Christine 's Blog: Writing As A Way of Healing:

Christine 's Blog: Writing As A Way of Healing:

Writing As A Way of Healing:

Writing as a Way of Healing by Louise DeSalvo is a great book if you choose to write as a way of healing. Writing as a Way of Healing author Louise DeSalvo reveals "how anyone can use writing as a way to heal the emotional and physical wounds that are an inevitable part of life."

This book includes valuable advice and practical techniques to guide and inspire both experienced and beginning writers.

( I love this book because my healing tool has been through my writing and without writing, I think I would be lost) 

A Bond: By Christine McFarlane

I remember when I traveled down to see you. It was a five and a half hour trip on the Greyhound bus. I wanted to see you because it was going to be your birthday and I had not seen you since Christmas time.

You were turning fourteen! I couldn't believe it, and I still shake my head because you have grown up so fast. Just yesterday you were a child, and now you are growing into a young woman. You are my sister's daughter, but at times I feel like you are my own daughter because I feel a bond between you and I that even for me is hard to explain. I am so proud that you are my niece and I love you very much. Nothing will ever change that, I know that deep inside my heart.

The first night I visited, I was over at your dad's, while you were out with your stepmom and your little sisters. I could not wait to call you and when I did, you asked almost right away "Chrissy, can you come over?" In reply, I told you, "no problem, I will be there soon." I hung up the phone and told your dad that I was heading over to see you. I shrugged on my jacket. As I closed the door behind me, I quickly lit up a cigarette. I needed a quick drag because I knew that I could not smoke in front of you or around you. The night air was crisp, so I walked quickly.

As I am walking, I think about how you mentioned in our call that you " don't know how you feel these days." Inside I am telling myself, "boy can I ever relate to that." There have been many times where I have felt confused and unsure of how I was feeling-but I know this isn't about me-it's about you and what you are currently going through. I am hoping that you will talk to me, and feel that you can confide in me.  You live around the corner from your dad's, so it only took a couple of minutes, maybe five minutes at the most to go over and see you. Before I turn the corner onto your street, I quickly put out the cigarette I have pinched between my fingers. I know you know I smoke, but I know I would feel guilty if I ever smoked in front of you or around you, because that is not something an aunt wants to teach her niece. 

I remember the Christmas that you were about eight or nine years old. You proudly gave me a book on "How to Quit Smoking." After you gave me the booklet, you came and sat on my lap and told me "I don't want you to die."  I remember almost crying when you told me that. I have tried to quit a few times but I have never really been successful. I worry that I have let you down in that department because I still smoke, despite the concern you have voiced since you were a little girl.

I don't want you to follow in that path or pick up a habit that becomes an addiction. An addiction that masks your ability to cope with the challenges life will surely bring you as you progress through your teenage years.

As I come around the corner onto your street, I see that you are waiting outside for me. You see that I am coming and you start running and doing a half jig as you come towards me. I have to laugh, it makes me smile to see you and your excitement. You almost bowl me over when you jump to give me a hug. 

After we watch a movie with the family, we go and sit on the front porch. It is there that you open up and tell me what is going on with you. You tell me why you have been feeling depressed and the things going on that have had you feeling sad. As you sit beside me, and pour out your thoughts, I feel thankful that you are telling me instead of keeping it all inside. Keeping things inside, was something that I had done at your age, and it very nearly destroyed me. I am glad that you voicing your pain and getting it out.

I feel my heart wrench when you emphatically state "I am tired of losing people, people coming and going out of my life," and that for once "I want to be able to keep someone."

I put my arm around you, but I couldn't voice to you what I am saying to you now, because at the time I wanted to cry. Your pain felt similar to the pain I have gone through in my life, and I see where it is coming from. I wanted to let you have that moment of confiding in me, so that you know I am around for you, despite how far I live from you. I may be four hours away, but you are always in my thoughts.

