Sabbatical

2012 is the year of my sabbatical. After enduring the impact of making a life-changing decision, and moving our family across the world, I officially declared that 2012 would be my year to reflect. I told myself that it really needed to be this way because I was required to be at home with my kids: helping them make the transition to their new lives, and being available for them whenever they needed me. But, more than that, I will admit to being completely daunted by the idea of qualifying myself as a psychologist or a counsellor in Australia. I will admit that I have not felt compelled to research how to work again. I will admit to not looking for the energy to problem solve the issue of domestic help/care for my kids. Declaring 2012 as my sabbatical year has had the impact of giving my overachieving-self some time off. For the most part, it has restrained the tendency that I have to serially jump into professional opportunities, without giving myself time to reflect on how I really want my career to progress.

And now there are 60 days left in my sabbatical year. The pressure is ON for me to declare (to myself anyway) my next step. What do I want to be when I grow up? It is a question that has plagued me for most of my life. 

At the risk of sounding odd, I will confess. I am fascinated by the concept of identity. How do we gain a strong sense of who we are in relation to our self, our family, our community, our world? Does a strong identity correlate with family, upbringing, personality, socioeconomic opportunities, or life experiences? Or all of the above? Because we all know people who seem to inherently know exactly who they are and what they are meant to be contributing to this world. I will shamefully admit that I am not one of those people.

I expect that those of you who've known me for a while are not shocked by my confession. Because my resume really shows off my reluctance to professionally commit. Or it shows off my versatility. Depending on my mood, I can see it either way. I do believe that each step in my career path has taught me a lot about myself. In every job I've held, I have learned more about my strengths and my challenges. I have made lifelong friends at every organization that I've had the privilege of working for. So, what's the hold-up, you ask. Why aren't you embracing this new opportunity to work in a new country? What are you afraid of?

I've thought a lot about this. My hesitation to "move forward" and get into the work world again. And I don't think I'm afraid. I think a better word would be "lost". I don't mean that in a dramatic way. I am grounded to my family and to my friends and to the gratitude I genuinely feel for the opportunities we've had.

But, there are some drawbacks to starting over. In the beginning, I think the excitement of having a 'clean slate' camouflaged the losses. But, as time passes, the losses are making themselves known. For me, I find myself flailing--struggling to be seen as a person with intelligence and competence. In Australia, people do not know me in relation to my career achievements, my professional skills, or my work experiences. They do not know me as a person that once prosecuted a man for murder. They don't know that I used to train police officers about how to lawful detain, arrest, search, and question persons accused of crimes. They don't know that I counselled families facing terminal illness. They don't know me as anyone other than a person who picks up her children from school every day at 3 pm, and otherwise, seems to have a lot of free time on her hands.

And before you mention it, I do 100% agree that picking up my kids from school is a worthy endeavour. That's why I'm doing it. But, it is not an endeavour that provides me with professional credibility. I confess to really missing my professional identity-the one where I was known as an intelligent and driven woman with skills to offer the greater world. I want to be someone more than a mum who lives a "privileged life" of staying home with her kids, working out at the gym, and lunching with friends. Please don't read this as a criticism of that lifestyle, as I know first-hand how much hard work goes into being a stay-at-home mum. I didn't know it before I moved to Australia, but I absolutely know about it now. Kudos to all of the stay-at-home mums out there--it is the hardest job in the world, bar none. And having lived it, I really mean that (I'm not just saying it because it is the PC thing to say). But, for me, my identity does not rest peacefully carrying only that role. I wish it were otherwise, but if I'm brutally honest with myself, it is not enough for me.

The loss of credibility, the loss of my extensive professional network, the loss of being seen as an accomplished career person, and the loss of being confident in my professional abilities and what I have to offer the employment world . . . these are my "overseas-move" losses that I think now require my close attention. It is ironic that I have spent so much time studying the dynamics of grief and loss, yet I don't know quite how to attend to my own grief. How will I move past all that I've professionally lost to find my way again, to reestablish my identity as both a 'good mum' AND 'professionally successful. In jest, I would say, "there's 60 days left in my sabbatical to figure out that answer". More honestly, I know that this is a process and I might need a bit more time. And that's OK. 

