Adventures in Dissociation

Yesterday was the 2nd anniversary of my moms passing, as well as the 1st anniversary of me and my partners relationship. 
The first part of this story has me trying to change the date of our anniversary last month, citing that technically our first date was January 24th. My partner was a good sport about it, knowing that I was trying to fool myself and figure out a new way to cope with the day. Unfortunately, my idea didn’t execute very well… So we decided to go ahead and stick with our original Feb 1 anniversary, with a floating date for the celebration. Ok, this will work for me. 
This week wasn’t too bad considering all things, plus a last minute rush trip to the city the weekend before for a funeral. It just seemed like I couldn’t quite get back into my groove… I was at my receptionist job and I had gone to the bathroom to wash my hands and I just walked out of the bathroom with the tap still fully running. Ok, whatever it happens. Same day, I’m pulling files for the next day… I can’t find this one file. I look 4 times over the filing cabinet, through all the other spots it could have been put… Nothing. I ask one of the massage therapists to look too. Still nothing… until she finds the file in the stack of files I’ve already pulled. Wow, ok. Maybe it’s just been a long day.
I had originally intended to not take any clients or work on THE day, for obvious reasons. February 1st arrives, and somehow I’ve booked myself 2 coaching sessions and a cleaning job. How could this be?! I was supposed to take the day off so I could have all the feelings and pack for my trip to SF the following day. Apparently my coping mechanisms had other ideas. Right. 
I notice as the morning moves on, that I’m feeling a bit scatterbrained. My timing is off, I’m not nearly as present as I pride myself on being and my energy is just a bit haywire. “Ah well, just one of those days” I tell myself as I take some half assed grounding breathes. 
While I’m finishing up the cleaning job, a gf calls and we’re chatting about life stuff and she mentions how she knows it’s a sad day for me today and asks what am I up to. I tell her… Her response was “you might want to find some time to sit with this”. In that moment, I realize that I’ve booked myself completely solid for the next week, so there isn’t really even time if I wanted to, to just sit with it. Whoops. 
This question and answer thing, I guess it had the impact of connecting me to what I had done subconsciously and that realization threw me into some serious fog. It felt like some one came and stuffed my brain full of cotton and then made the world into this foggy slow motion place where even telling the girl at Starbucks that I wanted a breakfast sandwich and a cookie was the most impossible task. My words and sentences were no longer connected to the place in my brain that makes my mouth move in a way that makes sense. The girl at Canadian Tire looked at me like I was high when I went in and attempted to book my truck in for an inspection. I couldn’t communicate that my truck was making a weird sound and I had to travel the next day. Words felt like climbing a mountain. I was able to say “I’m really out of it today” in between attempts of explaining what I needed. Unfortunately I think that might’ve only proved her possible theory of me. I’m wishing that more people understood the difficulty some days are to some people.  
At this point, I’m fully aware I’ve launched my emotional self off the planet and there was no return trip in sight. Ugh. Getting home wasn’t much better, although I did somehow manage pack a suitcase with what I’m hoping were things that will be useful to me. I guess it’ll be a surprise! 
Today was a bit better, I feel a more capable of communication although I’m noticing that I’m still not totally back. I parked across the handicap accessible reserved spot on the ferry… You know, the one right in front of the elevator so disabled people can go upstairs to use the bathroom and get food. Yup, totally blocked. And then, me, the girl who double checks every detail of her flight/trip information, almost missed the first of two flights because I read my boarding time wrong AND I was at the wrong gate. I finally heard my name being called out as I was buying some snacks, “final boarding call!”. I ran like the wind. 
The day and my trip to SF aren’t quite over, but I thought I’d offer the highlight reel of what it’s like to live a day (a week?) in the life of a dissociation pro. 
Here’s hoping that I can allow my body and my brain to meet again soon!



I fucked up! 

I fucked up! And that’s ok, it’s even great. I have a bit of a shame over (shame hang over), so I’m just sitting with that and allowing myself to feel it all.

I was nervous going into this new experience recently. I put expectations and pressure on myself and set the space and reviewed my stuff and sweat the whole way through… And I missed a really important piece in the experience, likely because I felt so nervous. I fucked up. And you know what? That’s great, because I pushed myself to an edge and I reached for something I wanted. I

The D Word

This is really such a beautiful project. Since my mom died almost a year ago, I talk and think about death a lot. I find the subject can make people uncomfortable.. But it helps me process what I experienced and what I saw as I sat with my mom in the two years leading up, as well as the moments right before she made her final transition out of this life. She was the first person I loved who died, and she was the first person I ever touched without life. It was surreal. In that moment she stopped breathing, it became apparent how our physical bodies are truly just containers, I sat with her for hours afterwards, contemplating this and holding her hand. You can’t get much more of a real big life experience than death (besides birth of course), it will all touch us eventually.


As I process a completed relationship, I think a lot about what I learned and what I could do differently and how I’ve grown… A great girlfriend sent me this piece of writing and I realize just how true it rings for me and how it really is time to redirect and let go of this characteristic in myself. I no longer want to fix, I want a partner to co create with. To do the work together and as singulars. To be great together and as singulars, to hold each other up when needed and cheer each other on. I don’t need to do the work for both of us anymore.

I am so much, not too much ♡

“I used to love being the heroine in my love stories.

I rescued men.

