Author: michleeann

A lover of all things Karl Lagerfeld, Golden Girls enthusiast, and loves books from Hemingway to Harlequin.

Categories
Life

The Silent Pain of Living with Chronic Pain

Photo by Viktoria Goda on Pexels.com

I can’t really remember a time in my life when waking up with searing pain above my eye, or a throbbing so deep that I assume my brain will explode with the my next heartbeat wasn’t normal.

I know that I didn’t have migraines when I was a child, that they came upon me when I became a teenager, when hormones were thrown into the mix of my body, but it feels like this pain has always been there, always been on the back of my mind. And, you know what? It’s starting to wear me the fuck down.

My migraines started in high school, but were very episodic. No big deal, I could pop some Advil and away I went to school or my job. Soon, Advil wasn’t cutting it, though, and naproxen came onto the scene. I loved naproxen and it seemed like the best solution for my pain. However, it didn’t last long. I’ve had a long road of different pain relievers, all working at one time, but never really hitting the pain every time, or for the long-haul. I now know this to be normal for most everyone, but it is one of the most annoying parts of finding something that works only to find out it only works sometimes. Cue the start of fatigue of finding treatments.

Years went by and the migraines only got worse. They went from episodic to chronic, and it was normal for me to have 11-15 migraines a month. I was in pain every single weekend, when my stress let down, causing a migraine, grabbing for pain killers that only sometimes worked. I’d go to my job, feeling like absolute garbage, like my brain was going to explode, as I had already taken two sick days that month. Luckily, I never had a job where anyone counted sick days – if you were sick, then why were you at work? was the thought process.

It took one horrible migraine day where my co-worker brought me to the hospital, one nurse who asked if I took any preventatives (a preventative? I didn’t even know there were such options. I was still riding that naproxen wave), to get me to see a neurologist.

Sure, things got a little better in the migraine department, I went down to two migraine days a month with preventatives, vitamins, and cutting out alcohol and some foods. But by then, the damage had already been done. I was stressed, anxious of when my next attack would occur. I couldn’t work out, something I had loved to do. I had to stop boxing, had to stop any intense physical activity. I could barely go for walks without feeling like I’d get an attack.

I ended up feeling so nervous not to be stressed, that I was making myself stressed. I had a rigid bedtime routine, I had to sleep a specific amount of hours, I could only eat certain foods, I couldn’t have any alcohol, my stomach could barely handle pain killers as I had ripped it to shreds with uncoated naproxen throughout all those years. I worried about my job wanting to fire me (something I know had come up in a previous job, though that work-life balance was very toxic) because I had migraines. I had to quit a previous job I loved due to the stress that exacerbated my migraines.

It was only the beginning of what I would have to change in my life because of these stupid things that came and went as they pleased, wreaking absolute havoc along the way. I didn’t yet know that it would get worse, that the anxiety surrounding my chronic pain would ratchet up to new heights, that I would start to feel hopeless in ever feeling normal, again.

Recently, I went to a bachelorette weekend, armed with everything I usually do in a normal day: I had my acupressure mat, my vitamins, my ginger tea, I was going to bed later than usual, but at a still appropriate time. I brought a fan in case I got too hot in the cabin, which – thankfully – had A/C. It was a bougie place, my friends. I had three sips of wine during the fun wine tasting that was put on, knowing that if I imbibed a little more than that I could end up with a migraine. I ate cherries, having my healthy snack before bed. And yet…I still woke up with one.

The next morning, I quietly sobbed as I realized that I wouldn’t be able to enjoy the weekend, that my pain was going to be there all day and not be a quick fix with any drug, that I’d probably end up with one the next day, as well. I packed up my things, trying my best not to wake anyone while I alternated between vomiting and sobbing. I wasn’t upset that I was missing out on the fun, at least, that wasn’t what was giving me these feelings of dread. It was the fact that I couldn’t do anything, anymore, without an impending attack.

I cried while my friend held me, telling her I just wanted to be normal, that I couldn’t do anything, that I couldn’t just have a day, or a night, or a weekend, where my pain was looming, waiting to attack. She told me that my body was being an asshole and had let me down. And, it was true.

My body, something I had my normal doubts about regarding how it looked (or, rather, how magazines said it should look), but still felt very comfortable in and loved. My body that got me through pregnancy and birthed my daughter, showing me just what it can really do. My body, once so strong and lean, ravaged by a neurological disorder, a silent pain that people believe to be ‘just a headache’.

My migraines may not be chronic anymore, they may be only 3-5 a month, but the silent pain is still chronic. The anxiety over wondering if I will get an attack on an airplane, again, or if I will miss out on days while I travel. If I will be able to make plans, or if I’ll have to cancel them. The plans that I have missed, both not important and very. The days that I miss in my daughter’s life because I am unable to take care of her.

The pain isn’t chronic, but the damage has been done. I no longer feel like I can do properly live my life, not how I would like to, not in any way that is considered ‘normal’ (see: waking up without pain being a normal thing). The exhaustion of trying different treatments, the money spent, with nothing truly working as well as it should, is heavy. Thinking outside the box, thinking inside the box, feeling as if it’s futile to even try.