Fighting The Battle

There are stunning purple flowers covering the Jacaranda tree in our backyard. They are a sign that spring has come to Brisbane. Even in a tropical climate where the plants are always green, the landscape goes through seasonal transitions. With increasing daytime highs, a warmer swimming pool, and those amazing purple flowers, we know "spring" has arrived. I confess to experiencing cognitive dissonance as I try and associate "spring" with the middle of October. Living in the Southern hemisphere has demonstrated that much of what we knew to be true about seasons, holidays, and calendar events are really a cultural creation.

Jacaranda tree-blooms in the spring

In Australia, October is the month for Breast Cancer Awareness. Similar to Canada, there are various fundraising events requiring attendance, monetary donations, and increased awareness about the importance of self-screening and regular visits to the doctor. Unfortunately, breast cancer (BC) is not just an abstract concept to most of us. Impacting 1:8 women (before the age of 85 yrs), it is more likely than not that we all know someone who has been challenged by this disease. Many of us know someone that has lost their battle.

Or, if you are like me, you know someone who did not get to fully engage in a BC fight. My mother was diagnosed with breast cancer in May of 1998. Prior to her diagnosis, she had not seen a doctor for regular physicals since my brother was born in the early 70's. By the time she was diagnosed with breast cancer, the tumors had metastasized to her lungs and her brain. Her prognosis was terminal. Before she could even try to summon the energy and resources to fight any kind of battle, she had already lost her fight. As you might be able to imagine, as her daughter (and as her primary caregiver from this moment forward), receiving this news felt like a knife to my heart. The scary "C" word delivered with not one ounce of hope. I have never felt so devastated or helpless as I did that afternoon when the Peter Lougheed Emergency room doctor informed me that my mother did not stand even a remote chance of surviving the attack of this disease.

So, since May 23, 1998, I have taken on the BC battle on behalf of my mom. In the beginning, I engaged with her doctors, seeking a glimmer of hope that there was SOMETHING my mom could do to help herself survive. As it became increasingly clear that her "self-help ship" had long since sailed, I focused on how I could contribute to cancer-cure efforts. For many years, I raised monies for the CIBC Run for the Cure. I walked 60 km in The Weekend to End Breast Cancer with three very dear family friends: women who were equally invested in fighting this battle in honour of my mom. In 2005, I joined the Board of Directors for the Wings of Hope Breast Cancer Foundation (www.wings-of-hope.com) and spent several years assisting with fundraising efforts to provide financial and psychosocial support to breast cancer patients. I donated to others' fundraising efforts. And I encouraged my female friends to pay attention to their breast health: through regular self-exams, annual physicals, and mammograms.

Run for the Cure-Vancouver 2002
Running for Pauline & Leslie

Run for the Cure-Calgary 2003
Julia's first "run" for Grandma Pauline

The Weekend to End Breast Cancer Aug 2005
We walked 60 km over 2 days

My "team" for the Weekend and my "family" for life

The FINISH line--we did it!
I cried like a baby for about an hour--the most rewarding fundraising experience yet

Wings of  Hope Breast Cancer Foundation Board of Directors
October 2005 Annual Fundraising Luncheon