I went after the broken, the unavailable, the ones with their hearts duct taped in boxes and covered in cement, with my cape flapping and my heart beating red in my chest.

The ones fresh out of relationships, the ones who needed to have their hearts opened up by the right woman.

I was always sure I was that woman.

I would be the one to break their fear of commitment.

I would open their hearts.

I’m a healer, an Empath, a giver, a supporter–I give a damn about this world and the people that I meet, hard.

I love and live with all of me and in doing so open people around me daily.

I no longer want to wear that cape.

I took it off.

I took it off after a few years ago a man looked me dead in the eye and said, “Janne, I’m not strong enough to love you.”

I laughed at that and said, “I’ve got you babe. I’ll carry my mountain and your mountain, if you’re weak–I can carry us both.”

Then I got pregnant and I needed to be held in return, I wound up alone as I processed an abortion.

I was not strong enough to hold my mountain and I wished he would have showed up to carry me.

The following year, a man and friend I loved dearly, stopped–he exited living and although I tried my darnedest to support him at different points in our friendship and during the romantic time we had spent with one another–I didn’t save him.

Love can’t save us.

We save ourselves.

No matter how strong a connection is–someone has to choose to show up and do the work.

I am strong but I am not strong enough to carry two mountains.

Yes, at times in partnership we will spend time being weakened by life and need support, care and we will lean on one another but I am not super woman.

I am not super woman.
I am not super woman.
I am not super woman.

I am a woman ready to love someone who can stand alone and stand beside me.

My cape is hanging on a nail, ready for the other days I must fight in this world–but it will not be worn in love anymore.

I retire from rescuing.

I do not have the heart of strength in my bones to do so anymore.”
-M. Grether

The Process

I went to a warm Yin Yoga class tonight. I had this craving to go a bit deeper with my healing and Yin is what presented in my mind. I love the low lights and warm air and deep, deep, deeper stretches and the surrender as you stay with each pose. I love how my mind goes to an exquisite place where my thoughts seem to echo from the sheer depth of placement. And time does not exist. 

When I got into Sphynx pose, the tears began to flow as images of my mom came into focus. I allowed it and stayed with my breath. She was always laughing, even when she couldn’t really talk anymore. Butterfly pose, brought me further tears and it was here where the voice inside gently whispered “the grief is embedded in your muscles”. It’s true, the mind body connection is very real, our posture and gate shifts as we carry more emotional pain. We protect our pain, like a wounded animal. Movement allows me to access the grief, movement invites the grief to show itself and flow through me instead of becoming stagnant. Emotional atrophy. I think the resistance is the wounded animal, afraid. Fear that the grief is the last connection with her here in this world, regardless of the fact that she’s no longer physically on this plain. 

Like seaweed in the warm pacific waters, I let myself float. I walked home through busy Friday night crowds around Granville street, with slightly smudged makeup and frizzy, oily unkempt hair. I was so deep in reflection, I didn’t see his face. I felt his energy and his gaze as he moved from the centre of the group and I heard his voice as we crossed paths on the crowded crosswalk…. “You’re really beautiful…”. I didn’t even look back, there was no need. An unconditional gift, offered and received. 

So much thanks ❤


I often wonder why I don’t get approached randomly… Well today, as I was getting off the skytrain from a toy shopping adventure, this guy on the train approached me and struck up conversation. He asked about my tattoos and whether I found it difficult to find work in Canada with them and then asked about what I did for work. We stood and chatted in the street for a few minutes and then went our seperate ways… Just as I turned to walk away he asked if he could have my phone number, I smiled and shook my head no.

Thanks random guy, I have a perma smile on my face! As much as I wonder if this clear bag of sex toys may have had something to do with it, I’m still incredibly flattered.

It takes real courage to approach someone you find attractive… Especially a total stranger on the skytrain. I wish more people had this courage in Canada (This guy was from Mexico)… Or maybe its just me?


I saw a lover I hadn’t seen since before my mom passed. It was never very serious between us, just very lustful. We mostly made out and joked about his disdain for camping versus my history of living in a school bus in an apple orchard at one point in my life. We didn’t have much in common besides our attraction to one another.
Recently, we got together after not speaking for many months. We were close, catching up on life and death. When I told him my mom had passed, his demeanor changed. I told him it changed me in a way I couldn’t describe. I asked him if he’d ever had such an experience… He had no words. His eyes were wide with what seemed to be fear and understanding as he nodded, yes. The fear of touching that painful wound, I recognized that fearful look. Later on, as we snuggled, he whispered “I missed you…” with such sweetness. This was not a place we’d ever shared before, such sweetness.
I’m beginning to sense that those of us who are left with the grief of losing those close to us, are branded with an mark of knowing. Something changes when you lose that someone and those who’ve gone through it can nod in knowing. There are no words.

Now, I’m not sure if this encounter influenced my dreamworld, but I had very vivid dreams of my mom last night. I dreamed that I was laying with my mom in her hospital bed, many months after she had passed, possibly even the present time. She opened her eyes and came back to life, breathing and talking. I told her to be mindful of how she breathes as she hasn’t used her lungs in quite some time and then she just got up out of bed and began walking. I said “Mom! You died like 4 months ago, this is insane!”. I was in complete disbelief that she could just come back to life in the same physical body (somehow my mind left out the fact that she’d been cremated, but thats ok).

Ah memories.