I know I’m not alone in this feeling as there is a huge migraine community out there, and many more who suffer from some sort of debilitating disease or disorder that feel the same as I do. I know that we all need to tweak our lives so we can live them to the best of our ability, to be happy, but also so that we don’t aggravate whatever it is that is ailing us.

But, damn, this silent pain that anyone with chronic pain goes through is exhausting. Perhaps one day I won’t feel the constant pressure and anxiety coursing through my veins, and that gives me the little hope I need to just keep trying.

Categories
Mom Life

Making Mom Friends is Harder than I Thought

Photo by Kindel Media on Pexels.com

Everyone talks about how hard it is to make friends when you’re older. And they’re correct. For the most part. I made friends easily from elementary school to high school. It was easy, still, to make friends in university and find friends at work. You’re seeing the same people day in and day out, so you get to know them slowly and yet so fast. That’s the funny thing about making friends in an office — you may only know your deskmate for a month, and yet, they feel like your childhood best friend because of how much time is spent with one another.

Now, instead of in an office, my time is mainly spent with my daughter. As a stay-at-home mom, I’m realizing the difficulty in finding friends, especially in an age where there are fewer of us, with more moms returning to work. That means fewer moms at home in the neighbourhood to get together for coffee or play dates during the day. Which means less easily made connections. While I’m not looking solely for stay-at-home mom friends, it would be nice to be able to have a little break during the morning or afternoon, the longest and most tiring part of my day, and talk to an adult.

I joined Peanut, an app for moms to meet one another and chat. I also joined Bumble, hoping for some friends who may not be moms but would love to chat or meet for lunch. I wasn’t picky and just wanted to expand my circle a little more. Damn, guys, she’s rough out there. Even with using the Mom Tinder, as my husband calls it, I’ve yet to find a good mom friend. People don’t respond, you don’t click, you can’t arrange meet-ups between two schedules, conversations get forgotten and fall away. When the Mom Tinder wasn’t working, I looked toward the activities I signed up for with the baby. They were supposed to get me out of the house to meet new people, and yet…

Why are we all so closed off? Are we just nervous? I know I felt that way when I had my first ‘mom date’ with someone I met. I was worried about what I’d wear and how I’d look to this other mom, who probably had it together more than I did. I bet she did the dishes that day or doesn’t have a pile of laundry staring her in the face constantly. Don’t worry, the worry was for naught, and the friendship fizzled away like most first dates.

We see jokes that moms will befriend any other mom with similar-aged kids, even if they’re a serial killer, but it doesn’t seem to apply to real life (for that, I am thankful, of course). I’m not going to lie; part of it is true…when I saw a mom walking her baby a few weeks ago, I wanted to run up to her and say hello! Let’s be friends, or at the very least, walking buddies! She was further up the path from me, and I really would have had to hoof it. Alas, running up to strangers and shouting at them to be friends is seen as terrifying, so I refrained from chasing her down and just kept walking to the park, hoping by some form of kismet, we’d meet again.

Maybe we’re all too shy, too nervous to sound silly, too tired, or too mom-brained to form normal sentences with adults. Maybe I need to wait until my daughter is older when she makes her own friends, where I can then latch on greedily to whatever parent is nearby. Whatever the reason why forming mom friendships is so hard, I’m surprising myself with how outspoken I can be and yet incredibly shy. And finding out new things about yourself is always rewarding. Right? I’ll wait patiently for now and try my best not to run after moms I see on the street. No promises, though.

Categories
Life

The Easy Steps I Take to Keep my House Clean

Photo by Anna Shvets on Pexels.com

Or, you know, as clean as it will ever get with a toddler.

I’ve never been a full-blown neat freak, but there are certain things I absolute hate to get messy, like dirty floors, or mis-matched decor. I liked things in their place and the dishes done, somewhat, often. I love doing laundry, like a psychopath, I know, and I like organizing closets. Then, I had a baby and my house exploded in messes and I really stopped caring about all of the above and learned how to just survive.

Once I stopped just trying to survive in day-to-day life, I realized that my house could be a little cleaner, but the idea of trying to keep it clean — and how often I’d have to tidy up — with a toddler exhausted me. Instead, my house grew messier as I felt paralyzed about where to start. Sure, it would become clean in the matters of less than two hours when my toddler wasn’t around, but it didn’t look that way less than two minutes into her being home. It wasn’t sustainable to clean like crazy every week, or three, and then have it be a disaster the rest of the time. So, I made a chore chart.

Yep, a chore chart like I was a child learning responsibilities.

I mapped out everything I needed to do and broke it up into only one or a few tasks a day. I tried it out for the first week and, suddenly, I was getting more done than I had previously. When was the last time I had dusted? Judging from the thick layer on all of my light fixtures, years ago. I felt motivated to do the tasks on my list and didn’t feel stressed or paralyzed when not everything was done at once because I knew it would be my focus a few days from now.

