Blessed Be

Divides. Chasms.

Trenches between dreams and reality.  Invisible barriers with names. They’re crafty little spaces of contemplation and change. They can give rise to possibility, if tended to in such a way…

Halloween has come and gone. Following closely behind, the most recent full moon. I perused some emails and came across an article on how to live like it’s Halloween everyday. My curious nature had been poked thus I opened the email, and took a peek at the content. I wasn’t sure what to expect since the internet is rife with click bait. What I found was somewhat surprising. A little cliche, but the basis and content was palpable. The message had a voice. It was relatable and universal in it’s own right.

Celebration of roots and sacredness. The divine feminine. The article was an elaboration on modern day witches. Wise healers portrayed as nothing more. Women with gifts in modern day. A feminine portrayal of a journey many may never have considered or have forgotten.

How do you define a woman? Or a witch for that matter? The word witch itself is apt to conjure stereotypes. And if I were to insert the word pagan, what images might arise? How great of an influence did the middle ages have upon this melodious practice of art and soul? Is it not a dangerous and impossible game to make attempts at defining the nature of a woman? Many have tried. To cage that spirit. To define it. Quiet it. But that spirit, the idealism and truth that embodies woman can never quite be eliminated can it…

There is an intimacy, blessedness and devotional sense breathing within the sanctuary of the witch. How do you define something so undefinable. A witch, in essence moves in tandem with nature. True to her spirit. Undefined in her resiliency and beauty, she is a woman. Pure. Simple as she chooses to be. A pursuer of the matriarchy. Nurturing in spirit. She is what she chooses to be. The definitions can be as broad and captivating as the oceans and winds. Flames glowing quietly behind the blanket of night.

I think in this supposed modern era, we’ve lost and are losing many traditions that made the earth rich. Traditions that feed and nurture the soul. In all aspects of life there tends to loom some threatening idea attempting to silence some voice or another. Whatever the place in time, it’s important to feed a sense of belonging. Whether it be to one’s self, the world or one another. But silence I think can’t be observed without victims. Without far reaching consequence. Women have an immense depth of power at their disposal. Abundant virtues stemming from their sexuality, intuition, nurturing and spirituality. Ritual and tradition should be deemed sacrosanct.

Reverence for life and humanity resides at the core of the pagan philosophy. Like so many other preconceived ideas that have faltered in the face of judgment and fear, the path of the witch has endured it’s hardships. The plight of woman is no different. They are in their own ways related. Familiar to one another. It’s the same for witchcraft, shamanism and the like. At the heart of many spiritual concepts you will find similar beliefs within the core. I think the ideal state to be reached and conceived lies within. Leaving behind labels and misconceptions. Let the healers, dreamers, and lovers be. Fusion is the epitome. The cathedral of the heart where one can be fulfilled with the way of their choosing. Faithful to themselves and what they believe to be sacred. Free to roam. Free to choose.

What is life is not lived with magic and dreams? What is this earth without woman and the gifts she has to offer?

Ritual and reverence have their place in this world. Even if they are scoffed at and at times left behind. That makes them all the more powerful. I can’t imagine a world without the ancestry of tradition. Refreshed and brushed of these neglected ways can benefit the world. I think more than ever the world is in need of something nurturing. Something warm. A sisterhood of understanding. A sparking secret. A spirit in flight. Not the kind on a broom, or donning a pointy witch hat. But a sense of communing sisterhood. Of adorning nature with her rightful place. A memory unearthed. The healing of the spirit of woman, unleashed and flowing. Who is woman? What does she have to offer? What imprints are being left upon the earth?



Where we Stand

Are we living in a dream? Is this a parody of lives past? Some days this world seems like the stuff of nightmares. Some days I think we’ve made progress. Others I think we’ve just exchanged one form of suffering for another.

