique alone, it wouldn’t have worked either. It was the compounding of everything before it that made the healing possible, even though I only noticed one big shift, two decades in. And honestly, things even got harder right before that shift happened.

Here’s another way to look at it. Someone I know was diagnosed with emphysema, a lung disease. They were told that many people don’t notice any breathing symptoms until they’ve lost 50% or more of their lung function. That shocked me, and it’s stayed with me ever since. It turns out the same is true for a lot of other conditions or pain.

I think it’s the same principle: we often don’t notice things getting better (or worse) until we’ve gained or lost a significant percentage of what we started with.

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Here’s one more way to picture it: imagine a glass of water. Add one drop of black ink. You won’t notice any change in color until you’ve added quite a few drops. And you’d notice the shift faster if you had a second, untouched glass right next to it for comparison, because, as I learned in my photography degree over 20 years ago, the human eye is a great comparer, but a terrible analyzer on its own.

Healing can be subtle in exactly this way, we might not notice it the way we expect to. For me, it was the moment depression finally lifted that I noticed a real difference in how I was living my life. That moment was also unusual enough that it actually took me two or three years to fully understand what had happened.

And to be clear, being less depressed and more emotionally regulated doesn’t mean I’m “all better.” I still have a lot of work to do. In fact, some new things are surfacing now that weren’t visible before. But being more regulated makes all of it so much easier to live with.

So if you’re discouraged, because you’re doing the work, alone or with a counsellor or psychologist, and you’re not seeing or feeling results, I hear you. It can take time. That’s normal. Something is happening. You’re just not noticing it yet, because it’s subtle.

So be kind to yourself. Keep doing the good work.

And also, maybe take a break from healing for a bit and just have some fun. It’s summer. Go enjoy the sun. ☀️

🌱 If you’re struggling with your mental and emotional health, you’re not alone. I’m offering counselling sessions, and I’d be honoured to support you on your path. Reach out anytime :) Contact me

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First, a question: is there something in your life you’d like to change or get better at, but you’re just not ready to do it yet? I’m sure we all have something! For me, one of the things is physical exercise. I know I need more of it, but honestly, I don’t really want to do it. The truth is, physical pain is what forces me to move. Without the pain, I’d probably do nothing. So... thank you, pain! 😂 I genuinely don’t know why I’m so resistant to exercise. What I do know is that I keep cycling back and forth through these stages.

Above: Me not wanting to change… ;)

Let me explain.

Stage 1 - Pre-contemplation This is when someone needs to change something, but isn’t aware of it yet. If I had physical pain and had no idea that exercise could help, I’d be right here.

Stage 2 - Contemplation This is when someone knows something needs to change, but isn’t quite ready to act on it, not even to make a plan. I’m here sometimes with exercise. I’m also very much here when it comes to tidying my home. I just can’t seem to move past it, and I own that almost completely. 😉

Stage 3 - Preparation This is when someone is ready to change and starts building their plan: what needs to happen, when, how, who’s involved… They might use SMART goals. For me, this is when I was ready and decided I would do at least 10–30 minutes of yoga and physio exercises every morning, at least five days a week.

Stage 4 - Action This is when the plan gets put into motion. Things are actually happening. For me, this was when I started showing up for those 10–30 minutes of stretches, five mornings a week.

Stage 5 - Maintenance This is when the new behaviour has become part of your routine, part of your life, without resistance. For me, this would be me still exercising consistently... if I didn’t keep sliding back into stages two or three. 😅

From maintenance, there are two possible paths:

Termination - the person has fully integrated the change and isn’t at risk of falling back. It feels solid and sustainable.

Relapse - this can happen, and that’s okay. The person might slide back to an earlier stage and need something new to get going again. Relapse doesn’t have to mean failure. Life happens. Sometimes a different approach, a different moment, or a different kind of support is what makes it click the next time.