I wanted to tell you "I will never leave you, I am here," and I wanted to tell you "this struggle is something I went through and I understand the pain and confusion it can bring," and lastly I wanted to tell you " though things seem hard right now, there is someone who understands, you are not alone." 

You need to stay strong, this too shall pass.. 

I Was Just A Child: By Christine McFarlane

I Was Just A Child:

By: Christine McFarlane

You left me

When I needed you most.

I was just a child

Whom you never gave a chance to

I was just a child

A child who needed love

And acceptance

You left me

When I needed you most

You never thought

Of the consequences

And what it would do to me

In the ensuing years

You left me

When I needed you most

I was just a child

Whom you never gave a chance to

I was just a child

A child who needed love

And acceptance

But you chose to turn away

And leave me

For god’s sake

I was just a child

And you left me

When I needed you most.

'Titanic' Theme Song

A Different World:

By: Christine McFarlane

There is a gentle breeze around me as I sit by the water’s edge. I hear the occasional chirp of a bird and spot one or two ducks calmly floating on the waters of Lake Simcoe. As I am sitting on the rocks, it is as though a shawl has come down and wrapped itself around me. I am lost in my thoughts; there is no one or nothing that can disturb me. Not a soul is in sight.

As I am sitting, I pull my knees up to my chest; my hands are clasped around them. I am hidden from the road by an expanse of grassy land as I sit watching the waters of the lake. I am dressed in my usual attire, jeans, t-shirt, running shoes and a light jacket. I do not notice the coldness of the rocks on my backside, or the lapping of the water getting closer and closer to my feet. I am lost in thought, thinking about long ago, about the teachings I have learned and have received.

As I sit reveling in the silence, I wrestle with the knowledge that I live a life my ancestors did not know. They did not know the sounds of car horns honking, hear the incessant ringing of cellphones or have technology at the tip of their fingers every time they turned around. They did not have to escape just to experience some silence. They did not experience the jostling of bodies as they navigated their way around on a day-to-day basis, nor did they know that the appreciation of everything and everyone they knew around them would disappear, and that it would take everything you had inside to get that appreciation back.

Selfishness and greed became a part of life, and nothing was ever enough. It is today that I sit consumed by thoughts of what used to be. I yearn to know what it is my ancestors experienced. I want to learn the ways of my people, bring back tradition and culture and speak my language so that I can pass it down to the generations behind me.

            I heard a long time ago that there was a time when Mother Earth was respected. A time when “we maintained relations with the whole natural world,” and we as First Nations people believed “the people, animals and trees spoke the same language.”(oratory, February 2010)

            We could step outside and not worry about the chemicals or toxins we breathed in. We could walk and appreciate the silence that surrounded us. We did not have to hear a cacophony of sounds, see garbage laying around, worry about where our water was coming from and that if we went for a dip in the lake, we could catch some type of disease or bacteria that lay in the waters that surround us today. We could go out on the land and be unafraid of the animals that roamed, and not worry that it was possible they could become extinct.

I am an urban Indian. I have never known anything outside of city life. I did not grow up on my reserve-Peguis First Nation. What I knew of reserves was what I had read in the newspapers or heard on the news. That news was never anything good. You just have to think of Kashechewan First Nation and how infamous it became in the media due to the problems that plagued them- the flooding and the contaminated water.

The community of Kashechewan is located in the district of Kenora. It is a First Nation of the Albany Reserve #67. The community is located on the northern shore of the Albany River, 10km upstream from James Bay. Kashechewan is known for being situated in an area that is susceptible to flooding and that in times of flooding, community members often have to be relocated until flooding subsides. This upheaval has shaken the community in many ways.

I remember picking up the local native newspaper “The Native Canadian” in 2005 and reading “Kashechewan faces possible relocation from a land they know and have grown up on, due to flooding and contaminated water.”(2005) I read about the problems they faced such as high unemployment, poverty and the lack of suitable housing.   In my studies at the University of Toronto, I have been learning the history behind First Nations people and their communities. I have learned how upheaval can have a devastating impact both physically and psychologically, especially in a culture that holds great importance in connection with the land.  Upheaval is all too familiar to many First Nations people.