While I had to tweak a few days, making my laundry days a little further in between so I wasn’t completely out of clothes or having to do laundry on ‘off’ days, the schedule worked wonderfully. Now, I only do laundry twice a week, folding and putting away the same day, instead of a mess of laundry every single day, hanging out in baskets for weeks on end. If I don’t finish folding or putting away the clothes, there are no worries, as I will complete the task on the next laundry day.

Yes, I sometimes still have baskets of laundry that aren’t put away. Yes, my house is still a disaster at times (okay, most times with the nugget running around). But, my stress is way down, my floors are clean, my house actually dusted, windows actually washed. The toys strewn about the living room and mittens ripped out of their organized boxes? It won’t be forever and proves that my house is lived in. My house may be cleaner, but a family still lives here, and I’m no longer worried about trying to look like I live in a magazine anymore.

Sample Chore List:

Mondy: free day/project day
Tuesday: laundry & bake
Wednesday: tidy up closet(s), entrances, fridge, pantry
Thursday: vacuum, water plants, dust, wash mirrors and windows
Friday: laundry & bake
Saturday: free day/project day/bathrooms/wash floors
Sunday: free day/project day

Since we are still renovating parts of the house and many parts need mass organization, the weekends are set for larger projects that I can’t get done with a child around, or I need my husband’s help/he needs to get them done while I look after our child. They’re essentially swing days where I can get things done that didn’t get done during the week, or deal with anything that pops up.

The list may look long and like all I do is clean all day, but I don’t need to wash my windows every single week. Dusting happens in chunks around the house. I can flit back and forth between all of the tasks, adding smaller ones if needed and I feel motivated.

Categories
Travel Favourites

Travel Favourites

Photo by Leah Kelley on Pexels.com

Some links are part of the Amazon affiliate program, and if you buy something from the link, I will make a bit of money.

booking.com

I genuinely enjoy this booking platform and use it all the time whenever I’m finding a place to stay. Sometimes, I will book directly will the hotels, but this platform gives you a ton of information, photos, and reviews so you can make easy decisions. You can also level up, getting discounts on certain accommodations, and perks. You’re also not stuck just booking hotels if that’s not your thing, as there are plenty of home rentals on here, too!

Dry Bags

Gone are the days of me using a plastic bag to pop my dirty clothes or heavily soiled items into. I bought some dry bags when we began cloth diapering our baby, but I’ve been using them nonstop for swimming (as long as the swimsuit is rung out and isn’t sopping wet – super wet items need a wet bag), an extra in case something spills, or for dirty clothes on a trip. I love that there are two zipper pockets, so you keep clean items in one pocket, while dirty or damp items, can be popped into the other one.

Mini Stasher Bags

We’re a bar soap family: body soap, face soap, shampoo, sometimes conditioner. Even if it’s not your favourite thing, packing bars instead of liquids is so much easier to shove into a bag and make room. As long as you’re not bringing bulky individual soap dishes. They leak, they’re all made of yucky plastic, any eco-friendly options are insanely expensive. All you need is one, or maybe two, of these Stasher snack bags and all of your soaps, even small liquids, can live happily in there. No leaking. Tip: make sure there is no moisture sitting at the bottom of the bag before you seal it up, again!

Mini Travel Kit for Liquids

Even if you use bar soap for almost all of your hygienic needs, chances are you need to bring some liquids with you. I have a travel kit similar to this that works perfectly for adding a small pot of liquid here or there. I like to take dish soap with me on trips, even when not staying in an Airbnb, as it comes in it handy if you need to wash anything, including an emergency sink of clothes.

Facial Mist

I love taking a facial mist with me on the plane to help hydrate and perk up my skin after travelling all day. It’s also a great accompaniment when you’re dealing with hot days and need a little cooling off. Vichy makes a great travel sized one that will last for many trips and has been my favourite brand of facial mist for over a decade.

Roll Up Compression Bags

Sometimes, you just need to shove a little bit more into that suitcase, and that’s where these compression bags come in handy! You can fit a surprising amount of stuff in these bags. Car travel, train travel, plane travel, now you can fit a little bit more without adding another bulky suitcase.

Categories
Family Travel My Favourites

Family Travel Favourites

Photo by Josh Willink on Pexels.com

Some links are part of the Amazon affiliate program, and if you buy something from the link, I will make a bit of money.

Joovy Gloo

I absolutely love this travel tent. It folds up small enough you can pack it in a checked bag or take it on as one of baby/toddler’s carry on items. If your child isn’t fussy, you can zip it up and have them enclosed, or keep open. Perfect for floor bed families as you can lay down next to baby/toddler while they fall asleep. Works great for the beach as a nap station or a place to get out of the sun, too! We bought the regular, but this large would fit into their pre-school years! I wish we bought the bigger one, as we are now looking at travel inflatable mattresses that will fit her next year.