I see myself drifting back to stage two a lot when it comes to exercise. Sigh. I’m still doing daily movement, but I know I need more, and I still can’t quite get myself excited to push further. Not yet.

There’s also a set of tools called motivational interviewing aka MI, a style of questioning you can work through on your own, or with a coach or counsellor, that can help you move from one stage to the next. It’s helped me with exercise, and also with building better systems around housework. Not perfect yet, and that’s okay. For some tasks I used to just procrastinate endlessly with no plan at all. Now I have a system that works for me and doesn’t feel overwhelming.

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Knowing about these stages has also helped me have more compassion, for others, and for myself.

It’s easy to wonder why someone isn’t changing when it seems so obvious that they should. But we’re all in different stages of change in different areas of our lives, and we can’t force it, not really. Sometimes it’s about the right time, the right place, the right circumstances. Even motivational interviewing won’t always work, because change isn’t purely cognitive. Sometimes something deeper needs to happen first. Someone might need more empathy. More healing. They might know they need to change, and still be stuck in stage two, because something stronger than their awareness is holding them there. It’s not weakness. It’s just not the right moment yet.

And when I say “they,” I mean me too.

So if you know you need to change something but it’s just not happening, please don’t beat yourself up. It might not be the right time. You might be missing one piece of information, one experience, one shift, something that will eventually move you forward. It’s coming.

🌱 If you’re struggling with your mental and emotional health, you’re not alone. I’m now offering counselling sessions, and I’d be honoured to support you on your path. Reach out anytime :) Contact me

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But first, let me tell you a little about this program, because it’s truly special.

Rhodes Wellness College was founded by Beverly Rhodes in 1996 in Vancouver, when she noticed that mental health professionals were being trained academically but not actually equipped to practice. She wanted to transform that. She wanted to create a hands-on, experiential learning environment that gave students both the theoretical knowledge and the practical skills to guide people toward holistic wellness.

And that’s exactly what I experienced.

This might “only” be a diploma, but here’s the thing: I genuinely believe that if I had gone straight into a master’s in counselling, I would never have actually learned how to counsel. Isn’t that ironic? Soft skills, the kind that make a counsellor good, aren’t something most people just have naturally. And they absolutely cannot be learned from a textbook. You have to practice them. You have to live them.

Here’s how the program worked: in each class, my classmates and I would counsel each other. We’d learn the skills theoretically, then immediately practice them on one another, which meant we were simultaneously the counsellors and the clients. In a way, we all did about a year and a half of therapy on ourselves.

I had done a lot of inner work over the previous 20 years, which was mostly self-help. I never really had the money for actual counselling, and in France, “counsellors” isn’t a job that exist, so I didn’t even know what I was missing. There might also have been a part of me that believed “no one can really help me.” These 18 months of school, in the client seat, were some of the most healing I’ve ever done. I learned so much about myself, healed so much, and grew so much.

And as a counsellor-in-training, we practiced skills from across the spectrum: the core basics like listening, acknowledging, validating, reflecting, and offering genuine empathy, all the way to tools from CBT, DBT, Narrative therapy, EFT, somatic approaches, and even spiritual frameworks, which honestly felt like coming home for me, since that’s been part of my path for a long time.

None of this could have been learned from a textbook. I really believe that. Practice should be mandatory. It’s like training a chef without ever letting them near a kitchen, or an architect without ever letting them build anything. Can you imagine?! The most important skills in counselling, and honestly, in being a decent human being in general, are the soft skills. Being able to truly offer empathy. Making someone feel less alone. Helping them feel seen and heard, perhaps for the first time.

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Now that I’m back to my old routine, working on my own business again, I’m being tested every day, and I can already see the fruits of this work.

The biggest shift I notice? I’m building my self-worth. I’m not letting negative thoughts pull me under as easily, even when they do. And what used to feel like “bad things happening to me” no longer defines me the way it used to. I’m still working on this but I see a shift.