Our governments have made policies and the advancement of technology and consumerism has made many forget  “a way of life” that was once centered around for the Haudenonsaunee-the Great Law of Peace, and for other communities- the 7 Grandfather Teachings. Teachings that encompass “neb-wa-kah-win (Wisdom), ma-na-denaa-moowin (Respect), zaa-gi de-win (Love), gwak-wad-di-zi-win (Honesty), ack-ko-day-a-win (Bravery), dub-ba-say-ni-moo-win (Humility), and day-bway-win (Truth).”

 As I am sitting on the rocks by the waters of Lake Simcoe, I am thinking of the waters that surround me, the way of life that used to be and the worldview that has been introduced to me by a woman who has brought me here to her reserve. It is a place that I can learn from and appreciate. This woman has gone out of her way to help me bridge the gap in my mind of what city life and reserve life is like. She has gone out of her way to instill within me, a knowledge I had thirsted for all my life-to know who I was, and to understand that Native people are really no different than those who live in the city. This was all contrary to what I had been raised to believe in.

 It was Dr. Cynthia Wesley-Esquimaux, a professor in the Aboriginal Studies Department at the University of Toronto and a First Nations member of Georgina Island who introduced me to a new reality, who taught me to challenge my perceptions of Aboriginal Canada and open my mind to new experiences and ways of thinking.  When she brought me out to her reserve for the first time, I never knew that I would be introduced to a new worldview. A way of thinking that would challenge by very way of being, and how I saw the world around me.

While at Georgina Island, in that first visit five years ago and in subsequent visits afterwards, I have learned about family and community. I have listened to stories, have heard the importance of having a voice and telling our stories. She has also taught me that a home is a home wherever you make it. It can be wherever you want it to be-whether that is in the city or on the reserve. Your home can be made to reflect the worldview you believe in.

At Wesley-Esquimaux’s home on Georgina Island, you see history of the past intermingled with the present. Her place reflects her interest in bridging the gap between Native heritage of the past and the contemporary contributions that Natives make today. It is in the artwork that adorns her walls and the wide range of books that is a book lover’s dream to look through. I remember when I stood on that deck,  took in what was around me and walked down to the waters not far from her house, how transformed I became.  It is easy to look at the lake, and see the changes that have happened in it. Where it once was clear and now it is murky. You cannot help but wonder what the future holds for such a beautiful place, when there is such change happening elsewhere.

Wesley-Esquimaux’s impact to change the perception of Aboriginal Canada has not only affected me, it has impacted many students, including Raigelee Alorut, an Inuit woman from Iquluit.  Alorut stated that it was through Dr. Cynthia Wesley-Esquimaux that she learned to discover more things about herself and how “ I see the world differently,” because Wesley-Esquimuax imparted “we cannot change the past, but we can learn to live with what has happened by finding our voice and we can gather strength each time we tell our stories.”

For generations, according to Wesley-Esquimaux, “First Nations women’s voices were silenced in historical narratives that sidestepped their influence and power,” and “today First Nations women are increasingly using those voices to reclaim lost stories and narratives.”(20)

Through Wesley-Esquimaux and other influential First Nations women, I am learning to rebound from negative experiences and awakening a social and cultural resiliency that I never thought was in me before. I have learned much from my visit to Georgina Island. I have learned in Wesley-Esquimaux’s words “to scale the wall of personal, community and national resistance,” by learning to open my eyes and see that within I have a voice that needs to be heard, and as a First Nations woman, through story I can help to further the change in how Aboriginal Canada is perceived.

It is time for me to head back to the mainland. I know my ride is waiting. I reluctantly stand up from my perch on the rocks at the edge of Lake Simcoe. I brush myself off and pull my jacket closer to me. The curtain that was once around me has risen. My reverie is broken, by the reality that I have to head back to Toronto. I pull out my camera. I want to capture the stillness that surrounds me, just in case my memory forgets.