Run for the Cure 2007
Julia walked 5 km for BC at age 4

I often think about a conversation that I had prior to the Weekend to End Breast Cancer 2005. Each participant was required to raise $1500 in order to participate in this event. I was able to meet this fundraising goal through the generosity of family and friends who clearly wanted to support my need to fight. However, one friend informed me that she wasn't comfortable donating money to my campaign. She felt that such fundraising efforts were unethical in the sense that all of the donated monies did not go directly to research (with this particular event, there were high overhead costs as it was organized by professional fundraisers). Further, she doubted that researchers would ever find a cure for breast cancer so she was choosing to direct her charity contributions to different "less trendy" causes. At the time, I remember feeling gutted by her feedback and promptly responded as such, indicating that I hadn't chosen breast cancer as my cause. It had chosen me. And my family. And more specifically, it had chosen my mom. Many years later, as I reflect on this discussion, I realize that I have never stopped fighting BC. I have hope that I can somehow gain retribution from a disease that robbed my community of a fantastic school teacher. It robbed my children of their child-loving, gentle-spirited grandmother. And it robbed me of my number-one fan: the person who was always in my corner and whose words and actions always showed me that I was loved for exactly who I already was. Who wouldn't choose to retaliate against an enemy like that?

March 2006
My mom attended my law school graduation banquet
I remember her being very excited and proud

Since we moved to Australia, I haven't re-engaged in the BC battle. In truth, I think I took a break from the fight, even before we moved overseas. Four years ago, as I was immersed in my graduate studies in psychology, I was drawn into the world of palliative care, death and bereavement. In some ways, this new focus might appear like a loss of hope. But I like to think that in order to accomplish my own healing, I needed to redirect my efforts into helping those individuals who had "lost their battle" find some glimmer of hope (in the form of peace). 

There is a LOT of attention and millions of dollars directed toward finding a breast cancer cure. As there should be. Because it's a horrible disease and it impacts too many people who are in the prime of their lives: (most often women) who are raising children, supporting other family members, and enjoying professional success. But I think it is equally important to give voice to the reality that sometimes, we don't "win" the battle, we don't even get a chance to enter the ring. I know from professional experience that wonderful people get devastating news about cancer every day. And more often than not, support for those people is not funded (in scope or magnitude) in nearly the same way as cancer research. I know from personal experience that there is fear and loneliness and isolation when people hear the word "terminal": they know their hope to win the cancer-fight is gone. But, people who can't successfully fight a BC battle are still here on earth (for at least a little while), and they (and their families) are in need of some form of hope, even if it isn't the ultimate prize of life.

I watch those purple Jacaranda flowers bloom in my backyard and I think about my mom. I think about spring/fall and October and Breast Cancer Awareness. I wonder where, how, and when I will next engage in the BC battle. These are my efforts to honour my mom's experience: of finding herself in the middle of a fight that she knew from the beginning she would not win.

RIP Margaret Pauline Fraser (February 24, 1941 - January 1, 1999). There isn't a day that goes by that I don't miss you. I will continue the fight. xoxo

Is Anybody Out There?

I am addicted to Body Combat. Seriously addicted. I didn’t think it was possible for me to become so attached to something that didn’t contain chocolate or alcohol. But, apparently it is. I attended my first Body Combat class on a bit of whim. Last February, I’d just started working out at my local gym, and I was feeling uninspired by the thought of countless hours on the elliptical trainer or the solitary (and repetitive) task of lifting weights. One morning, I noticed a line-up for an exercise class and within the the group of attendees, I found a familiar face. I inquired as to what the class was about, and decided to give it a go.

Now, I do everything I can to make it to two Body Combat classes a week-typically Monday and Friday mornings. The class is led by a extraordinarily fit and dynamic South African woman. Gill brings 110% energy, strength, and enthusiasm to all of her classes. It is impossible to spend an hour with her and not leave with a smile on your face. Which means that the class is full of hard-working, happy people who are doing something positive for their health AND having fun while doing it. 

This morning, Gill was physically exhausted when she arrived at class, explaining that she had run to get to the gym on time, and that she had already taught six Body Combat classes this week. But, as usual, she pulled out her fantastic attitude and everyone responded to her motivating energy. About halfway through the workout, she said to us, “if anyone ever needs someone to stay until the end of the fight, pick me”. 