A couple of months ago, I wasn’t accepted as a TA (Teacher Assistant) for my practicum. In the past, that would have sent me spiraling: no one loves me, I’m not good enough, the whole story. But when it happened this time, I didn’t let it define me. I actually saw it as being redirected somewhere better.

Same thing now, as I look at my business and notice I don’t have as many clients as I’d hoped. Instead of panicking or collapsing into self-doubt, I’m curious about it. I don’t let it define me. I know it’s pushing me to go find my people, even if that part still feels a little scary, I’ll admit. 😉 There’s still something there for me to learn. And I’m okay with that.

Good luck, bad luck, who knows?

So what’s next for me? The last important step: joining a counselling association so that my clients can use their health benefits with me. Only then will I truly feel like I’ve arrived.

And then, keep going. Become the best counsellor I can be. Keep teaching mindfulness and self-compassion. Get back to writing here, which I’ve missed deeply these past few months. And finish my book, Self-Wholeness.

Life keeps changing. I’m ready.

And if any of this resonates with you, if you’re curious about counselling, wellness, or a career that’s actually built around helping people heal, I genuinely recommend Rhodes. They also offer a Professional Integrative Nutrition diploma, a brand new RMT program, a Life Skills Coaching certificate, a Professional Animal-Assisted Wellness Therapy diploma, and an End-of-Life certificate. Something for everyone who feels called to this kind of work.

As we used to say at school: “You don’t choose Rhodes, Rhodes chooses you.”

If you feel the pull, trust it. It won’t necessarily be easy. But it will be worth it.

🌱 If you’re struggling with your mental and emotional health, you’re not alone. I’m now offering counselling sessions, and I’d be honoured to support you on your path. Reach out anytime :) Contact me

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This Chinese proverb encourages a mindset of non-judgmental awareness and acceptance of life’s ever-changing circumstances. By embracing the inherent uncertainty of outcomes, we cultivate a sense of equanimity and resilience in the face of adversity or fortune. Rather than labeling events as inherently “good” or “bad,” mindfulness invites us to approach each experience with curiosity and openness, recognizing that the true nature of a situation may reveal itself over time. In essence, this proverb invites us to release our attachment to rigid judgments and instead cultivate a mindset of compassionate acceptance, allowing for greater peace and harmony in our lives.

Good luck, bad luck, who knows ~ Chinese proverb, from unknown

This is the story of an old Chinese farmer who lived many years ago. He had one old horse that he used to plough his fields.

One day, the horse ran away into the hills.
Everyone said, “We are so sorry for your bad luck.”
The old man replied, “Bad luck, good luck, who knows?”

A week later, the horse returned with a herd of wild horses, which now belonged to the old man.

Everyone said, “We are so happy for your good luck!” The old man replied, “Good luck, bad luck, who knows?”

While his only son was riding one of the wild horses, he fell off and broke his leg. Everyone said, “What bad luck!”
The old man replied, “Bad luck, good luck, who knows?”

One day, the army came to the village, and took all the strong young men to be soldiers for the emperor.

Only the old farmer’s son was spared, because he could not fight with a broken leg. Everyone said, “What good luck!”
The old man replied, “Good luck, bad luck, who knows?”

Reflect on moments in your life that initially seemed like “bad luck,” but ultimately led to unforeseen growth or opportunities. Consider how these experiences, whether challenging or traumatic, have shaped your resilience and flexibility over time. Food for thought!

For instance, I can recall several instances:

• Despite a traumatic childhood (perceived as “bad luck”), it ultimately paved the path for my current work in teaching mindfulness, a deeply rewarding endeavor.

• Initially hesitant to seek employment in France due to feelings of inadequacy (deemed as “bad luck”), I ventured to Vancouver instead (perhaps “good luck”), eventually launching my first business and undergoing significant personal growth.

• Losing my physical health during my job as an SEO specialist (regarded as “bad luck”) forced me to transition careers and discover my passion for mindfulness (potentially “good luck”).

