Julianne Harvey

I’d love for this world to make sense. For people to take responsibility when they mess up. To own it by naming it out loud and saying, “I’m sorry. I’ll try to do better in the future.”

So many things are out of our direct control. We can’t make anyone do anything. Not one of us can stop people’s rage and fear on the Internet right now over the refugee crisis. I long for kindness and weep at the vitriol I read and see. It’s agonizing to live in such a knee-jerk world; so hostile, fearful and rejecting.

I know that real change only comes from the inside. You can’t legislate it, mandate it or manipulate your way to it. Transformation blooms in the heart, watered by pain and loss. It’s always an inside job. Looking to the Internet for solace and compassion is a dead-end game. We must go inside for these valuable commodities, growing them like a garden, and drawing those we know, trust and love near to share them.

Writing these things is calming for me. It’s isolating to be sensitive at this time and place, with the world such a cruel mess. We are all capable of wounding each other. I must take responsibility for the awful things I say and do, extending mercy to myself as much as to others.

I crave certainty, honesty and beauty. Those qualities are in short supply right now, but when they are scarce we must breathe them to life in ourselves. We can make space for love, forgiveness and generosity, even if others are calling publicly for the opposite.

It’s time to slow down. To inhale and exhale. To stare out the window and pet the cat. To indulge in a chocolate bar. To feel reassured that tomorrow the sun will rise and we will all get another chance to do a little bit better.

It won’t be dark forever. We can learn to let go of what is not ours to own. We can blow on the ashes of peace in our soul and try to ignite them back into flame. We can do only what we can do to lighten up the darkness and bring hope to those who feel hopeless.

In Identity, Personal Growth, Relationships

The Gift of Uncertainty

Julianne HarveyNovember 24, 2015November 16, 2015Leave a comment

Walking the thin line between uncertainty and planning is a killer. For those aggressive Type A personalities out there, like myself, you just want to KNOW, dammit, so you can confidently head in a specific direction.

Places of uncertainty stretch us, like Gumby (for those of you too young for this reference, Gumby was a green 80s figure pliable enough to bend into various poses). It’s uncomfortable. It’s awkward. It can really, really blow, because it asks us to live in the now; to give our undivided attention to this moment.

Uncertainty reminds us that we are not in control of everything. It invites us to trust: in timing, in goodness, in an invisible safety net that we hope is there even if we can’t prove it.

On the plus side, not knowing what the outcome will be sharpens our senses. It’s like going to the optometrist and marvelling at how crisp those letters can be with the right prescription. We suddenly notice what we’ve long taken for granted, because something has shifted in us and we know that nothing in this life stays the same forever. We change, and so do the people around us. Circumstances shift, children grow up, the snow comes to end the autumn.

Once again, this comes down to surrender. As the brilliant Cheryl Strayed writes, “Acceptance is a small, quiet room.” When we choose to give up our right to know what will happen, we turn our soul loose on this present moment and space, believing that we are enough for whatever challenges and triumphs are coming.

We can’t see them, and we must come to terms with that. We all have limits. Twenty-four hour days, three-hundred and sixty-five day years, one mortal body we cannot exchange or upgrade, an enormous world that we can only make our home in one minuscule part of.

But our spirit is limitless. It can soar, dream, expand, transform. We have external limits, but no internal ones – except for what we impose on ourselves. Every so often we discover a fresh perspective, renewed gratitude, a surge of optimism. We stretch. We feel pulled by what we cannot anticipate, manipulate, or control. But when we get through that, we are different.

The key is not to break faith with the process. To believe that something wonderful might be around the corner, slightly beyond what we can see, instead of fearing a dark and scary experience. Staying anchored to the now helps us believe in a better future, because we are fully alive. Equally surrendering our fierce grip on the past and the future offers us peace for today. And that equips us for whatever is coming.

In Personal Growth, Relationships, Spiritual Life

Peace and Safety

Julianne HarveyNovember 17, 2015November 16, 2015Leave a comment

Like the rest of the world, I was shocked and outraged by the terrorist attacks in Paris on November 13th. I felt lost, sad, fearful; helpless against the type of violence so unexpected and impossible to predict or control.

For my own sanity, I had to shut off the TV coverage and try to avoid Twitter and Facebook. I can’t process grief when I’m distracted by endless arguments over who’s to blame. My heart squeezes in fear when I read speculation about this being the start of World War III. I feel anguish when people say that more violence is the answer to this crisis.

I understand this response. It offers a tiny bit of control to imagine taking up a weapon and hunting down those who are trying to kill you. But hasn’t history proven that escalating bloodshed to bring about peace rarely succeeds?

Terrorism is complicated and I sure as hell don’t have the answers. I just bawled most of the way through the Remembrance Day ceremony at my daughter’s school because talking about soldiers sacrificing their lives so I could live in freedom pierces something sharp in my soul. Where would we be without the courage and commitment of those who fought through two world wars so I could exist in peace and safety?

I don’t know why I got to be born in Canada in the late twentieth century. I’ve known nothing but freedom and democracy. Many, many others have not been so fortunate. We all want the same thing, no matter where we live or the time period we are born into: safety for ourselves and for those we love.

Not one of us is guaranteed safety. Not from bombs, guns, poverty, illness, drunk drivers or random accidents that can wound or kill us. Terrorist acts threaten everyone, the whole world over, and make for a challenging enemy to identify and defeat.

I don’t have solutions to these global problems, but I believe I must first deal with the violence in my own heart before I can move beyond myself. Peace is not achieved through more violence. Something has to shift and change in every human heart for our world to look different. I feel despair that this may never happen, at least not in my lifetime, but as the recovery movement says, “Let it begin with me.”

