I grew up in Sarnia, Ontario—a border town connected to Port Huron, Michigan by the Twin Bridges.

Those bridges weren’t just infrastructure. They were part of our everyday lives: family visits, vacations, appointments, grocery trips, hockey games, and more—they were integral parts of the communities that flowed as freely as the St. Clair River below them.

I’ve stood in two countries in one afternoon. I’ve watched Fourth of July fireworks across the water on July 1st. I’ve seen firsthand what it looks like when neighbours aren’t separated by difference, but linked by familiarity.

So when I talk about connection across borders, I’m not speaking in metaphor—I’ve lived it. That’s why, for me, the growing division between Canada and the United States hits differently.

Because I know how connected we really are.

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We’re not the same.
We come from different backgrounds.
We’ve voted for different parties.
We have different priorities, experiences, and beliefs.

And yet—something magic happened this spring when we showed up together.

In a time marked by division, fear, and a thousand reasons to disengage, we did something special. We leaned in. We listened. We stood shoulder to shoulder and said:

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It’s been a little while since the election.

The signs have come down. The inbox has quieted. The adrenaline has worn off. And still, I find myself thinking about what we built together—not as a campaign, but as a community. Because what happened over those months wasn’t just political.

It was personal. It was hopeful. It was rare.

(I was there, and I remember it all too well.)

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It started, like many things do: with a small act.
A handmade bracelet. A quiet offering. A message strung in beads: Elbows Up.

At the time, I wasn’t thinking about visibility or movements or media attention. I was thinking about care—how we show up for each other when the world feels heavy. I made that bracelet and passed it along, trusting it might land where it was needed. Then I made another, and another, and another.

And then Angie Rowell gave one to Mark Carney, and he put it on his wrist.

It could have ended there, with a photo op or a nice gesture. But he kept wearing it. People noticed. The story started to travel—across feeds, across fences, across our community.

But it was never just about the bracelet.

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This post is about spin class, how it taught me about active recovery, why getting stronger doesn’t mean things get easier, and, what all of that has to do with mental + emotional Self-care. 👇

The first time I went to a spin class, I thought I was going to die right there on the bike in that small dark room with all those sweaty strangers while top 40’s blared from the speakers.

I was sweating buckets, my heart had never pumped so hard or fast, and I thought my legs would give out from the exertion. Obviously I survived, but I swore that I’d never go back and voluntarily subject myself to that kind of physical agony again.

Then, I started working at lululemon and got invited on sweat dates...

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That's not actually what I'm planning to write about today, but I wanted it to be the first thing you read because it's a thought that's come up in conversation several times this week...

...and as I write that, I realize it's not just this week, but that's actually a constant theme in the struggles people have with setting boundaries and practising Self-care.
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We know we "should" but we feel guilty when we do, or, perpetually feel like we aren't doing "enough" even though we also know we're currently extended well past our capacity.

The pressure is relentless, and if left unchecked, it will rob you of the ability to soak up the rest and care you desperately need.
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Every once in a while (or pretty frequently as far as the last 18 months have gone) I find myself looking around and thinking…is it this hard for everyone, or is it just me?
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Because part of my work is holding space for other humans are in survival mode, I know the answer is a resounding no — I am most definitely not the only one struggling.

The last week or two has been one of those particularly intense pockets for several people that I know.
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(I was about to say “I don’t know why” but I have theories; many centre around the stress of transition that comes with this season, especially as we head into even more unknown.

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I’m not sure if you’ve been paying attention to the Canadian news this week, but our Prime Minister just called a snap election.

That means that Canucks are headed to the polls on September 20th — a mere 36 days from the date the federal election was called, and only two years since we last voted for our country’s leadership.
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If you’re like approximately 70% of Canadians out there, you’re wondering why the heck this is happening — especially as we’re at the start of a fourth wave c/o Ms Delta.

Here’s the simplest take: the Liberals currently hold the greatest number of seats in the House of Commons so they’re “in charge”, but they don’t hold a majority of the seats — so Canada has a minority government.
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Our pal and current PM JT is taking a run for a majority government, likely hoping to capitalize on the generally positive position he’s in at the moment for the handling of The Panzerotti + vaccine rollout.

Because as we know, from watching it play out over and over, the tides of public approval turn quickly — especially in these Uncertain Times.

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Shift was real this week.

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Everything is fine — not in the least favourite F word way, but more like the way that you’re sore after running a half marathon: you prepared for it, knew it would be hard, but did it, survived, and now you just want to take a hot shower and sleep for a week.

To be clear, I definitely did not run a half marathon…my step count can attest to the fact that my butt was firmly planted in front of a computer for most of my days — but mentally and emotionally, I am spent.
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Life was a lot, and the feelings I had to process reflected that.
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Without going into all the details of what transpired (because this is an email, not a book) I want to share the ways that I practiced Self-care so by the end of the week, I find myself emotionally exhausted, but not defeated.

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It's not unusual for conversations with me to take people to unexpected places.

I have some theories about why that happens, but most of the time I just enjoy going on the journey...and to be honest, I never really know where we're going either. 🤷‍♀️

Last week I got to sit down and chat with the incredible Jordan Maney (wedding industry disruptor + creator of White People Rehab) because a mutual friend said that we would have a lot to talk about, and I trust Margo's judgment.