Before I climb up to the road, I take out some tobacco, and gently sprinkle it on the waters that stretch before me. As I watch it slowly being swept away by the waters, I say Chi miigwetch for what I have learned, and what I have seen. I turn to walk away, but I am not sad. I know that I will be back.

Works Consulted:

Guthrie-Valaskaksi, G. Dion, Stout, M. Guimond, E, Restoring the Balance: First Nations Women, Community and Culture.  University of Manitoba Press. 2009.

Maracle, Lee. Class discussion, 2010.

Native Canadian newsletter; Native Canadian Centre of Toronto. 2005

The Wampum Belt-Photo taken By Maurice Switzer/UOI

Connection to Community

Connection

By: Christine McFarlane

I have learned that connection to community is integral to helping you in your healing. The notion that “if you are connected to community, you will be okay in the end” is comforting to me because it is within that I know being involved with community has been what has saved me from a path of self-destruction.

My connection to community began when I first walked into the Native Canadian Centre of Toronto almost six years ago, and offered to volunteer. At that time I was like a lost soul, searching for anything to fill the emptiness I felt inside. At the Native Centre, I learned to connect with others. Those I interacted with encouraged me. I was taught my culture, the traditions and the language of my people and this enabled me to come out of the shell that I had previously been in.

Connecting to community has also helped me in my journey through my studies at the University of Toronto. Without community, I do not know where I would be. In connecting to community I have learned so much and it is in that knowledge that I carry with me, that I have been discovering who I am as a First Nations woman and as a writer.

Lately, people have been telling me that I have really learned to ‘find my voice’. I do not think that I could have found my voice without my friends and the people in the community.  With encouragement and support, I have been able to find my wings and soar.  Community has been everything in my healing journey and it is here that I say chi miigwetch to those who have helped me along the way. I could not have done it without you. You know who you are.

The Four Directions/Turtle By: Christine McFarlane

Carving that I Did

Sam George- Taken by Me for Anishinabek News-Front Page

Who I Am- By: Christine McFarlane

 Yesterday

I walked alone

My head down

As I walked

Cloaked in shame

Ignorant to

who I was

And what I represented

Yesterday

I walked alone

I listened to the words

You will never amount

To anything

All because of my race,

The color of my skin

And the stereotypes

Instilled by those

Who thought they

Could kill us

By putting us down

Yesterday

I walked alone

My head down

As I walked

Cloaked in shame

I never realized

Until I started my journey

Of healing

And reclaiming myself

And the ways of my people

That the ghosts

Of my past

Would continue to walk

With me

Until I stood up

And told them

I will not take it

anymore

I am who I am

A First Nations woman

Proud of myself

And those before her

Who rose up against

Invisibility and oppression

Celebrated their ways

spoke their languages

and never forgot

who they were

and where they came from.

I am part of a nation

Who refuses

To be silenced.

The Sound of the Drum:

By: Christine McFarlane

There is something about the beat of the hand drum that makes me feel calm inside. When I hear the sound of the drum it is like I have come back home, to the roots that were lost to me while growing up. It is hard to explain, unless you have been there yourself.

As a child, I grew up in two worlds. One where I couldn’t explore my native heritage, yet I knew I was different, different from those who lived in the neighborhood alongside me. My neighborhood consisted of white and middle class families, while my sister and I were dark. We stood out for who and what we represented, First Nations children in a sea of white, at a time in Canadian history, where native children were taken from their homes and adopted out. Adopted out and never knowing the rich heritage of a strong and resilient people. I have never asked my sister, how did it make you feel?,I can only imagine that her pain may have been similar.  A repetition of a legacy felt by many of our people before us of abandonment, loss, and hurt. A legacy I have promised myself I would never repeat, no matter where I end up in life

