Real.

I just read over my previous blog entry.

It feels great to let out some secrets.

I have no shame for once in my life, and damn, it feels good.  Cheers to that.

31 years old. 29 & 30 were rough.

This blog serves as an outlet for me as I continue on my path of healing.  I had considered 2010 reining champion of the "worst year of my life" awards, until 2011 rolled around. Now I think I will just refer to the combined time period as my "phoenix years"; years in which I was knocked down, beaten, and thrown into the flames, only to shake off the ashes and be re-born as a stronger, healthier, and more blissfully aware women filled with love for life.
  

There are many things that I plan to write about on this website, plenty of stories I plan to tell, and secrets I intend to share.  However, as I have mentioned before, I am not doing this in sequence.  I am not telling my tale based on the real chronological timeline.   There is no "order" to my blog..... I am writing about events as I need to so that I can move on from them and heal the wounds one by one.   

So for context, and until I get around to writing about everything, I thought I should give some background.  The following is a list of just some of what really "went down" during those years, and what's lead me to where I am...."write" now:

******************************************************

December 3, 2009 - I file for personal bankruptcy after a lifetime of careless spending, an eating disorder that cost me thousands over the course of 13 years, and my never-ending need to fulfill foolish, unnecessary "wants".

February 2010 - Dad is diagnosed with FTD. 

April 2010 - I get engaged to the love of my life!

July 2010 - After months of fighting, my miserable ego devours my relationship and my engagement falls apart 3 months before the wedding.

September 2010- I hit rock bottom spiritually, mentally, emotionally, financially.

October 2010 - Dad is diagnosed with ALS.

January 2011 - I admit myself overnight to St. Joe's hospital for 24 hours after a serious relapse in my bulemia.  My heart rate was at 39 BPM.

February 2011 - My 6 year old nephew undergoes emergency brain surgery to remove a tennis ball sized tumour from his brain.

May 29, 2011- My father loses his battle with FTD & ALS and life is forever changed.  I have lost my daddy.

*************************************************************************************************

Of course there are many details left unsaid here, plenty of pain unexpressed, loads of emotional baggage left unpacked.  However, this simple list serves as a solid reminder of where I have been, what my family has been through, and where I have managed to arrive.  It really does take a massive spiritual beating to allow you to see the light.  I am not thrilled to have gone through what I have, but I am pleased I was able to make the best of it, and really come out swinging.  It is like they always say; God, or in my personal preference, The Universe, only deals out to you what it knows you can handle.

Well I handled it.  Barely.  But here we go, on the up and up, and I can feel my trajectory gaining momentum everyday.  I was told by my astrologer this past month that Pluto has been hanging around in my charts for a few years now.  Pluto represents transformation, destruction, creation, regeneration, healing, renewal, power struggles, and upheaval.  I was also told that he is not leaving my "house" anytime soon, and that I should expect more grief and wreckage.   But you know what I say?  Screw you Pluto.  The light has my back.

October 29, 2011. We lost Dad 5 months ago today.

I visited my Father over this past weekend.  Well, I visited his graveside, and spoke to his spirit that I know is always around.  I do “visit” him often, asking for his presence in the everyday, while at home in my apartment, on the subway, walking down the street, looking for an answer to tough questions in my life….. It’s funny how different it is when I go to the cemetery in Exeter and try and do the same.

It makes me very sad, but also angry.  It is really only when I go his grave site that my anger and frustration about his death really “get” to me.  As my mom and I spoke to once again on the weekend, Pops really is in a better place now than if he were still with us here on Earth with his illnesses.  The ALS and FTD were only going to get uglier, the reality harsher, and eventually there would be pain.  Dad was never really in any physical pain while with us, and for that we are all so, so, grateful. 