Mini Voyager

Sure, you can go out to the store and pick out some toys for the flight/train/car ride, but sometime you’re lazy or overbooked and just want it all to arrive all packaged up in a little backpack. Pick out from age appropriate toys and which ones your child would be most interested in. Worth it for the instagrammable backpack, but also because the toys are great to hold their attention. Our little bag of fun kept our daughter entertained for four flights, a very long plane ride, suppers out in beautiful squares, and when you need a little downtime in between exploring places.

Easy to Take Along Water Bottle

This guy comes along with us anytime we leave the house. Small for little hands, easy to velcro to yourself, or toddler, and an easy-to-open-and-close lid. I love that it’s stainless steel and not plastic and that it comes with an extra straw in case it gets wrecked, lost, or just extra icky and needing a good soak. So far, this water bottle has held up well from being thrown, dropped, and bumped everywhere.

Dry Bags

I love using dry bags when we travel. I started using them when we cloth diapered our baby, and I’ve been using them for swimsuits, as a backup in case an extra pair of pants need to be changed (great for potty training accidents on the go), for dirty clothes in my suitcase. For the longest time I thought that they were wet bags, but they do NOT keep in sopping wet bathing suits. Those that are still damp? Yes, this is perfect for those. Those that are soiled from spilled drinks? Yep. That works for us! I did well, considering I didn’t notice this over a year and a half into using them, though!

They have two zippered pockets, so you can keep clean items clean while the dirty ones wait for the wash. Great for those who are still in the diaper stage and heading out to where there are no garbage cans; just pop your clean diapers and wipes into one pocket, and dirty ones into the other.

Categories
TV & Books

What Reading Does to your Brain

Photo by Reggienald Suarez on Pexels.com

I used to read. A lot. I love getting a new book and diving into the characters and their lives. I still own every single Babysitter’s Club book because classics never go out of style. I had books (nice old ones, not the Babysitter’s club) as decor at my wedding. I have a quote from Oscar Wilde on my wrist. I have many quotes from Hunter S. Thompson on my walls.

Except, I barely read.

Not really. Not truly. Yeah, I’ll pack books for vacation, and happily read for hours during rainy days at the lake, but I don’t read often. Or, rather, I don’t read for a long time. My mind has gotten used to fast-paced everything and in-your-face instant gratification. Reading a page or two is enough for my brain until it turns to something else, looking for that next exciting thing.

Yet, books sit piled up on nearly every single surface in my house. They’re spilling out of their designated spot, waiting patiently in a pile for me to read them. While I’ve been reading, I’ve been doing it like scrolling through an Instagram feed or getting caught in a Google loop. I start reading what I feel like reading at that very moment. I’ve got a day book, a night book, plus educational books (read:dry) that interested me in that moment, but not for long. I add more books to the pile, throwing on those ’cause I yearned for it’ books that I had read ages ago and wanted to relive the feeling I got when I first started it.

They’re all still sitting there, waiting. Taunting me to finish them.

Getting back into reading is taking a long time, and is much harder than I ever thought it would be. I’d become giddy as a kid when the ‘I Love to Read’ song came on during I Love to Read Month. I was happy to drop anything I was learning at that moment and sit down and read whatever book I had brought along for this exact purpose, only to feel disappointed when that song came back on and it was time to stop reading. I brought books with me everywhere just in case I had to wait. I’ve mainly stopped that good-habit because of the same reason I stopped wearing a watch everyday: smartphones.

Maybe that’s why I had such a good memory growing up and why I feel like I’m losing it today. Reading helpings strengthen our memory. Think of reading as an exercise for the brain, much like puzzles and brain teasers. You’re always working your brain by having to focus on the words in front of you, of having to use your mind to conjure up the scene that’s being played out on the pages. We always knew that reading was better for our brains than TV, but why? Is it because you’re using more brain power, giving your brain a little exercise? If that’s the case, then if reading has us focusing, thinking and using our brain, does that mean watching sports can be similarly good for the brain? Apparently, yes. But, the rest of TV? Probably not so much.

I’ve been starting to read a lot more lately, cutting out TV as much as possible (although, not completely. I mean, we’re living in the Age of Television, people) and trying to get back into one of my favourite hobbies. Annoying, at first, I slowly started to get into the rhythm. My brain didn’t seem to want to stay on the page, instead, jumping to the next thought or next activity after a paragraph or two. Eventually, with a glance at social media every so often, I’ve brained my brain to sit still and read pages, sometimes a whole chapter (!), in one sitting without getting up to do something else. That sounds pathetic to those who read all the time, or who used to (my 12-year old self is laughing at my present day self), but it is a huge feat for me.

And, guys, I feel amazing.

My brain feels more clear, I feel able to tackle tasks a lot easier, I feel happier and more content. This is what I felt when our internet went down for two weeks (read the nitty gritty on it here). But, like all bad habits, I went back to scrolling for hours or bingeing so many shows I got too exhausted to even watch TV. I’m hoping I won’t revert back to my old ways and that by the time I do, spring will be arriving and I’ll be spending more time outside than right now, letting me roam and be in nature when I feel my mind start to wander.