I’m not sure you’d need to pick her. She strikes me as the type of person who would just “have your back”. I know she’s had my back for the past six months, although she probably doesn’t know that. My Body Combat time is my “me time”. It’s my stress-relief. It’s become my way of coping with vast amounts of uncertainty that happens when you move across the world without an “end plan” in mind. And, it’s become a place where I can experience the feeling of belonging to an empowering community of women who “kick butt”. At least twice a week, I get one hour to kick, punch, and battle my way through my fears, frustration, and loneliness that occasionally sneaks up on me in the many hours that I spend alone while my family pursues their work and school commitments. But, Gill’s comment led me to reflect a lot about community support--about the people who will stay until the end of your fight. All you need to do is ask them to be there.

My Facebook friends know about my most recent brush with vulnerability. Three weeks ago, Stacey went to Adelaide for a corporate conference. In the Murphy’s Law tradition, twenty-four hours after he left, I was struck down by a gastrointestinal virus that left me immobile and useless. I was not able to drive to the school and pick up my kids. I was unable to cook dinner for them or get them ready for bed. It was a terrifying feeling, and my initial instinct was to feel alone and helpless and afraid. And then I remembered that I wasn’t alone. I have friends who have my back and all I needed to do is ask for help. As it turns out (not fully understood by me until recently), I have created an entire new community of support. Friends picked up my kids from school, brought electrolyte drinks, baked for an upcoming bake sale, and offered deliveries of dinner and childcare. People I didn’t even know were quick to offer assistance, like the school secretary who left her desk and walked across the school campus to hand-deliver a note to Ben’s teacher. And my Julia (nine years old with the soul of an eighty year old) fed her brother and put him to bed. Then she poured me a bath, brought me hot tea, and set her alarm for 6 am so she could check on my well-being the following morning. The gift of this challenging time was the reminder that there are always people who “watch our backs”: who are there for us and willing to help, even when we think we are on our own and unsupported.

As life goes, I think so many of us feel like we are alone in our pain, our fears, and our challenges. When I worked as a counsellor, I noticed a common theme in the stories of my clients seeking support. They often reported feeling like others didn’t care or understand whatever adversity they were currently facing. And, in our busy, over-committed, isolated modern world, it is easy to understand why we feel that way. I know I’ve wondered many times if there was anybody out there: someone who would listen to my pain and provide some support. The thing is that if you ask, there is almost always someone there. Whether that someone is a friend, a family member, a stranger, your God, or your inner spirit . . . there is someone there who will stay till the end of your fight.

At the end of the Body Combat class, we take a few moments to stretch. The stretching routine is choreographed to some groovy but inspirational song, that leaves me feeling just the right balance of positive energy moderated with some quiet reflection. Today, we stretched to “Is Anybody Out There?” performed by K’Naan and the lovely Canadian singer/songwriter-Ms. Nelly Furtado (link to music video below). Isn’t it uncanny how everything in the universe seems to connect when you are paying attention? As I stretched and listened to the lyrics (“I don’t wanna be left in this war tonight, am I alone in this fight?”), I thought, “I need to blog about this”. 

We are not alone, there is always someone out there who will stay in our fight till the end. 

Thanks for the Body Combat therapy Gill. :)

 "Is Anybody Out There?" : Music video by K'Naan and Nelly Furtado

One Year Here

It’s official! We’ve lived in Australia for an entire year. One year ago today, we were unpacking our suitcases into our temporary apartment on Turbot Street in downtown Brisbane. And we were wondering. We were wondering: where we were going to live; if we’d make friends as good as the ones we’d left in Canada; where the kids would go to school; if we’d successfully learn to drive on the other side of the road; where to buy a car & a washing machine & a fridge & a coffee pot.  The “to do” list was endless and overwhelming. I will never forget my first morning in Brisbane, settling down into the black leather coach in our temporary living room, with a cup of instant Nescafe (that’s all we had in the house) and seriously wondering what the hell we had just done.

Our first "home" in Brisbane. Taken exactly one year ago.