Are we stuck? Vulnerable to systematic subjugation? To a deniability of the humanity that we are all comprised of? This dark dismissal of what makes us human? How little needs to be seen, noticed and noted to affect change around us. What possibilities could be unearthed and created if a little more time and effort was devoted to humanity. What are we capable of? Are we this soul severed from the connective tissue of our core life force? What exactly does thriving mean? Is existence resigned to a constant reel of overplayed stagnation and suffering? Are we victims of politics, systems, policies and excuses? Rules or lies?

Why are our champions and advocates the ones who’ve suffered often times? Are onlookers so remiss? Who are the onlookers? What will it take to unlock the frozen state of apathy running rampant around the globe? It doesn’t take that much of a lengthy glance around to find suffering in the world. It’s easy to encounter binging on self satisfying inner statements of willful blindness. People who have suffered are often times the ones fighting to change the system. To change the world. They are the ones that should be protected. Instead they move about, navigating their pain and attempting to find ways to better life for themselves and others. To bring meaning to their pain and to hopefully change something for someone else. Because suffering like all other human emotions, is universal.

How many times have the words “that’s just the way it is” been uttered over the course of human existence. I’ve stared, blankly, at these types of responses. Felt the rage well up in me.  Sickened that the suffering of another human being could be idly dismissed. No second thought given. It’s just another day in the world. Just another problem to be rid of. How many times has denial and escape caused suffering? Change comes from sensibility. From the emergence of human spirit screaming into sight. It takes a soul that has become incensed, disgusted or carved in pain. Someone and someone’s who have fallen to their knees and known what the excruciating discovery of pain feels like. Bystanders can look on. But those hurting feel it through their bones in truth. Have we not all experienced pain? Suffering so deep and raw. What makes this so avoidable that we are unable to find some way, in all of the darkness, to shed some light on one another? Is it not discouraging or disheartening to know that at the core of our humanness we could do better?  With a little more effort, things could be different? Humans have made advancements, but not quite enough. If we are the governing force that rules this planet then it stands to reason that we, are the ones in control. What exactly are we doing with our privilege? With our resources, in all aspects of our minds, bodies and spirits?

What prompted this avalanche? Many, many experiences. The taste of unfairness nestling me into uneasy places. Places that didn’t feel like freedom. There are so many moments that stand out. But recently I was scrolling through some youtube comments. They were listed beneath a touching piece of music I’d just come across. There was a poster commenting on suicide. This person went into a bit of detail about their current life situation. Several people replied. Offered advice. Offered their emails and contact info, reaching out to this individual. And as much as this seemingly small act of kindness was, it touched me. It was symbolic. Real or not, because that’s what the internet does, makes us cynical. It was a reminder. Do we hear enough about the good in the world? Are we encouraged to create more of it? To love and uplift one another more. Not with easy words. But with deeds. For the sake of relieving the suffering of another? Or simply because above all we’re all a part of one race. Humanity. That somewhere, somehow, wishing for better hasn’t been enough.

I wanted to start this off discussing kindness. Then compassion came to mind. I struggled to find adequate words to express the sentiment I wanted to convey. Then love came to mind. And I thought, how does the world receive love? How does it give it? Deep within it’s the basis for existence I would think. And yet, how is it being expressed towards our earth and all of it’s inhabitants? I know in spiritual corners you hear of healing, love and light. But do we wait on that light to do the work for us? Maybe we are that light. I know the human condition has been addressed time and again. And will continue to be. I think our new found alleged advancement needs to be used creatively. In every way possible in the servitude of good things. It’s so easy to spread what seems dark. To hear the noise of that through everything. And it shows. It shows in the way we live.


Strangers in The Room

I opened the door. A vibrant sky poured out. Molten lava bubbled from my throat, burning away the last of silence.