Being glued to our devices isn’t making ourselves feel better and while you can get some great reading done, like on Medium or an online newspaper without ink-covered hands, or hide what book you’re reading in an e-reader, a good old-fashioned book is better.

Just like a lot of people remember something better when they write it down, apparently just the simple act of turning a page helps you understand what you just read. It’s also better to read a real book before bed than stressing out your brain and eyes with an e-reader or your phone, something I know all too well with migraines and stress. A physical book in my hands always relaxes me and signals to my brain that it’s time for bed. Cue the melatonin.

Unless you’re reading a Stephen King novel, something you may want to save for your ‘day reading’ collection, reading can help reduce stress. Picture it: curling up on a big chair under a soft blanket with a tea or coffee beside you and a good book in your lap. Be honest, you suddenly felt your shoulders relax at that tranquil image, didn’t you?

So, if reading is so good for us, so damn relaxing and wonderful, why aren’t we doing more of it? Probably because a good chunk of us are stressed out messes that are tired of using our brains all day and just want to veg out in front of the TV. Totally acceptable. But, maybe we throw in a book before bed, or a nice Saturday and Sunday morning reading a book before the whole house wakes up. Maybe we start a Book Challenge and challenge our brains and ourselves to read a certain number of books this year, even if it’s only 10.

Start a book club, do the challenge, read a damn children’s book, an old favourite, the whole news article before commenting, a trashy romance novel, just read more. Your brain will thank you.

Categories
Mom Life

You’re not a Bad Mom if your Daughter Plays with Barbies

Photo by Sachith Ravishka Kodikara on Pexels.com

I loved Barbies growing up. Loved them. I loved the creativity that came with making up stories to go with each Barbie. I loved making up their houses, perfecting them to my 8 year old mind’s dream. Obviously, it’s where I figured out sex, smashing my dolls together in fits of passion.

I also loved climbing trees, riding my bike, playing sports, watching WWE, and watching my favourite movie: Top Gun. All relatively ‘non-girlie’ things when all is said and done. I didn’t think it was weird that I played Barbies one day and scraped my knee climbing an apple tree the next.

My neighbour, and best friend growing up, was a boy. We’d constantly play together, running around playing X-Men (literally just us yelling Rogue! Gambit! Essentially playing a cross of tag and Marco Polo. Kids, amiright?), riding our bikes to the park and back. We’d play with his Action Toys, killing each other, playing the boy version of Barbies. Then I’d go home, bust out the Barbies and her dream home and decorate and make elaborte stories.

I never felt like I couldn’t do anything simply because I was a girl, simply because I wanted an Easy Bake Oven or a Barbie cruise ship for Christmas. I also received a microscope, Lego, science experiment kits, and rocks. All deemed ‘boys’ toys. It was a different time in the 90s where toys focused on learning were geared towards boys and housekeeping ones towards girls. It didn’t seem to matter what I was playing with, as long as it made me happy.

For years, my dad would be the one to play Barbies with me. My mom hated the idea of Barbies and would only play if my dad couldn’t and I wanted someone other than my imagination. She didn’t push me not to own Barbies, she didn’t push me to hate them like she did, instead she just opted out of playing with something she called ‘nauseating’ whenever she could. She simply let me play and explore the world of creativity.

Nowadays, the Barbies look vastly different from my childhood. They come in various skin tones and Barbie has a whole slew of accomplishments and careers she can choose from. While it’s awesome to see that they’re trying to be inclusive of body types and races and show that women can be what they want, they’re still what they are, what they have always been: Barbies. They’re still an instrument for children to explore creativity. Just a little more real life than before.

Never once did I think I couldn’t be anything I wanted to. When told from my dad that there would be hardships and stresses as a woman police officer, not just from criminals but inside the department as well, I scoffed and rolled my eyes. I would do what I wanted and any man who insulted me would live to regret it. A mindset I wish I had kept well into my 20s when my self-esteem could be shattered from a drunk 19 year old calling me a slut for doing nothing but kissing his friend (grown-ass men, amiright?).

Clearly, there were some errors in my ways of maturing. What adult doesn’t make mistakes in their youth? It’s how you learn, grow. My self-esteem had nothing to do with me playing Barbies in my childhood; it had more to do with society once you’re done playing with Barbies.

I had a great body not from starving myself, but from being healthy and working out. But, I still thought I was fat. I had to look great, even if just going to class, and I used tanning beds regularly to look better.

Besides feeling the pressure to look perfect, I still lived with the same type of mindset like I did as a child — for the most part. I drank with the boys and worked out harder than most of them in the gym, often benching more than they could and reveling in the glory. I rolled my eyes at their antics, then joined in, filling up the beer bong dutifully as our friend was, once again, scored on in NHL ’03.

Besides the fact that I wore a dress to the bar and took 30 minutes to get ready, and they just threw on jeans and maybe used some mouth wash, I felt as I had when I was younger. When I would play with Barbies and then go ride my bike with my best friend, arm wrestling with him to prove I was stronger. I could be that girlie girl, the one who was fine staying home and cooking, and yet the one who knew she could also go out there and be whatever, do whatever she wanted. It was a weird mix of low self-esteem and extreme confidence that got me through my 20s.