Dad's resting place now officially has a headstone.  PEARSON.  1947----2011.  Optimism, Courage, Humour.  It is not pretty, I have to admit.  It is a gorgeous marble, the etching is precise, the wording as we requested.  But what it represents is an ugly thing, and I don’t think I will ever grow to like it one bit.  Mom was less than enthusiastic the first time she saw it too, unhappy with the placement of the text, the size of the fonts….One thing we both agreed on however, was that the extraneously long dash that they put in between Daddy’s birth and Death dates was fitting.  Here’s why:

The week of Dad’s funeral was a tornado of happenings.  I think my whole family existed in a fog, a surreal blur of 24 hour days blending together with a combination of wine, exhaustion, visiting family and friends, and condolence cut meat tray after condolence cut meat tray.  One rock solid figure during that time was our funeral director Colin.  He was, and is, an amazing young chap who guided a group of Type A, mourning women through the steps required after a loved one’s life ends. We really got to know Colin during that brief period, and he us.  The day of Dad's burial, Colin read a poem to our close family during the casket closing.  He said he thought it really spoke to how Dad must have lived his life.  Colin didn't know Dad when he was alive, but got real insight after witnessing the past weeks' events; hour long waits for visitation, lineups out the door, jovial laughter and remembrance, Nylons blasting through the speaker system, a life-size cardboard cut-out of John Wayne standing on guard in the funeral home, Dad's convertible parked saucily on the homes front lawn..... This is the poem:

HOW DO YOU LIVE YOUR DASH
by Linda Ellis

I read of a man who stood to speak
At the funeral of a friend.
He referred to the dates on her tombstone
From the beginning…to the end.

He noted that first came her date of birth
And spoke the following date with tears,
But he said what mattered most of all
Was the dash between those years.

For that dash represents all the time
That she spent alive on earth…
And now only those who loved her
Know what that little line is worth.

For it matters not, how much we own;
The cars…the house…the cash,
What matters is how we live and love
And how we spend our dash.

So think about this long and hard…
Are there things you’d like to change?
For you never know how much time is left,
That can still be rearranged.

If we could just slow down enough
To consider what’s true and real,
And always try to understand
The way other people feel.

And be less quick to anger,
And show appreciation more
And love the people in our lives
Like we’ve never loved before.

If we treat each other with respect,
And more often wear a smile…
Remembering that this special dash
Might only last a little while.

So, when your eulogy’s being read
With your life’s actions to rehash…
Would you be proud of the things they say
About how you spent your dash?

I loved this. It moved me.  It brought me to tears. Again.  It is so perfect and so real.  My Father LIVED his dash.  He really did.  And he inspires me to do the same.  To really live.  So, as a reminder, I now have what I affectionately refer to as my "Daddy dash".  It's a permanent fixture on my arm, and a permanent mantra for how I plan to live my life.  I will live MY dash.  Thank you Pops, for all you have taught me and everyone else you have touched in this world. I love you.

It's Autumn!

So I had a very brisk bike ride into work this morning.  Brrr!!

However, I found myself peddling with a huge grin on my face the whole time.  The crisp scent of fall filled the air as I rode down Yonge street in the wee hours of the morning, before anyone else was awake, the only other vehicle on the road, the Blue Light Bus.

I am pretty happy right now, and grateful for all that I have.  There is no reason to live in history, or re-live past pains when there is so much to be content with NOW, and to look forward to in the future. 

Late yesterday afternoon I received word that, YES, I had been formally accepted in the Meg Telpner Culinary School starting this spring.  The essay worked!  And as I plan this next venture on my own, another exciting opportunity  has revealed itself!  Look for my “nourishment centre project” in the future as well; a collaboration being dreamed up with the help of a dear friend and fellow hard knock survivor.  This of course, is just one more thing to be happy about.  I am also thrilled to have a great job, amazing friends, and love to spare.  This is it. 

Happy Thursday to all.  Peace, Love.

An essay.