The night was dark. The sky filled with screaming winds. My body moved against and with the torrent of air. The ground  was scattered with leaves. The scent of fall welcomed my sense of freedom. I’d walked out the door and left every stagnant stale emotion behind. I ran. The wind hit me. Again, and again. I ran more. The rain hit my skin. My senses coaxed. Urging me to let go of the weight pushing down on me. Music played in my ears. I drifted. Dragging a corpse behind me. Waiting for the shadows to curl out from the dark. I wanted to confront them. Wanted them to speak out so I could stand, as I was with the wind rushing against me, with a smile on my face.

I was recently thrust back into childhood feelings. A nemesis, ie a villain in my childhood abuse story is likely on his death bed. If not now, it will be approaching. I thought I’d detached from most of the emotions of the past. I thought. It wasn’t so as all these anxious emotions rose to the surface. I battled. My mind tossed pros and cons in my direction. I was considering the feelings of someone that had never cared for mine. The monsters were let out to play again. And as usual I was blindly being sucked into the vortex of what I tried so hard to run from.

I had to ask myself where I begin and where they end. What did I want to do with the remnants of the buttons that were being pressed here. All of these knots in my my mind. My heart always conceded. In some form or another. I don’t want to hurt anyone. But when is the line crossed?  When do I stop sacrificing myself? Pretense is a ridiculous notion. It’s a nothingness giving way to more nothingness. Pretending to be anything other than the core of your truth is a certain death. A violent cancer that builds disaster. When do I stop playing “their” version of a character in that twisted story. Here was this frail sick man, and my compassion kicks in. The part of me that wants to make sure I’ve properly said my goodbyes. The loss and sadness. The part of me that acknowledged the wasting of human life and potential.  Yet another part of me struggled. We had nothing to say to one another. There was awkward silence between us in the hospital. And here I found myself waiting. Waiting on what? Change? I could tell him I love him. I could be decent and help with things and make it easier on the family. I considered that option. I considered doing as I always had and try to be understanding . It wasn’t working anymore. I found myself becoming anxious and enraged. Their true selves began to poke out at me through the thin veil of the sadness of the situation. These were still the same people that had never protected me or been there when I needed them. And I, after all these years have grown tired of being discarded. It was a complex road  to navigate for me. And so I pulled back. I had to decline some things. I said no for my sake. For my emotional, physical and mental well being. I don’t want regrets. I don’t want to feel I’ve been inhumane. And it’s a struggle because I know they will never acknowledge what was done. It will never see the light of day. So what is my presence going to change? I’ve had to come to terms with doing my best and being at peace with that. After all this time, it’s my well being that needs to take priority.

I’m still tangled inside with the situation. I can only hope for the best resolution possible of a murky past, while looking forward to the future. Meeting life with understanding and compassion where I can, and where I must, pull back and protect myself when no one else will.

And so I hit the road tonight. I ran. Trying to wash some of this frustration from my system. Deciding or attempting to reconcile these feelings that have to tried to eat me alive more often than I care to count. What I can do is stare them directly in the eye and create the best possible ending. I need to accept and acknowledge that there is only so much I should claim responsibility for and leave the rest to the fates to decide. You can’t change the mind of a corrupt heart. You shouldn’t stick around to play games with it either. But you can walk into the dark and make it a little less scary. Bring things to the surface in whatever way enables you to find your peace. No explanations are owed. In the end it’s ourselves we have to live with.



October is finally here. I’ve been waiting alongside all the autumn lovers I know. Fall has been a little finicky this year. But finally there is a bit of chill in the air as we wait on the season to take a deep breath, and let go of it’s wonder.

Spiraling magic sets a stage. Cozy comforts call to us. Beautiful hues glinting in the sunlight. The feeling of being tightly wrapped in homecoming. Autumn comes upon us with gentle rose gold kisses. Sunbeams caressing everything in sight. Cicadas chiming beneath the subtle glow.  I don’t know a better feeling than the magic autumn carries.  A nostalgic reminder of comfort and contentment. It’s a mystically choreographed time of year. A gorgeous blend of colors. Images. Scents. Warmth and connection. A bewitching breath upon creation.