It was the obsession from fashion magazines, from the rest of society, that made me feel inadequate. From Cosmo, read early as a 16 year old that made me feel like I HAD to be the best I could be in bed. Even though I wasn’t actually having any sex. I had to be good my first time, though, Cosmo said so! I had to look great and talk beautifully, yet not too smart, never making a man feel like he wasn’t as good as, or better than I was.

Magazines have turned to social media, a place that’s constantly in your face, a place that can be toxic for adults’ self esteem. Think of how young girls feel as they watch their celebrities promote diet teas and take perfectly crafted photos of themselves. I never felt like I didn’t measure up when I played with a Barbie, when I looked at her — clearly — disproportional body, but I felt that way when looking at the women in magazines. I feel that way as an adult, when I look at certain celebrities on Instagram, their face filtered and angled to the nth degree trying to look as perfectly alluring as possible.

There was a time I wanted to look like a Barbie, but less in the flawlessly sculpted way she did and more in the fantasy life that Barbie built for me. I wanted the life I had made for her. Of course, I also wanted the blonde hair and perky breasts, too; what 12 year old girl doesn’t yearn for large, perky breasts? But, the constant need to look perfect never came when I was a kid, making up stories, it came from reading articles telling how to look perfect.

Just like a boy isn’t going to turn gay if he plays with dolls as a kid, a girl isn’t going to be a vapid idiot going nowhere in life if she plays with Barbies. So let her play, because a girl doesn’t need to hear, yet again, something else she can’t do. Simply because she’s a girl.

Categories
TV & Books

New Girl Made me Want to Have 4 Male Roommates

Photo by Godisable Jacob on Pexels.com

When New Girl originally came out, I was looking for a place to live. After not being able to find a roommate for my amazing apartment in an even more amazing location, I set myself up to move in with a girl from work, which didn’t work out — at all. I lived there for five days before I felt too worried out to sleep and I left. Ah, the joys of finding a living space in your early 20s. So, I hiked it back home and promptly got to work finding a place to live. Those seeking a roommate were the only ads I looked at, as I couldn’t find a place I could afford on my own, and when I did, applications beat me to it, even after waking up early and waiting outside the office before it opened.

I had lived with a female for the past few years and it was nice, but wasn’t what I was after. I was ready for adventure, ready for something exciting, and after watching an adorable doe-eyed woman move into a giant loft with four dudes, I could see the perfect adventure laid out before me. My wants were pretty easy: a relatively spacious bedroom with a large closet. I didn’t care much about the rest of the place, just as long as it was nice, and the roommates were people I could fall in love with, both as friends, and maybe more. The love story between Nick and Jessica was strong, and obviously that’s the goal in life, right? No male friends, just a partner for life?

Yeah, in my early 20s I thought that life would mimic TV and that I would end up falling in love with one of my male roommates just because someone on TV did. For someone who wanted to be a writer, I sure didn’t understand that creative writing was, mainly, just making shit up. I wasn’t adamant about falling in love, but I wanted that cool-guy feel to the apartment, where I could hang out with them and become one of their friends, and we would go on hilarious adventures all the time.

I ended up finding just that. The apartment was further away from anything that I wanted to be near, but the price was right, and the guy renting out the room seemed cool. We chatted after getting the tour and he told me about a trip he and his buddies took down to the States to watch football every year and that if I ended up moving in, I would totally be invited. It was everything I was looking for! A guy who wasn’t intimidating in any way, hilarious and nice, my room was — relatively — large, and we were already planning hijinks! I happily told him I was interested, but needed a couple of days to think about it. As he owned the condo, he told me to take my time, but to let me know in a week if I would moving on in.

My life was turning out just like New Girl. Maybe a little less tame as there was only one roommate and not 3–4. And, the condo was much smaller than a giant loft in California. But, it was happening. Everything was starting to fall into place after falling apart the last year.

And then…I didn’t moved in. I couldn’t pull the trigger. Maybe if the condo was closer to where I wanted to be, maybe if the place was more spectacular, maybe if I was a little more adventures…and maybe if I hadn’t just romanticized roommates that a character on TV ended up with — that she actually thought were women, at first. I couldn’t do it. What had felt so right in the beginning felt…off. Was I really going to move into a place that was far from everything I wanted to be close to just because the roommate situation seemed pretty damn perfect?

While it would’ve been an adventure, to say the least, I’m glad I didn’t move in. I stayed at home a little longer, saved up some more money, and ended up buying my own little place almost a year later. I chose stability over adventure, and that stability eventually led me to my now husband. When you’re in your 20s, everything is fresh and exciting. You think you can do anything and survive anything. I knew that TV didn’t reflect real life, but I figured that I could do something fun and adventurous in my life just like on TV. Isn’t that what your 20s are for?