I set aside half an hour for the casual chat, and almost 90 minutes later we were still deep in it — how childhood experiences and generational trauma impact our ability to show up; the importance of safe spaces to facilitate healing; the roles that intention, responsibility, cultural inheritance, and defensiveness play; and why healthy boundaries and relationships matter so much if we want to create change.

Growth requires discomfort.

And we have to learn how to sit with it, so we're able to work with it.

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Last Wednesday, I got home from dropping the kids off at daycare and holy hannah was I ever tired.

How tired? So tired.

All I wanted to do was sit down, or maybe take a nap, but neither of those were options because I was already behind on work, the dogs needed to be walked, the house was in an extraordinary state of chaos, and and and.

So instead of getting cozy on the couch with my weighted blanket and The Good Place, I leaned against a kitchen stool and gave myself permission to pause for just a few minutes; to gather whatever reserves I could muster, and carry on with my day.

As I half-stood in the kitchen, I thought about that quote that's been going around on the socials about emotionally hitting a wall and how the wall is there to rest.

I mean, I get it — I've been the first to go off about the importance of Self-care and filling your own cup so you aren't a depleted resentful mess...but also, we're almost a year into a global pandemic and unlike, you know, knitting or something, this experience has not gotten easier with time.

And even though I was really trying to give myself brief moment of reprieve — literally leaning to rest — I couldn't escape the dread that comes with feeling perpetually behind, the grief for the way life used to be, the helplessness because it's all out of my control, and rage that we're all actually just expected to keep going in the midst of everything.

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My friend Maggie posted to her Instagram stories the other day about self care and putting on oxygen masks, and I was just tickled because that conversation is so up my alley these days.

She talked about how airline attendants will make the general disclaimer about putting your own oxygen mask on first, and then they will individually address the parents on board — especially the ones with young children, because it is so dang counter-intuitive.

They look these parents in the eye and repeat:

You must put your own oxygen mask on before helping someone else.

Even your baby.

Because not only can you not help anyone else if you've PTFO from oxygen deprivation...but your young kiddo can't help you even if they want to. I don't care how advanced your child is, Karen, a 9 month old does not have the coordination to put on a mask.

And, it's not fair to ask your child to bear the responsibility of saving you — physically or emotionally.

This was so apparent to me when I was in the midst of the Loving Mental Breakdown of 2018, when my toddler was coaching me on breathing and talking me back from the edge of a panic attack.

I am so proud that he was able to do that, and I'm also so sad that he had to take it on.

My job as a parent is to prepare my kiddos for adulting, and I'm pretty sure that means toeing the line between protecting them and giving them space to grow.

That's the labour I chose to take on when I became a parent.

It's not my kid's responsibility to protect me.

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This February has been the longest year of my life.

I don't know what is in the air, but shit has been tough.

Conflict seems to be rising to the surface, hard conversations are being had, and my brain is struggling to manage these things because of an intense fog that seems to have descended...and I know that I'm not the only one who has hit this February wall.

I was talking about it with my friend the other day, because I've reached a point where my usual arsenal of self-care tools just aren't doing the trick. She told me that she actually has a reminder in her calendar that February is peak S.A.D. month, so she's come to expect it.

Knowing that I'm not alone in this already makes me feel better.

I spend a lot of time writing about healthy boundaries and creating sustainable Self-care practices. I even put together a little framework that I call The 4 R's. They are Retreat, Recovery, Reserves, and Revolution.

This week, I realized that I need to take a big ol' step into Recovery mode...because while I'm technically fine, I can feel that I'm starting to have some mental health symptoms that don't lead to a happy and productive place.

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A couple big things happened this week.

First of all, it was my birthday yesterday. (Thank you.) I turned 33 which felt like a really big deal for some reason.

The other thing that happened ("coincidentally" on my birthday) was that Taylor Swift surprise released another album.

This makes my Swifty heart a-flutter.

(And full disclosure: I excited cried when I found out. Real tears. I'm not ashamed.)

This was exciting for several reasons. For one, folklore was released less than five months ago and it was already a masterpiece. Taylor delivered a lyrically exquisite collection of stories that were written to help her audience access feelings that they otherwise wouldn't be able to reach.

Lockdown suddently cut us off from the usual rhythms and rituals that we had in place to deal with the stressors in life. Much of that loss included our connection to other human beings — when that was removed, we collectively struggled.

A lot of us didn't know what to do with the feelings that came to the surface — especially the feelings that hurt. We were feeling (and still are feeling) a deep sense of loss and grief around the events of 2020.

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Welp, this is it: The fourth week of the 4 R’s.

We’ve already covered the first three:

• ​Retreat: Stress peaks and survival instincts kick in → Fight, flight, or freeze

• ​Recovery: Processing stress as it happens → Rest, digest, or nest

• ​Reserves: An effective Self-care practice → You can give without resentment
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But the 4th R is why all of the Self-care crap matters in the first place:

Revolution is about challenging unjust systems and creating meaningful change.

In the words of Audre Lorde: “Caring for myself is not self-indulgence, it is self-preservation, and that is an act of political warfare.”

​Self-care isn’t just about feeling relaxed as you drift off to sleep at the end of the night (although that is really freaking nice), it’s about keeping yourself alive — and dare I say, thriving?! — in the midst of a world that wants to keep you small.​

It’s about building the resilience to hold your ground when you’re challenged.

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