Autumn is so very symbolic. Life falling away but doing it so very beautifully. Majestically interpreting life, offering it up for our senses. It quietly and hypnotically weaves enchantment. The sun is inviting. Delicate with it’s touch. The chill in the air devastatingly just right. Oppositely you have the wind and rain. They usher in a sense of power. A threshold awakening the next season to come. I stand in awe of it every year. It speaks. In such myriad ways. Nudging towards night, to the unfolding of winter and going within. Naked tree branches tell of change. Adorned in their bareness.

Nostalgia kindles within the red fiery foliage. Dips into the golds and oranges. Decoration and celebration build excitement. This love for the mischievous sentiment of Halloween. Tricks and treats. Welcomed shivering fear and supernatural anticipation. Glowing pumpkin faces against the backdrop of darkness. Witches. Specters. A cloud covered moon speaking quietly.  It’s always been a season with such an unspeakable draw. It brings with it so many beautiful ways to indulge our senses. It’s endless movement of the soul. Fascination.

Striking elements,  the windy rainy days speak for themselves.  The tempest winds blow through the trees. Leaves fall and spiral. Scatter through the air, with force and conviction. Strewn about to settle anywhere, and everywhere. A brilliant visual of chaos. Winding and mesmerizing. Autumn winds have the ability to reach within and change things. Sweep them away. It is power. But it carries something unspeakable. It stirs something otherworldly. The soul glides within it. Caught up in the spell, singing and sighing.

Lets not forget the allure of Pumpkin spice and everything nice. Pumpkin flavored and scented everything. The indulging aroma of it all.  Pure comfort is an art. Pull out some Candles. Warm your hands with mittens. Decorate. Remember comfy socks. Hoodies. Family. Nestled hugs. Firelight. Burning wood. Dark skies. Shorter days. Thick blankets. The sound of crunching leaves beneath your feet. Sipping a warm drink in the chilly air. Watching the steam rise like it has a secret it wants to impart. Quiet nights feel like hideaways. And scarves, hugging  you gently. There aren’t enough scarves to ever be tired of them.

Warm glowing lights in the distance beckon. They signal home. Twinkling in the early evening. A crow caws in the distance. And trees rustle. Like a finger reaching out in the shadows, smiling, night beckons. Evoking memories, prompting you to enjoy. Recollecting the romance and scenery, childhood memories and creature comforts. The imagination and spirit of it are endless. Priceless. Picture perfect. 


WANTED: Deviation

Serious, tight pinched faces. You know the kind. The ones you just know are going to cringe. Cringe when you deviate from what seems proper. From the accepted. I have to confess, sometimes it’s fun to watch the look of surprise form on their faces. A look the splinters left, after the massive blockage is yanked out…*snickers just a little.

Have you ever had a moment where you catch yourself being overly serious? Yes, right? It’s so easy to get caught up in so called “adulting.” The fun gets sucked out of everything. Myself I’ve found it happening all too much. It slowly starts to creep up on me. My heart then nudges me. It starts to tell me to get my shit together. Hey you! It says to me. Yeah you! Are you sitting there wondering why you’re bored again? Why yes, yes I am…thanks for asking. Glad you pointed that I out, I reply.  And no, not out loud, to anyone that might be wondering. I was glad for the little bit of guidance. Someone needs to talk some sense into me when I’m making too much of it. Humor and fun are light, lessening the burden of overthinking. There is an exception though. If you have a bit of a dark devious side, then maybe some thinking is a good thing. The kind of humor that takes planning…wink wink.

Life can have a tendency to suck the life out of us. How funny is that, considering what the word “life” actually means. So I’ve been on this little quest. Trying to remind myself when I’m lost in the land of the cranky, to snap out of it. I’m big on choosing paths in life. I tend to believe that we have more choice available to us than we sometimes see. I want to optimize my options. And if I’m being too damn serious, then something has to change. The world is filled with seriousness. It’s just too much some days. My inner monster child starts to rebel. My humor starts to trickle and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.  And I really wouldn’t want to.