I decided a long time ago that I needed to create an alternate career in the wellness world.  As the following essay states, this idea has been rumbling deep inside of me for a long time, and I am taking yet another step towards my goal.  I am applying to be a student in Meg Telpner's "Culinary Nutrition Expert" course in the Spring of 2012.(www.meghantelpner.com/).  I was required to send in an essay explaining why I want to be a student of her craft, and how I planned on using my newfound nutritional knowledge.  I wanted to share it:

My Essay:

Why I want to be a Stellar Student of Meghan Telpner’s School of Culinary Nutrition

By: Meghan Pearson

Why do I want to be one of the very first students in Meghan Telpner’s “Culinary Nutrition Expert” course?  Well, I share the same name with her.  And I spell it with the proper “H” insertion as well.  That “H” is a rare thing, so I think this is just plain meant to be!  Not enough proof?  Okay, well here goes...

I have spent the last ten years working in the television industry here in Toronto, knowing deep down that my true passions lay elsewhere; in the kitchen, and at the yoga studio.   I have a very intimate relationship with food, having battled bulimia and anorexia for many years.  It is sad to recall how much I despised food back then, and now I savour every morsel I consume, and cook for others with love as often as possible.  I also found a gorgeous relationship with yoga while going through some very low times in my life, and together, proper nutrition and physical attention has really improved my entire universe exponentially. 

Once I really acknowledged that I was meant to work in the culinary and health worlds, I decided to take most of 2010 off from “the Biz”, and instead explored my options.  I took the Can Fit Pro Fitness instructor course in order to get a taste of what it would be like to teach group exercise, and also took a job as head office manager with the vegetarian restaurant chain “Fresh Restaurants”.  These were “it”.  I knew I wanted to further explore how I could flop my career, and decided to move towards a final career goal of wellness cook and yoga teacher.  Obviously in order to do this, I’d need proper certification, and to do that, I would need some cash.  So this is where I am today; working full time on a morning TV show in Toronto (that I LOVE!), making the money I need to take your course!

My hope is to develop a personal wellness business to help women like me source the balance they need in life, and feel good from the inside out.  Having battled and beat up on my own body for so many years, I know the importance of feeding your body and soul with all the best possible ingredients you can get your hands on.  I spend hours in the kitchen currently, cooking elaborate vegetarian meals for one, and never fail to plate a pretty pile of food for myself, even on the busiest of days.  I have an uncanny ability to store any food related factoids in my brain, and have a ridiculous culinary vocabulary that I suppose I developed during my many hours spent in front of the Food Network.  Now I don’t even have cable, but I do know that the television industry is a stressful one, and I hope to keep my connections in the field, and have already began to recruit potential clients to help get on the wellness wagon with me next year.  

I love food.  I love my food processor.  I love my knives, my cutting board, my mixing bowls.  I love thinking about the future and it including me being able to prepare and share my delicious knowledge gained from your course with the world.  Heck, I love the simple idea that I will have even a small sampling of Meg’s amazing knowledge in my repertoire.  I am ready to commit to this, and will be Meg’s mini-Meg supreme.  Top of class.

Thank you for reading, and hope to see you soon!
Meg Pearson
:-)

Dad Chapter 1A - FTD

This morning my family and I walked in the London Ontario based walk for ALS research.  We decided to do this earlier this year, and managed to raise well over $2000 for the foundation, and we all walked under team leader, Mom, for team "Mr. P's People".  That's what a lot of my father's students had called him.  We all sported purple attire in honour of Dad's fave colour, and hit the 5K trail in Sunnybrook Park.  It was a great morning!  I managed to cry only the once....as my sisters and I watched a fellow about Dad's age rise up from his wheelchair to take the final few steps across the finish line.  He had ALS.  He was able to do the walk this year.  Dad would have loved to have been there too, smiling and giving a big "thumbs up" to everyone he met along the way.....

With my Dad, the ALS came second.  First it was the FTD.