I know I’ve spent the better part of a year processing this transition. So often, I am asked if I like it here or how it compares to Canada. Sometimes people suggest that the move must have been easy since Australia is “so much like Canada”. Other times, people question our judgment for moving so far away from family and friends.

So, I am guessing, on the first anniversary of this life-changing experience, some of you might be wondering if I think moving our family to Australia was the “right” thing to do. And for the past two weeks, I’ve been soul searching for the “right” answer, the perfect combination of brilliance, insight, emotion, and humility. An answer that really illustrates the impact of uprooting all that you’ve known to try a life that you haven’t experienced before. Those of you who know me well (and love me anyway) understand that I like to wrap things up in neat little packages: fully processed nuggets that succinctly articulate all that I think and feel.

And I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I can’t wrap this one up neatly. I’m still processing the experience and qualitatively trying to figure out where it fits in the continuum of what I believe to be my "good" life choices. One hesitation in labeling our past year’s journey as “good” or “bad” is that I suspect such labeling will trivialize the breadth and depth of all that we’ve learned and encountered in the past 365 days.

All I can say for sure is that making a change of this magnitude requires conviction. Not conviction that you are doing the “right” thing. Conviction that you want to take a risk and by risking, you will feel more alive. Call it a sense of adventure, or itchy feet, or the desire to learn and grow. Call it what you will, but I personally believe with all my heart that taking chances and living within the emotional upheaval that change creates are where I feel most alive. It is the place that Brene Brown has called “Daring Greatly”. I think I connect with Brene's work because her conception of vulnerability resonates so deeply with the values that I carry in my soul. I know, unfortunately from personal experience, that we don’t always have 80 years to experience our lives. We might not get to wait until retirement to finally do something “outside of the box”, to move beyond that often-constraining and occasionally soul-crushing “to do list” that we might think responsible, mature adults must maintain as their sole and driving focus.

So, I carry a deep sense of gratitude and appreciation for this opportunity. And a real sense of respect and love for my husband, who put himself on the line to give our family this gift. I recognize how brave he was to apply for the job at Santos, without regard to whether he was “qualified enough” or if “he could really move to Australia”. Stacey lives his life with great confidence and comfort in his skin. He has an incredible work ethic, and a high level of intelligence that helps him to quickly understand processes and human motivations. He is also a person with a high degree of ethical and moral integrity, best exemplified in his behaviour as a parent. He has always understood that his children are his children and thus, their care is as much his responsibility as it is mine. He has never turned a blind eye to their needs or their development as people. He is thoughtful and introspective, and almost always aware of the impact of his actions and words on others. It is through his example that I believe I have finally learned the power of living fearlessly, asking for what you want, and not settling for less because someone doesn’t believe it is the right thing for you. For those of you who don’t know, Stacey and I started dating in our first year of university. September 14th is the day that we met, and we’ve in essence been together ever since. There is no way to really describe the ups and downs of a 23-year relationship that started when we were in our late teens and continues after 7 years of dating, 16 years of marriage, 2 children, career changes, the deaths of 4 of our grandparents as well as my mother, an overseas move, and many other less dramatic but equally as impactful daily stresses and strains of life. We haven’t had a perfect marriage nor do I think we have even tried to have one, knowing the futility of such a goal. But, our life in this new world “Down Under” has recharged my sense of who we are as a couple and what we are capable of as people, professionals, and most importantly, as parents.

Happy boys on Stradbroke Island for our Christmas break

Swimming in the waterfalls at Mount Tambourine

Julia and Stacey both love to play in the ocean 

There have been no real surprises in the ways in which my children have risen to the challenge of this move. In a certain sense, they are "chips off the old blocks" and love the experience of adventure. My little adrenalin junkies! But, also, I believe that they took cues from our attitudes, values, and beliefs about the privileged opportunity we were being offered, and the strengths that our family possesses that would allow us to be successful in our new home. Julia was 8 1/2 when we moved here and she had to say goodbye to “her Nora”: a very close friend who she has loved since she was 3 years old. That was perhaps the hardest part of leaving Calgary for her, and thus, one of the toughest “goodbyes” for me, as her mum. Watching her heart break in that way, and co-living with her residual grief that is still with her today . . . that has been both painful and humbling for me. 