My life may not have lived out just like a season, or hell, an episode of New Girl, but it’s pretty damn good. Even without the roommates and a loft.

Categories
travel

Why you Should Always Know Where you’re Staying When Travelling

Photo by Tranmautritam on Pexels.com

So, you’re getting quite happy at a pub down in Edinburgh, when the club downstairs starts hopping. Downing your whisky sour, you bop your way down the stairs and into the dark, smokey, and dancerific club. You have yourself a real good time and decide to leave. The bloke out front tells you that he will take you home on the cheap in his bicycle rig. Feeling bold from the whisky coursing through your veins at an alarming rate, you and your friend take him up on the offer.

You learn about his girlfriend and how he would love to invite you over for a cuppa, but she would probably be mad. You shrug and giggle, thinking you’d love to head home with this sexy scotsman for a ‘cuppa’. You had told him where you were staying, in a B&B not too far away, but he didn’t seem to know it. You described the park that is across the way, and he nodded, now sure he knew where he was going.

He pedaled, you and your friend laugh, and you wish that your rickshaw ride would never stop. Alas, he pulls up to a dark park, and feeling horrible for letting him bike around with no fucking idea as to where your B&B is on either side, you jump off, promising him that you’ll be fine. His look of concern and clear indication that he’s wrestling with making sure we’re 100% safe and getting the fuck home has you waving his worries off. You’re just on the other side of the park, you see? You and your friend jump off and wave, happy for the ridiculous travel moment.

You walk through the dark park, wondering that maybe you actually made a mistake. It’s 3:00am and spooky as fuck. You don’t really know this neighbourhood, could there be hoodlums? Or the scariest people of all? Youths? You walk a little faster and come to the street across the park. Your B&B doesn’t show up. You walk down the road, thinking ‘yeah, it’s just up there a bit’ and try not to show the worries that are now neck-and-neck with that whisky in your veins.

You walk and walk, and still no B&B. Finally, stressed, scared, and feeling like a damn fool, you and your friend stop under a street lamp. You turn on your blackberry (yes, a blackberry), not caring that it will probably cost you $30 a minute just to look on a map and find your blasted B&B. You find it and follow the directions back. You weren’t that far away, but far enough. The park your new friend dropped you at wasn’t the park you had told him about, but one a few blocks before your accommodations. Funny how parks look the same in an alcohol haze in the middle of the night.

You arrive home, exhausted, relieved, and still a little giddy from the night before. You both collapse on the bed in a fit of giggles, feeling that invincible feeling you only have when you’re 21.

Categories
travel

Why you Shouldn’t Believe the Internet About Morocco

Photo by Taryn Elliott on Pexels.com

I’m writing this post on a sleepy morning in Chefchaouen; the call to prayer long ago waking me up and my stubborn body deciding that it really is time to awaken. A rooster is yelling his good mornings off in the distance and my husband is snoring softly beside me. Everything is quiet except my brain. I can’t help but think about all of the blogs, articles, trip advisor posting and comments about Morocco and how far off they were from the truth. There are so many horrible things you are going to read about Morocco. Honestly, unless they all happened in Marrakech, I’m not sure how they happened at all. I’ve still a couple more days here in Morocco, and all of the stressful and crazy stuff mentored in other blog posts can still happen, but my journey thus far has been a good one…definitely not as relaxing as Europe or a resort, but pure relaxation wasn’t expected.

Being a Woman In a Muslim Country

Okay, so this one problem people talk about (usually in regards to your clothing) is one that started to get on my nerves near the end. BUT, it was never as bad as it was made out to be. No one called to me, no one leered at me, no one made me feel unsafe. If I were traveling alone, or with some other women, the problem may have exacerbated itself. I did see three women get cat-called from a couple of teenage boys in Chefchaouen…but this happens in the streets of Winnipeg, Toronto, everywhere.

The men will address my husband only, even at restaurants when they told us the specials or asked about something. They’d only take his suitcase to help out, which is so hilariously far from the ‘women need help with everything’ mentality in North America. Which, after a long bus ride, I very much appreciate! If we aren’t going to have equal rights, then might as well have the ones that lend us a small helping hand, I suppose.

The Dress Code

Guys, there isn’t really one. Walking around in shorts, rompers or shorter dresses? Probably not the best idea (unless you’re in Casablanca where I saw many locals in shorter skirts and tank tops and no head scarves!). Just remember that you’re in a Muslim country and to dress appropriately. Which doesn’t mean full coverage. Ask yourself if your grandma would approve of your outfit and go from there.

The Aggression

If you haven’t read about aggressive sales people in the souks, then you haven’t been reading about Morocco. But, you can relax. They’re not that bad (again, Marrakech may hold all of these issues…but there are so many other places to go — just skip the circus!), and they will only hassle you for a second. The Fes shop owners would let me look at my leisure, asking me if I was interested in something every so often, but generally being very nice.