I took my sinister savage out for test drive. Dusted off the rust and gave myself a good kick in the arse reminder. Looking for a flash flood deluge, I opened the doors to let myself get swept away. Away from the over thinking, the carnage of too much mind rigidity, and remembered that I was in fact, in possession of a sense of humor. In possession of joy.

The ball started to roll. Downhill. Taking me with it, getting me some really great smiles from my daughter. She knows that look in my eye. The plans in motion twinkle. And then I divulged my plans. Picking at her while getting my fix. And sent off my email.

My daughter had missed a few days of school. I was getting the usual million emails and phone calls from the school notifying me. I replied;

“My daughter was abducted by aliens. Just kidding. She was absent on the 11th and 12th.” And off it went.

Am I not taking my parenting duties seriously? HA. I must not have been the time I signed “Nicki Minaj” on a permission slip either. Life is way too serious. This a drop in the bucket of examples. But the point is there. There are too many guidelines in this world. Blah blah blah is all I hear. The devil is in the details they say…

The element of surprise sweetens the pot. The eccentricities of life make it amazing. I can’t say enough about being creative with life. Dress it up. Dress it down. Hack life. I love giving it a reason to sit back and smile at me. Wondering, “where the hell did that come from?” It makes me giggle just a little more and lets me know that there’s so much more where that came from. Perhaps some secrets for telling another time…



NO. It’s One syllable. Two letters.

There have been times when I’ve felt the need to perform the sign of the cross when uttering it. A little dash of holy water here and there never hurt either.

If you don’t want opposition, don’t say it. If you want safety and ease at all times, don’t dare speak that formidable forbidden word.

I’m not going to complicate this point. It’s straight forward. Maybe we’re told it’s hard because that keeps us quiet. Sometimes the mind encourages us to feel things are more than they appear. I’m not discounting the difficult feelings. But don’t let them take your no from you. When they do, speak louder. Repeat it. Over and again til they’re so sickened with you that they can no longer stand it. Be firm in your peace. In your heart. In your mind. Move on purpose. Because if you don’t, you risk suffocation. Can you tolerate being smothered? Do you want to stay inside? Deep down where it’s warm, comfortable and unresponsive?

However your no takes shape within you is yours to yield. Heed the warning signs when it starts to slip from your fingers. It’s so easy to become invisible. To slowly become extinct.


Fertility Rite~OM the Night

The beating of wings stirs whirlwinds, angels echo down the hall…

I turn my head to see where the voices are coming from. I’ve tried to hold it together for so long. These ideas of right and wrong. The whispers are no longer invisible. Holding a light to them, I can entertain the what ifs. What if I broke the rules, completely? Shadow and light chase me down. They’re pounding on the door. If I walk away from all of these expectations, what then? I slip away into hand carved lullaby’s…

I remember many nights spent by my window when I was younger. Gazing at the sky, I lost myself. Let myself escape into the pitch of dark. The peace of it was comforting. Unspoken. It seems that even back then the noise of what others wanted me to be was alive and well. I come up against that noise many years later. Tired of hearing it, I want to tear the atmosphere with my teeth. This savage wilderness pushing up against my inner layers. I’m tired. Fed up with having this veil drawn across eyes that tire of the view.

OM the night is approaching. The opening ceremony bringing with it a vivid symbolism. A butterfly release. Depicting in essence, the transforming journey. Many of us have been traveling, in individual ways. Our peace to be found within varying shades of exploration. The us in search of our true shape. Breaking free of the enveloping we once were. We honor the healer within. Breathing upon glowing flames, extending their reach. Spirits reaching for wildfires.

Night will follow. Our respective butterflies being released before nightfall to find a safe place to rest. Beautiful creatures that earned their metamorphosis. The old falling away, revealing the new. The struggle of escaping a stagnant shape. Something to behold in the capacity of their resilience.