Nora & Julia - spent our "last night" in Canada together in our hotel

Only nine months later--together again and still "BFF's"

But Julia has received many gifts from her father, including his ability to draw on inner strength in times of emotional upheaval. And she has found her way here in Australia, making new friends, finding a new piano teacher and resuming her lessons, essentially ‘skipping grade three’ yet achieving good academic results in grade 4. She has learned to swim like a fish and speak the Aussie lingo. She has found a new Girl Guide group and made another great friend in a co-Brownie, Miss Nicola. Like her mother, Julia continues to try and find ways to process what has happened to her, and often speaks of how she’s changed and grown, as well as what she likes and doesn’t like about Aussie culture, and the people and things that she misses in her Canadian homeland. 

Julia's good friend, Nicola--her ray of sunshine in Oz :)

My Benny was only 4 1/2 when we moved and thus, I think his transition has taken a much different path. Because of his developmental stage, he didn’t leave Canada with the same friendship/school history as Julia. He was in more of a position to start fresh without feeling disloyal in doing so. He is 3/4 of the way through his first year of school (it’s called Prep), and I shake my head in disbelief when I realize that he will be starting Grade One in January. Ben has just now reached an age where friends are becoming more important, and his preferences are developing for activities and places. He is beginning to vocalise what he thinks about life here in Australia and what is important to him. And it is with a little bit of sadness that I have to recognize that his memories of living in Canada, of being Canadian, are not as entrenched as they are/were with Julia. He uses Aussie lingo, and he is starting to pronounce words with more of an Aussie accent. I think he is pleased as punch that his birthday falls on National Australia Day (Jan 26), as he seems to believe it is some kind of omen that he was meant to live in this country. Of course, I am committed to reminding him of who he is and where he came from and I do it often. And so (perhaps to please me?), he speaks abstractly of his mother country. But his memory of his early childhood will be memories of Australia, while Julia’s are memories of Canada. It will be so interesting to see how this shapes them both as teenagers and adults, particularly if we decide to return to Canada to live at some point in the future.

Celebrating Ben's fifth birthday on National Australia Day (he'll always have the day off school for his birthday)

Ben has a love affair with kangaroos

Since we really "settled" in Australia (in February--after we finally moved into our current house), I often find myself shaking my head in disbelief with respect to the life that we live in Brisbane. We rent a gorgeous home, right on the beautiful Brisbane river. We have made some good friends--people who have “been there” for us during this tumultuous year. We have sufficient financial resources to explore Australia. It perhaps seems enviable and annoying to those who watch us on Facebook from afar and wonder if we actually work or experience hardship in this new life of ours. Of course, it is not always obvious on Facebook that we do many things in relative isolation. That we live 12 000 km from people who have been our support and our family for the past 40 years. And that although we chose to move, it doesn’t mean that we didn’t make that choice with grief and regret about all that we would be giving up.

Our first family trip to the koala sanctuary--one week after moving here (we still look a bit shell-shocked)

Backyard bliss

Some of those amazing Canadian friends that we miss every day!

Noosa beach at Easter

We miss our Grandpa John and Nana xoxo

For some time now, it’s been my plan to write a blog about our overseas experience. As I’m prone to do, I’ve made many excuses about why I haven’t done it yet, but a few weeks back, I decided that today would be the day I would start my blog, so here it is. I know I use Facebook to write about a lot of things that happen to us, but Facebook has it’s limitations. I am keen to try a new forum for expressing myself, journalling our experiences, and reaching out to those who care about us, and wish to know what we are up to. I welcome your feedback and support about our adventures.

With much love from the land down under,

Kathleen