These experiences serve as poignant reminders of life’s unpredictable twists and turns, each presenting opportunities for growth and transformation.

I hope you can see the same in your life.

I might be wrong, but I think the theme is a little different from most wellness retreats out there: Joy. Because honestly? Most wellness events I’ve seen are focused on something that needs healing or fixing. Which makes sense, I’d normally be drawn to those. But joy as the main theme? That felt different to me, and honestly, a little uncomfortable at first.

I remember as a kid wanting to go play, and being told homework came first. Which, okay, fair. But there was a lot of homework. Every single day. Even on holidays: in France where I grew up, they give kids these summer workbooks to complete during the breaks. Yes, you read that right: homework during summer vacation. Kids just want to play! Give us a break! 😂

So yeah, joy doesn’t always come naturally to me. Maybe it doesn’t for you either.

But I’m trying to trust the process, and I really trust the wonderful women I’m doing this with. It’s going to be fun, inspiring, there will definitely be some healing in there, and we’re ending with a sound bath. Who doesn’t love a good sound bath?!

Here’s everything you need to know:

Sacred Joy: Return to Wonder A full-day immersive retreat to reconnect you with your inner child, the part of you that is curious, playful, creative, and alive.

📅 May 16th, 2026, 9:30am to 4:30pm

📍 Gordon Neighbourhood House, Vancouver

🐣 Early bird: $111 (until May 2nd) ✨ Regular price: $144

Get your ticket here or email us to pay by etransfer

Bring a girlfriend, bring your mom, bring your Granny, seriously, all welcome. 🙂

And hey, what’s one joyful thing you’re going to do today?

🌱 If you’ve been struggling with your mental and emotional health, you’re not alone. I’m currently offering counselling sessions as a student counsellor, and I’d be honoured to support you on your path. Reach out anytime :) Contact me

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A few weeks ago, I finished watching Dance Life, a show about a dance program in Australia. It was powerful to watch these young people work so hard, doing something they love so intensely. Some of them carried deep trauma, and yet they kept pushing forward.

The teachers, too, were under pressure. Their shows were a direct reflection of their work, exposed to the public. I guess everyone can be judged.

One phrase really stayed with me:

“There’s no but.”

A teacher asked a student what she wanted to do after the program. She answered, but added a “but” at the end, like a way to soften it, or protect herself. The teacher stopped her and said, “There’s no but.”

It hit me. I often do the same. I’m so used to things not working out that I automatically prepare for disappointment. I say something positive… and then I add a “but.” Just in case.

But now, as I’m building more self-trust and confidence, I feel how important it is to let the sentence stand on its own.

There is no “but.”

And maybe that can help you too.

Lately, I’ve also been experimenting with a different way of relating to “but.” Instead of using “but,” I try replacing it with “and.” Because both things can be true at the same time.

For example, instead of saying: “I had a great day, but then it started raining,” you could say: “I had a great day, and it also started raining.”

It feels different. Softer. Less like one experience cancels out the other. Maybe it’s a small shift, but it makes things feel a little less negative… and a little more real. Because two things can be true at the same time. And that’s okay.

So maybe sometimes, there is no “but”… only an “and.”

Another movie I watched recently, and I rarely like rewatching things twice so that says a lot, is Eddie the Eagle. Such a beautiful true story.

Eddie is a deeply driven kid who dreams of participating in the Olympics from a very young age. But he doesn’t come from a privileged background. Not the right city, not the ideal body, not the support system you’d expect. His privilege is his determination. It’s like he simply cannot give up on his dream.

As he grows up, he keeps on trying, without much support, except from his mom and, in a way, from himself. I won’t share the details… you have to watch it!

His story reminds me of the story of the deaf frog who makes it out of the deep hole because he literally cannot hear the voices telling him to quit.