So what of these voices trailing behind? They’ve become a rumbling. A thundering gallop. My heart bent intently on hearing just what they have to say. Like the butterfly shedding it’s cumbersome cocoon, I no longer want to carry dead weight. Releasing the sound of the past. Facing the future with different eyes. I walk back into the night. Remembering we’ve known each other all this time. Knowing, this time around, the light of strength is more than enough to lead my rebellion. To shape sound. Enough to recreate my version of peace. Droplets of color rain down on me.

Celebrate yourself. Celebrate one another.

S. Mallory

Burning Gold

I reach into those places. Pull out a note or two. Dive again and find my wings. Soaring. The chill of remembrance runs across my skin…

The summer is speeding by. I’m not sure where time is going, it just disappears so quickly. One thing I do know is that it isn’t waiting on anyone. I’m feeling nostalgic these days. Summer was approaching only a few weeks ago. I was taking notes. I wanted to make this one a memorable one. Something to soothe the difficult times that had been casting shadows over my days. I wanted change. To unearth some life. I needed beauty.

Simplicity is a word that’s tossed around casually in spiritual speak these days. I’m not one to want to define things necessarily. I do however think there is a special kind of peace to be found there. Something to be molded. I want to approach my days like a scavenger hunt. Building on excitement. Holding the things I love close to my heart. Digging for what makes me flourish. Thriving on discovery and bliss.

I started listing in my mind all the ways I could weave new memories. How could I create or recreate certain feelings? One idea spiraled into another. Reminders that it’s easy to forget what makes us happy, but it’s also so easy to remember. Knowing this, pieces began to move, my summer started to emerge.

I had all these little blooms tucked away inside of me. I just needed to look. I was being taken by surprise. The rush of something new moving me. Possibilities poking around.

The heartbeat of harmony was nudging me. Whispering to me. Asking me how much life I wanted to take in. How much did I really want to see. What was I really willing to give up to infuse my days with every possible way to feel happy? Things get hidden in the details. There are so many simple moments that we can easily shape. We need to be reminded of the childlike simplicity that keeps us vibrant.

So what makes you smile? Deeply. Do you remember what your heart rushing feels like?  When do you slip away into peace? What brings you comfort?

I can’t lie. I’m feeling like the gentle brilliant shimmer of a setting summer sun. Captivated and spun. Weaving in and out of dreams. Summer has always felt like magic. But it isn’t just summer. It’s every day. Finding those secretive burning suns inside of us. Moments we can shape to kindle something never fading.

Here’s to finding that sweet spot…

When He Comes to Call

Dear neighbor,

Today I have a special request. It seems like you’ve lost track of something. Maybe you’ve become forgetful, somewhat absent minded.

I should probably help you out. Be a kind neighbor and lend you a hand. In the event that you’d like to keep peaceful relations, I’ll gladly explain how you might want to approach the subject.

Sometimes situations can get a little sticky.

Let me explain a little further…

One night, while I was watching a supernatural documentary (of all things) I was startled. Jumping out of my skin startled. I screamed. Loudly! A shadow caught my eye. From the left hand corner. Something strange was going on. There was a noise. The ringing of a bell. And this strange creature. I’ll give you one guess as to what this completely unexpected phenomena was. I will admit, I laughed. It was funny. For a little while at least. So dear neighbor, have you misplaced a pet?

It seems as though your furry family member has taken a liking to my home. He’s been making his way through my screen. Uninvited. Like a furry little specter, creeping around my house. That day he startled me was cute. I had no qualms with your pretty kitty. Until…

I’m almost certain your pet isn’t coming around for the ambience and decor. He seems to have taken a liking to my trash can. Zeroed in on it with a mission. He’s a vigilante. Coming around in the dark of night through my screen in search of bounty. It seems I need to keep my trash under lock and key.

So dear neighbor, as endearing as you might find this situation to be. Please stop misplacing your pet. Remember to feed him. Remember he belongs to you. I know you don’t believe me when I voice my complaints. You’ve made as much clear, cats can’t rip open trash? Did I hear you right?