I don’t hold the awakening of my heritage against myself any longer, I know inside that when I hear the hand drum, I come alive inside. My sister and I are on divergent paths, carving out our own destinies. I have decided, in my own right, that it is time for me to come back to my roots, to feel the pride I never felt while growing up, and to hold my head up high.  The silence of the drum and not hearing its beat is something of the past. Years have gone by, since I have spoken to the very people that made me feel that being First Nations was something wrong.  The messages of shame and hurt still pop up from time to time especially when I am at my most vulnerable, yet I know I need to let it go. I question those messages all the time, especially when I am at an event, and I hear the sound of the drum, the singing that goes along with it and the community that gathers around and is all one.

Many First Nations people believe that the beat of the drum, is the beat of Mother Earth’s heart. The steady rhythm and the beat of the drummer’s stick hitting the skin of the drum takes me to a place, a place that feeds my soul emotionally, physically, spiritually and emotionally. I hear the singing and it soothes me. I find myself tapping my foot and wanting to dance. I have come home, and I am smiling inside at last.

Memories.... By: Christine McFarlane

Memories

are like waves in the ocean

they can come crashing in on you

when you least expect them to

Memories

are like the heavy winds

in a rainstorm

battering you

assaulting you

making you cry

and wanting to curl up

in a ball

and hide.

Memories

of trauma

never really go away

they are always there

lurking in your background

and haunting you

when you least expect it

Memories,

I want to bury them

try and forget

but they’re etched inside

I have to learn

how to cope with them

instead of letting them

take a piece of me

each time

they arise

A Spirit....By: Christine McFarlane

A Spirit…. By: Christine McFarlane

A Spirit..

By: Christine McFarlane

A spirit

Can never break

That is what you have to

Believe

It lies within

Keeping silent

When you want it to

And rising up

When you have the desire

To fight

A spirit

Can never break

It may make you feel down

When times are tough

And the tears seem to never end

But deep inside

It is within you

Fighting

When you feel there is

No one else around

A spirit

Can never break

That is what you have to believe

It lies within

And lets you know

It is there

It will stay silent

When you want it to be

And it will rise up

And fight

When you have the desire

To fight

A spirit

Can never break

That is what you have to

Believe

In order to survive

This game called

Life

A Different World: By: Christine McFarlane

A Different World:

By: Christine McFarlane

There is a gentle breeze around me as I sit by the water’s edge. I hear the occasional chirp of a bird and spot one or two ducks calmly floating on the waters of Lake Simcoe. As I am sitting on the rocks, it is as though a shawl has come down and wrapped itself around me. I am lost in my thoughts; there is no one or nothing that can disturb me. Not a soul is in sight.

As I am sitting, I pull my knees up to my chest; my hands are clasped around them. I am hidden from the road by an expanse of grassy land as I sit watching the waters of the lake. I am dressed in my usual attire, jeans, t-shirt, running shoes and a light jacket. I do not notice the coldness of the rocks on my backside, or the lapping of the water getting closer and closer to my feet. I am lost in thought, thinking about long ago, about the teachings I have learned and have received.

As I sit reveling in the silence, I wrestle with the knowledge that I live a life my ancestors did not know. They did not know the sounds of car horns honking, hear the incessant ringing of cellphones or have technology at the tip of their fingers every time they turned around. They did not have to escape just to experience some silence. They did not experience the jostling of bodies as they navigated their way around on a day-to-day basis, nor did they know that the appreciation of everything and everyone they knew around them would disappear, and that it would take everything you had inside to get that appreciation back.

Selfishness and greed became a part of life, and nothing was ever enough. It is today that I sit consumed by thoughts of what used to be. I yearn to know what it is my ancestors experienced. I want to learn the ways of my people, bring back tradition and culture and speak my language so that I can pass it down to the generations behind me.