And I catch myself thinking: I wish I was like that. But the truth is, I’m not, and I know I’m not alone. We carry trauma. We carry doubt. We’ve learned to question ourselves, to hesitate, to protect. And that matters.

These stories remind me of a few things:

Don’t listen too much to negativity, whether it comes from others or from your own mind. Words have power. Negative words can shut us down. Encouraging ones can lift us up. Believing in ourselves isn’t optional, it’s part of the path.

And also…

If saying something without adding a “but” doesn’t feel right or safe, that’s information. It might mean you’re not ready yet. It might mean there’s something to heal. It might mean something in you still needs to feel safe before moving forward. And that’s okay.

That’s been my reality for most of my life.

And still, I keep on trying. I keep learning. Sometimes the hard way.

But And that is the work ;)

🌱 If you’ve been struggling with your mental and emotional health, you’re not alone. I’m currently offering counselling sessions as a student counsellor, and I’d be honoured to support you on your path. Reach out anytime :) Contact me

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A group of frogs were traveling together when suddenly two of them fell into a deep hole. The other frogs gathered around the edge, peered down, and quickly agreed: the hole was far too deep. There was no way out. Rather than encourage their friends, they called down that it was hopeless, that they would never make it out alive.

Despite the grim verdict from above, both frogs kept jumping with everything they had. But after a while, one of them began to take the words to heart. Slowly, he stopped trying, and didn’t survive.

The other frog kept going. Jump after jump, with the same relentless effort, until finally, he made it out.

The frogs gathered around, stunned. How had he done it?

The frog smiled and explained that he was deaf. He had no idea what they were saying. He had simply assumed they were cheering him on, and so he kept pushing harder.

Next up: a six-week practicum starting next week. Last year, while we were in school in person, I fell even more in love with the school, and my plan was to become a teacher’s assistant (TA) after graduating. But I was also told it would be valuable to TA during my practicum, not as a must, just genuinely useful. So I had made peace with that plan and applied two months ago. For some reason, I wasn’t accepted. I was very disappointed, and honestly, I still don’t understand it, the math just doesn’t add up. I know it’s not my fault. So far, I’ve been told there wasn’t enough space, but even if that’s the real reason... why me? I’m their biggest fan! I’m still waiting for a clearer answer. But in the meantime, I’m actually taking it pretty well. It must be a sign from the universe that something else is waiting for me. So instead, I’ll be working on my business, and honestly? Six weeks focused on my business sounds pretty good. I’m also really looking forward to writing more regularly here!

All that to say: I need your help. I’m looking for one more pro bono client. Now, if I know you personally, I can’t be your counsellor, that’s called a dual relationship and it’s not allowed in this profession. But if you know someone who might be looking for support, or if you don’t know me and you’re looking for some help yourself, please reach out! We’ll start with a first information session to see if we’re a good fit. If you’ve been reading my blog for a while, you already know I work with emotions and the body, with a strong foundation in mindfulness and self-compassion. I welcome clients who speak French or English. Please contact me through Substack or by email!

Here is what I look like during the counselling sessions! (feeling a little nervous showing my face here…)

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When someone asks me what joy feels like, or what love feels like physically, I go blank. I have a sense of where it might come from. But I can’t feel anything there. Maybe the sensations are too subtle and I’m not tuned in yet. Maybe my negative emotions are so loud they drown everything else out. Or maybe it’s something I haven’t figured out yet.

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On Valentine’s Day, I went to a heart chakra dance workshop guided by my friend Barbara. Everyone shared what love feels like for them, in their own words, in their own bodies. And I had nothing. Because honestly? I don’t know what love is. I can’t relate to the word. And the biggest thing for me right now is that I can’t feel it in my body, that expansive feeling in the chest that people talk about. I keep trying. I keep thinking about it, reaching for it. And I come up empty.

But since then, a few things have shown up, somatic experiences and vivid dreams, and they’ve all been pointing to the same thing: for me, right now, love hurts. My heart hurts. It’s longing for care, for love, for being seen. What I feel there is tightness. Contraction. Like my heart is bracing. And when those sensations come up, my instinct is to make them stop.