I’ve had more annoying sales associates in a mall in North America. People will call out to you to come see their shop, and will always yell out ‘bonjour!’ and ‘welcome!’ To you as you pass. A simple ‘non, merci’ will suffice if you’re not interested in their shop and saying hello back will not get you suckered into buying anything. A quick smile and a ‘bonjour!’ is something everyone can do.

The cab drivers were honestly the worst, always hovering and asking you if you want a taxi, never giving you a minute to collect your thoughts in this new city you just arrived in. Keep telling them ‘one minute’ while you give your brain time to adjust to where you’re going. You WILL get sick of them asking, and if you’re tired and over it, you may tell out ‘UGH WE’RE FINE!!!’ when someone has asked you 10 times if you need a taxi or hotel. I’m not going lie, I did yell this out at a taxi driver who followed us even after we politely said we do not need a taxi (we could almost see our hotel from where we stood) about 20 times.

Be polite, but be firm, and remember NOT to swear at them. Who knows how hard this is enforced, but I’ve read so many places that it’s illegal to swear at a man if you are a woman. Also, swearing at a complete stranger is rude. We got to witness an Aussie bloke have just enough of the taxi men and give it to them about how Morocco always asks for your money. From what I heard him yell about, I guarantee he came from Marrakech as I didn’t find this to be much of the case elsewhere.

Remember that this is their livelihood, that they don’t bring home much. That when you convert MAD to CAD (or USD, GBP or whatever), you’ve sometimes only paid your driver a dollar or 20 bucks. In the end, will 20 bucks make or beak you? Probably not. And if it will, you shouldn’t be on a trip.

Scams

I didn’t have a henna lady grab my arm, I didn’t have anyone be overly aggressive, I didn’t have anyone offer me tea (but I did witness someone doing so to another woman who gave him hell), and only once did we pay someone who ended up as our accidental ‘guide’. This bit happened in the airport when we were stressed, confused, and fine enough with paying. At that point, we just wanted to board the damn plane and little bit of money was worth it.

But, did we get ripped off from our cab drivers or in the souks? Absolutely. There are tons of cab drivers that will constantly rip you off, no matter the country you’re in, and especially if you’re coming or going to an airport. Guys, I once paid 60 bucks to drive for 3 minutes in Toronto. It happens. Budget for it.

Mindful Tip: before being annoyed at anyone for asking for more from you, convert that money back to dollars! That 200 dirham you may only have is only 20 bucks. That 100 dirham charge instead of 50 dirhams is the difference of five bucks in your life, but could mean so much more in theirs. I get it; paying more than you should is annoying, but you shouldn’t let it ruin your trip. Pay it and move on.

It’s not as Beautiful as it Seems*

*in some places

Those beautiful pictures of the beach in Casablanca? The winding streets in the medina in Fes? The desert and nature views? Guys, it’s all filled with garbage. The photo has either been expertly and painstakingly taken at the right angle to get none, or very limited, amounts of garbage. Or, it’s been edited out of every photo. It’s everywhere. You can’t escape it. It’s disgusting and ruins the landscape.

It can’t all be from Moroccans, so be mindful of your garbage when you’re travelling. We don’t need to ruin everything we come across simply because we paid to get there.

Animal Abuse

I wasn’t sure if I wanted to touch base on this or not because it’s something that definitely still happens in Morocco. Hell, it happens in Canada, too. After reading about all the horrific things that happens to animals in Morocco, I nearly wanted to cancel our trip, but I’m glad I didn’t.

Because it’s not as rampant as everyone makes it seem. At least, not out in public.

Spana Charity has done great work and there have been, no doubt, vast improvements. Working animals are a way of life. The only way for some people to get their products to market, to go anywhere.

There are thousands of cats in the streets and spay and neutering will help this problem, but they’re fed well by locals and tourists alike. Water, leftovers, and even kibble is left out for the adorable creatures who spend days lazing in the sun or in baskets found on sale in the market.

There are many stray dogs, and it hurts your heart to see so many stray animals, but they look content with a lot of the cats snuggling up with shop owners and getting scritches. I’m not a vet so I’ve no idea if they’re sick or not (nearly all look fine to my general eyes), but rest assured, animal abuse won’t accost you.

Moroccans are some of the nicest people I’ve ever met. We’ve had some great experiences with cab drivers helping us out (like driving through a field to get out of a traffic jam or calling our hotel at 430 in the morning and making sure there was someone there and that we got to where we’re going) and amazing experiences altogether.

A lot of blog posts on the Internet like to paint them in a bad light, making them seem greedy and rude. Which can be true with some, as it always is everywhere. But, a lot of the issues we encountered were not unlike the ones we encounter on a daily basis at home. Perhaps the most annoying part of any issue while on vacation is that it found you on vacation. Any problem, even a little insignificant one, becomes 10x bigger because you’re here to relax and explore and the world should bend in your favour. But, you’re in Morocco, in friggin’ Africa! Things are not going to be easy because life here isn’t easy.

Take a moment to collect yourself and just get on with it. Your trip will be sunnier when you stop worrying about every little thing that could go wrong, or how you spent more than the cab than a local. That’s travelling, is it not?