            I heard a long time ago that there was a time when Mother Earth was respected. A time when “we maintained relations with the whole natural world,” and we as First Nations people believed “the people, animals and trees spoke the same language.”(oratory, February 2010)

            We could step outside and not worry about the chemicals or toxins we breathed in. We could walk and appreciate the silence that surrounded us. We did not have to hear a cacophony of sounds, see garbage laying around, worry about where our water was coming from and that if we went for a dip in the lake, we could catch some type of disease or bacteria that lay in the waters that surround us today. We could go out on the land and be unafraid of the animals that roamed, and not worry that it was possible they could become extinct.

I am an urban Indian. I have never known anything outside of city life. I did not grow up on my reserve-Peguis First Nation. What I knew of reserves was what I had read in the newspapers or heard on the news. That news was never anything good. You just have to think of Kashechewan First Nation and how infamous it became in the media due to the problems that plagued them- the flooding and the contaminated water.

The community of Kashechewan is located in the district of Kenora. It is a First Nation of the Albany Reserve #67. The community is located on the northern shore of the Albany River, 10km upstream from James Bay. Kashechewan is known for being situated in an area that is susceptible to flooding and that in times of flooding, community members often have to be relocated until flooding subsides. This upheaval has shaken the community in many ways.

I remember picking up the local native newspaper “The Native Canadian” in 2005 and reading “Kashechewan faces possible relocation from a land they know and have grown up on, due to flooding and contaminated water.”(2005) I read about the problems they faced such as high unemployment, poverty and the lack of suitable housing.   In my studies at the University of Toronto, I have been learning the history behind First Nations people and their communities. I have learned how upheaval can have a devastating impact both physically and psychologically, especially in a culture that holds great importance in connection with the land.  Upheaval is all too familiar to many First Nations people.

Our governments have made policies and the advancement of technology and consumerism has made many forget  “a way of life” that was once centered around for the Haudenonsaunee-the Great Law of Peace, and for other communities- the 7 Grandfather Teachings. Teachings that encompass “neb-wa-kah-win (Wisdom), ma-na-denaa-moowin (Respect), zaa-gi de-win (Love), gwak-wad-di-zi-win (Honesty), ack-ko-day-a-win (Bravery), dub-ba-say-ni-moo-win (Humility), and day-bway-win (Truth).”

 As I am sitting on the rocks by the waters of Lake Simcoe, I am thinking of the waters that surround me, the way of life that used to be and the worldview that has been introduced to me by a woman who has brought me here to her reserve. It is a place that I can learn from and appreciate. This woman has gone out of her way to help me bridge the gap in my mind of what city life and reserve life is like. She has gone out of her way to instill within me, a knowledge I had thirsted for all my life-to know who I was, and to understand that Native people are really no different than those who live in the city. This was all contrary to what I had been raised to believe in.

 It was Dr. Cynthia Wesley-Esquimaux, a professor in the Aboriginal Studies Department at the University of Toronto and a First Nations member of Georgina Island who introduced me to a new reality, who taught me to challenge my perceptions of Aboriginal Canada and open my mind to new experiences and ways of thinking.  When she brought me out to her reserve for the first time, I never knew that I would be introduced to a new worldview. A way of thinking that would challenge by very way of being, and how I saw the world around me.

While at Georgina Island, in that first visit five years ago and in subsequent visits afterwards, I have learned about family and community. I have listened to stories, have heard the importance of having a voice and telling our stories. She has also taught me that a home is a home wherever you make it. It can be wherever you want it to be-whether that is in the city or on the reserve. Your home can be made to reflect the worldview you believe in.

At Wesley-Esquimaux’s home on Georgina Island, you see history of the past intermingled with the present. Her place reflects her interest in bridging the gap between Native heritage of the past and the contemporary contributions that Natives make today. It is in the artwork that adorns her walls and the wide range of books that is a book lover’s dream to look through. I remember when I stood on that deck,  took in what was around me and walked down to the waters not far from her house, how transformed I became.  It is easy to look at the lake, and see the changes that have happened in it. Where it once was clear and now it is murky. You cannot help but wonder what the future holds for such a beautiful place, when there is such change happening elsewhere.