Big breath.

No wonder I can’t feel my heart, at least not in a warm, expansive way. As I’m writing this, I’m realizing something: maybe I have been feeling my heart. Just not in the way people usually talk about. My heart is in pain. It’s been hurt. A lot.

I still don’t have answers to all the questions I’m carrying. And that’s okay. For now, something is moving. I’m becoming more aware of this aching heart of mine, and I’m learning that when those painful sensations show up, I need to meet them with care and gentleness. To soothe my heart. To tell it: you’re safe now.

I didn’t realize how much I’d been carrying. It’s striking, how much we can hide, even from ourselves. How much we can pretend, survive, get through the day, without knowing how deep the pain goes. Of course we protect ourselves. I’m grateful my system did what it had to do. And now, slowly, I’m uncovering more.

I hope I’ll be able to feel love in my body one day, that warm, expansive feeling people describe. It sounds beautiful. I’m longing for it.

I never expected to be writing about love this much. I never thought about it much before. And now here I am, newly aware of something I barely understand. Stay tuned, there’s more coming on this topic I hope.

What about you? What does love feel like in your body? I genuinely want to know.

And if you’re reading this with a heart that’s hurting too, you’re not alone. Your heart is waiting to be cared for. Loved. Nurtured. It deserves that. And so do you.

🌱 If you’ve been struggling with your mental and emotional health, you’re not alone. I’m currently offering counselling sessions as a student counsellor, and I’d be honoured to support you on your path. Reach out anytime :) Contact me

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And today, on Rare Disease Day, it feels important to write something here too.

When we hear the words rare disease, we might imagine something extremely uncommon, something unlikely to ever touch our lives. But here’s the paradox:

Rare diseases are individually rare, but collectively, they are not.

A disease is generally considered “rare” when it affects fewer than 1 in 2,000 people. Some conditions are much rarer than that.

But there are over 7,000 identified rare diseases worldwide.

When you add them all together, rare diseases affect an estimated 300 million people globally. In Canada, that’s about 1 in 12 people, roughly 3 million Canadians.

That means in a room of 120 people, around 10 may be living with a rare disease.

Rare doesn’t mean isolated.

It takes an average of 5 to 7 years to receive a rare disease diagnosis. For many families, that journey involves uncertainty, misdiagnoses, and feeling unheard before finally getting answers.

Most rare diseases currently have no approved cure, and treatment options are limited for many conditions. About 75% of rare diseases affect children, and some are life-limiting, though many people with rare diseases live into adulthood and build full, meaningful lives.

Working with RDF, I’ve slowly become more connected to this community. Through social media, I’ve seen stories of people living with visible conditions, invisible conditions, chronic pain, progressive disorders, and complex medical needs. It has shifted my perspective.

In my counselling work, I often reflect on how deeply human it is to suffer, and how deeply human it is to be resilient. Living with a rare disease, or loving someone who does, brings layers of emotional, financial, and practical challenges. Isolation is common. So is strength.

That’s one reason RDF offers free mental health and wellness support to individuals and families in Canada. Because medical care is only part of the picture. Emotional support matters too.

Today, I simply want to raise awareness.

Rare diseases may be uncommon individually, but the people living with them are not invisible. They are part of our families, our communities, our classrooms, our workplaces.

If you’re curious, you can explore:

• The Rare Disease Foundation website and you can also donate :)

• The official Rare Disease Day website

Thank you for reading. 💜

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And I realized how much I live in a bit of a bubble myself. I don’t watch TV, nor the news. I barely follow news on social media either. Not intentionally anyway. And honestly? My mental health is better for it. This isn’t about ignoring the world. It’s about protecting my nervous system that has to live in it.

Years ago, I used to follow the news more closely. Mostly through social media, Facebook at the time (remember when that was basically the platform?).