Sigh. I know what I saw. It wasn’t a trick of the eye. This busy little critter, eyes aglow in the night. He does come around. I’ve seen it with my own eyes, on more than one night. So what do I do when that jingle comes around? When the jangle of his little kitty bell echoes in the darkness? Maybe the next time I’ll pull out my phone. Capture the moment just right. Create a playful montage, add a little music. A silly little video just for you. A neighborly thing to do, a friendly gesture of sorts.  Something to remind you in case you forget.

The Sharing of Voices

That girl. That face. I knew her somehow. She swept by me. I didn’t recognize her at first. The flash of the moment drew me in. I had to look twice.

She was alluring, brimming with quiet innocence. So bright, alive. An ethereal statement reflected outwards.

Today we met. This girl and I. I felt my heart swell. I wanted to run and tell someone. I wanted to ask if they remembered that mysterious girl I’d kept mentioning. A current of recognition was moving. Deep down. In ways that hadn’t in so long. A rush spilled over. Home felt familiar in this place I’d been searching for. It seemed like forever, and this moment was it. I’d been stumbling in the dark. This time, someone caught me as I fell. I no longer had to question whether or not there was a proverbial light at the end of my tunnel. My heart had touched it. Touched it so that it had marked me and wouldn’t let itself be forgotten. Pandora’s box was no longer a long evaded mystery.

There is an unpredictability to life. Things are thrown at us that we don’t always understand how to catch. It can leave us on our knees, picking shrapnel from our flesh. The spectrum of human emotion can be so difficult to unravel. We’re up one minute, down the next. Confusion is easily consumed, leaving us with no definite answers. Ultimately our compass is the voice we must tune into. With determination. Some things are easier to accept than others. Life can be more than unfair at times. What can we do with that unfairness? We can decide. We can create something beautiful for ourselves where we might not have considered.

It hurts less if you let it go…

I don’t think anyone should have to go this road alone. This renewed me I met, opened  new doors. Our reunion was facilitated by a caring system of women at SASS (Sexual Assault Support Services for Women of S.D.G.&A.) There are some things best carried together. SASS has been a stepping stone for change and support. A safe place to explore my inner and outer worlds.

Counseling sessions left me feeling different. Even when I didn’t see it, when I couldn’t. I’d walked away from myself many times. I’d set myself down. Forgotten where I’d hidden away. Forgotten to pick myself back up. SASS gave me a pivotal outlet. Somewhere to be advocated for with understanding, where I could choose to take chances on myself. Old ideologies were tossed out when I gave myself permission to create anew.

Beneath the things weighing me down, I found a dreamers heart. A heart believing that “they” and “that” aren’t the final deciding factors in life. Daring not to give away what could be taken back. I couldn’t help but search for something more.

SASS was an encouraging force of comfort. Time spent there was an investment in myself. I let myself wander even when I was unsure. I took a step. Then another. Being in the company of supportive women empowers healing. When things are hard compassion can be vital. I’ve left many sessions feeling wrapped in the warmth of a hug. I’ve found laughter, strength and care through SASS. The environment has never felt clinical.  Many resources were made available in a very relaxed setting. Walking in you become part of the furniture, fostered by a sense of ease.

I was invited with a spirit of warmth. A needed understanding that I could undertake the process of helping myself see my true reflection. I was so eager to reconnect with viable parts of myself. These pieces of life, with time and care, became integral parts of my new sense of being. I was supported through processing my reality. A gift I readily gave myself, even in moments that were difficult. Those difficult moments were made easier with SASS.

I hope this post finds itself sharing a glimmer of light. That it might offer a glimpse of opportunity. You are worth the risk. Please reach out, or support someone you know in doing so.

*Sexual Assault Support Services for Women of S.D.G.&A @ (613) 932-1755


*24/7 Crisis and Support Lines @ 1-877-544-6424