Wesley-Esquimaux’s impact to change the perception of Aboriginal Canada has not only affected me, it has impacted many students, including Raigelee Alorut, an Inuit woman from Iquluit.  Alorut stated that it was through Dr. Cynthia Wesley-Esquimaux that she learned to discover more things about herself and how “ I see the world differently,” because Wesley-Esquimuax imparted “we cannot change the past, but we can learn to live with what has happened by finding our voice and we can gather strength each time we tell our stories.”

For generations, according to Wesley-Esquimaux, “First Nations women’s voices were silenced in historical narratives that sidestepped their influence and power,” and “today First Nations women are increasingly using those voices to reclaim lost stories and narratives.”(20)

Through Wesley-Esquimaux and other influential First Nations women, I am learning to rebound from negative experiences and awakening a social and cultural resiliency that I never thought was in me before. I have learned much from my visit to Georgina Island. I have learned in Wesley-Esquimaux’s words “to scale the wall of personal, community and national resistance,” by learning to open my eyes and see that within I have a voice that needs to be heard, and as a First Nations woman, through story I can help to further the change in how Aboriginal Canada is perceived.

It is time for me to head back to the mainland. I know my ride is waiting. I reluctantly stand up from my perch on the rocks at the edge of Lake Simcoe. I brush myself off and pull my jacket closer to me. The curtain that was once around me has risen. My reverie is broken, by the reality that I have to head back to Toronto. I pull out my camera. I want to capture the stillness that surrounds me, just in case my memory forgets.

Before I climb up to the road, I take out some tobacco, and gently sprinkle it on the waters that stretch before me. As I watch it slowly being swept away by the waters, I say Chi miigwetch for what I have learned, and what I have seen. I turn to walk away, but I am not sad. I know that I will be back.

Works Consulted:

Guthrie-Valaskaksi, G. Dion, Stout, M. Guimond, E, Restoring the Balance: First Nations Women, Community and Culture.  University of Manitoba Press. 2009.

Maracle, Lee. Class discussion, 2010.

Native Canadian newsletter; Native Canadian Centre of Toronto. 2005

Connection

By: Christine McFarlane

I have learned that connection to community is integral to helping you in your healing. The notion that “if you are connected to community, you will be okay in the end” is comforting to me because it is within that I know being involved with community has been what has saved me from a path of self-destruction.

My connection to community began when I first walked into the Native Canadian Centre of Toronto almost six years ago, and offered to volunteer. At that time I was like a lost soul, searching for anything to fill the emptiness I felt inside. At the Native Centre, I learned to connect with others. Those I interacted with encouraged me. I was taught my culture, the traditions and the language of my people and this enabled me to come out of the shell that I had previously been in.

Connecting to community has also helped me in my journey through my studies at the University of Toronto. Without community, I do not know where I would be. In connecting to community I have learned so much and it is in that knowledge that I carry with me, that I have been discovering who I am as a First Nations woman and as a writer.

Lately, people have been telling me that I have really learned to ‘find my voice’. I do not think that I could have found my voice without my friends and the people in the community. With encouragement and support, I have been able to find my wings and soar. Community has been everything in my healing journey and it is here that I say chi miigwetch to those who have helped me along the way. I could not have done it without you. You know who you are.

Prompts that I Found to Get out of Writing Blocks

Prompts for the Week

If you need to jumpstart your journaling, these prompts will give you a fresh perspective and (hopefully) help your mental journey to new territory. Here are the rules:

First, read the prompt and ponder it a minute.

Second, get writing. Don't stop. Even if you can't think of anything, keep the fingers moving.

Third, write a minimum of one page per prompt.

Let's get started:

This summer I want to...

If I were a book, my title would be...

I am the wind. This is what I'm thinking...

I am lightening. I want to...

If I could control the weather, I would...

My name is Earth. Here is my wish for you...

I am the color green. Tell me about myself...