REWIND

Wednesday, February 10, 2010

I receive and email from my mother that day that would change my world:

"Doug and I had an app't with the family doctor and we have found out that Dad has FRONTOTEMPERAL DEMENTIA.  It is not reversible and we cannot do anything to stop it from progressing.  If you want to know more about it check our WebMD for more info and the dr tells me that we will read stuff there that we do not want to hear.  I have not yet looked it up so I cannot tell you what there is.  His brain showed shrinking of the frontal and temporal lobes.  Dr. tells us to go off to Florida, because there will not be any episodes that we have to worry about.  When we get back we are to see him after seeing the neurologist on April 1st.  I was going to call you but I could not get through a conversation with Bronwyn without crying.  I will also send this e-mail to Steph and we can talk later when I get my head around this latest info.  Love, Mom"

I didn't get it.  I had never even heard of "FTD".  Immediately, I hopped online and began researching...I needed to know.  Of course, within minutes I found out things I didn't want to hear.  Dad was going to die.  Not right away, but a lot sooner than anyone ever plans.  He was a retired teacher; such an intelligent, wise, witty, clever guy.  He was an athlete, playing slo-pitch, volleyball, hockey and golf his entire adult life.  How could this have happened to him?

My family got together the following weekend to discuss.  That just so happened to be "Family Day" weekend.  The five of us gathered to eat, drink, snow sled at the local hill, chat, laugh and be as we always are.  We played with my niece and nephews, lazed around the house, and did as we had always done while all together.   One evening we found ourselves all huddled in a group in the middle of the kitchen, crying.  We knew things were going to drastically change from that point on.  I will remember that moment for the rest of my life.

Looking back in time, we tried to recall any hints pointing to Dad's intruding illness.  It was June of 2009 that we began to suspect a hearing problem; Dad would often respond to us by asking, "what?", rather than answering the question.  This was strange for a couple of reasons...with daddy, it was never "what", but always "pardon".  And he clearly wasn't hearing us, right?  No - now we know it was not because he didn't hear the questions...it was that he didn't know how to answer them.  His brain had already begun to jumble up words.  Shortly after that, he began misplacing them, not knowing how to verbally express what he knew he wanted to say.  Soon it got to the point that he could only answer yes or no questions...and then by December 2010, he lost his words entirely.  At this point it was a lot of "Pearson family sign language" and "thumbs up or down" that got us by.  

It makes me sad to think that my father knew what was happening to him through all of this.   This wasn’t Alzheimer’s.  My dad never really forgot anything.  He knew who we all were, who he was, and what was happening to his mind and body.  It must have just killed him to not be able to talk about it.

But we all stood by, saddened by what was going on, but firm in our resolve to support and stay positive as long as possible.  This was FTD.  We could handle this.  In truth though, I was scared.  Terrified.  

That was the beginning of our family's 15 month journey with FTD & ALS.   I have a newfound disdain for 3 letter acronyms.

POST 2.

I sat with my new therapist Tuesday morning.  We met at 7:30am in her pretty, safe, and comfy Parkdale office/yoga space.  We spent an hour chatting, sharing our backgrounds, and feeling out whether or not we were to be a good "fit".  Because as well all know (or at least those of us that have explored the world of the psychotherapy), you need to feel right and at ease with your doc in order for it to be worth your while (and theirs).  I had been seeing another "relational therapist" for the past year on and off, and we were like a square peg and a round hole.  So I call my new therapist, my new therapist,  because I liked her.  Alot.  I think were are going to be a great fit.  :-)

Now back to Tuesday morning.....I woke up and went for a run before sunrise.  I ran and thought.  I swore to myself that no matter what, I was going to be 100% honest, raw, and real that morning.  No more hiding, no more shame, no more putting on a show.  And that is what I did.  I told my new therapist things that I have not talked about in years.  I told her things that I have been too ashamed to say out loud.  I cried, I laughed, and I shared.  And it felt good. 

That is where I am now.  Finally.  I am 30 and ready to tell the whole truth.  The last 15 years have been a bit of a scam.  But I have really only being fooling myself.