And one day I noticed something: I was so anxious. So hopeless. So triggered emotionally. At some point, I realized I wasn’t just “staying informed.” I was absorbing distress daily. That’s when I realized I had to do something. So I started reducing my exposure. Slowly. Imperfectly. Deleting apps. Reinstalling them. Deleting again. It took years, honestly. But eventually, I noticed I wasn’t being triggered by the news anymore. There were other factors in my healing too, of course, but I’m sure this was a big part of it.

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There’s actually a name for this: vicarious trauma. Vicarious trauma happens when we’re repeatedly exposed to others’ suffering, even indirectly.

And the news gives us exactly that: Wars. Violence. Disasters. Conflict. Crisis. Every. Day. Often multiple times a day.

Our nervous system doesn’t always distinguish between:

• something happening to us

• something happening far away

• something we watch repeatedly on a screen.

It just registers threat.

And over time, that can lead to:

• emotional fatigue

• anxiety

• cynicism

• helplessness

• or even depressive feelings.

And here’s the paradox… Despite what it sometimes feels like, many forms of violence have actually declined over the long term.

For example:

• Historical data shows homicide rates have dropped dramatically over centuries in many regions.

• Global homicide trends in recent decades show stabilization or decline in several regions, even though media coverage has increased.

If you enjoy data, this is a very accessible overview:

👉 Global homicide trends explained (Our World in Data)

This doesn’t mean that everything is fine, suffering doesn’t exist, tragedies aren’t real.

It simply means: constant exposure amplifies perception.

We now hear about everything, instantly, repeatedly. And psychologically, negative information sticks more strongly than positive news. So the world can objectively become safer in some ways… while subjectively feeling more dangerous. That gap can really impact mental health.

Last week, something tragic happened here in BC, a school shooting. And I know someone who lives in that community. Years ago, something like that would have completely overwhelmed me emotionally. I would spiral into sadness, fear, existential questioning. This time? I felt compassion. Sadness. Concern. But I didn’t collapse emotionally. And for a moment I wondered: “Am I becoming numb?” But honestly… I don’t think so. I think I’m more regulated.

This has been a big learning in my healing journey: Being emotionally regulated doesn’t mean that you don’t care, you’re cold, you’re detached.

It means: You can stay present without drowning.

For me, another part of that came from accepting something difficult: The world isn’t always kind or fair. It never really has been.

And expecting constant fairness created a painful gap between how I wished the world would be and how it actually is.

As my emotional regulation improved, that gap softened. I still deeply wish for a kinder world. That hasn’t changed. But I don’t expect perfection anymore. And strangely… that reduces suffering.

Protecting your mental health isn’t avoidance. It’s discernment.

You can:

• stay informed without overexposure

• care without absorbing everything

• act locally where you have impact

• protect your nervous system at the same time.

And if you’re someone sensitive, empathic, or trauma-aware, this is especially important.

Big breath, in… and out…

If you want practical tools, I actually created a free ebook about this topic last year, after noticing how much some of my friends were emotionally dysregulated, and knowing how much reducing news exposure helped my emotional regulation.

Inside, I share:

• ways to limit news without disconnecting completely

• nervous-system friendly media habits

• grounding practices

• and reflections to help you stay informed without overwhelm.

If it supports you, it’s there. No pressure. Just a resource. And it’s free!

You don’t have to carry the whole world on your nervous system. You can care deeply… while still caring for yourself.

And sometimes, the most compassionate thing we can do is protect our capacity to remain human, present, and grounded.

That’s not disengagement.

That’s sustainability.

Here is my free ebook!

🌱 If you’ve been struggling with your mental and emotional health, you’re not alone. I’m currently offering counselling sessions as a student counsellor, and I’d be honoured to support you on your path. Reach out anytime :) Contact me

How to support my article: Like it ❤️ / Comment 🗣️ / Restack it! 🔄