Hope is a powerful force. So is solidarity. Standing with another who is in pain matters. So does saying “Me too” when fear and panic crouch at our door. We don’t have to let them in to live with us. We can choose to keep our hearts soft and warm instead of brittle and angry.

We can love each other. We can help by carrying one another when required. We can feel the sadness and make space for it in our soul. One day, we will find healing. We will get through the darkest days with those we love, and refuse to stop hoping for a better, safer, more peaceful future.

In Identity, Personal Growth, Relationships, Speaking, Writing

Why I Need a Mentor

Julianne HarveyNovember 10, 2015November 9, 2015Leave a comment

I have a kick-ass mentor. I say this because she is amazing, but also because she metaphorically delivers a swift kick to my rear when I am in need of it.

We have lunch once a month, and at our November get-together I felt mopey and frustrated about a few things. She listened to me talk over our scrumptious soup, lasagna bites and red velvet cake at Canadian Brewhouse, and then she asked me several questions.

“Do you think you might be giving too much of your energy to other people’s opinions and not enough to your own abilities and intuition? Just because someone says something doesn’t make it the absolute truth. Trust yourself. Don’t give that power away to other people.”

Deep down, I knew she was right, but I still spent a few minutes arguing my reasons for why I did what I did. She listened patiently, then circled back to her point. She said, “You do best when you rely on your own abilities and interests. Maybe it’s time to take a break from what other writers are saying and doing online and simply focus on your own career path. You know what you want. Stop searching for permission from strangers or even friends. You don’t need it to keep pursuing your goals.”

Again, right on the money. This was still digesting, along with my food, when she hit me with, “How about slowing down and trying a calming practice like yoga? You’d benefit from deep breathing as a way to stop your mind from racing ahead. Live in the moment. Enjoy the journey. Don’t approach your career as a race to the finish line. Writing is supposed to be fun! Take it as it comes. Every step matters as it leads you to the next stage.”

This piece of stellar advice has been slowly sinking in over the last week. I am terrible at staying in the moment I’m living in. I can get off track far too easily. This is why my mentor is so important to my overall health. She can see when I’m veering from my true path and lovingly guide me back to the right place.

She helps me work through various sides of an issue or conflict but doesn’t hesitate to administer some tough love when required. I love it when she gently reminds me how far I’ve come and that I am capable of doing hard things. She cheerleads, at the same time as she challenges. I desperately need this. I think we all do.

A mentor is anyone a little further down the path from us. Mine has been writing, editing and speaking for seven years longer than me, so I have a lot to learn from her. And I’m constantly inspired by her authentic spirit, her ability to be herself in any situation, and her hopeful optimism. She gives me more light to live by. She tells me the tough things I need to hear to stop feeling sorry for myself and get moving in a positive direction again. She cheers, she coaches, she inspires.

If you don’t have a mentor like this in your life, I urge you to be on the lookout for one. Find someone you want to be like and spend some time in his or her company. If they will tell it to you straight, but with love, and occasionally make you snort with laughter, bravely ask that person to mentor you. I’ve had mine for four years now, and my life is better in every way because of her guidance, care and a carefully-timed kick to the ass.

In Identity, Personal Growth, Relationships

Brick Wall

Julianne HarveyNovember 3, 2015October 30, 2015Leave a comment

Do you ever find yourself going along your merry way, fairly happy and peaceful, when suddenly BAM! a brick wall comes out of nowhere and smacks you in the face?

I could do without this. I’m doing my daily soul work: holding important relationship boundaries, looking inside to see where I might be veering off course or doing too much for others, checking in with my feelings, handling the mundane busywork of living. And then, that brick wall. It could be an email, a piece of unexpected news, a distracted spouse, a schedule that doesn’t allow for rest or reflection, a word or a look that is easily misinterpreted.

Emotional brick walls are land mines – you never know when they are going to trigger an explosion. When my reaction is ten times bigger than the situation calls for, I know I’ve stepped on some unhealed wound from childhood. The further back it goes, the deeper its hold on our psyche.

The pain is similar to what you would get if you ran full-tilt into a brick wall or if a bomb exploded under you. It causes panic and fear and chaos. The crappy part is that no one can see this. Only you. And most of the scabs that get torn from our childhood hurts involve our biggest questions around identity and value. We feel internal agony, and pretty soon we are asking, “Am I good enough? Do I matter at all?”

When I was a kid, I walked on eggshells, all day and all night. Under these broken eggs were many undetonated land mines. Most of this had nothing to do with me – it was my parents’ garbage, brought in from their damaged childhoods and given to me as a legacy. But I didn’t know that then. My coping mechanism was to disappear into other people. When an issue came up, I took responsibility for it and fixed it, even if I wasn’t even involved in it.

This destructive habit of caretaking has plagued me for my whole existence. Deciding to shed it was both the best and worst thing I’ve ever done. The best because it finally meant I could look after myself. It gave me options; the choice to let another person manage their own life instead of me doing it for them. But it was the worst because it stripped me of everything I hung my value on. It hollowed me out. If I wasn’t fixing everyone else’s problems, what in the world was I good for? I was nothing, no one, utterly useless without this stressful busy work of bleeding into everyone else’s pain.

I have better skills now. But every so often, that brick wall materializes and I am terrified of all those unexploded land mines. Am I really enough, just as I am, or do I have to hustle harder to prove I deserve a spot at the table? This endless longing to be loved for who I am and not for what I can do ties me up in knots every damn time.

It boils down to this: does unconditional love really win or am I searching for more gold stars for my behaviour chart? I must feel the pain of everything I cannot control, absorb the sadness of the losses I have sustained, and then bravely decide to get back on my feet and keep going. There are no shortcuts in soul work. We have to keep walking, even when it’s dark and scary and we are all alone, and hope that soon we’ll be on the other side and can finally understand the lesson we were meant to learn.

Showing all posts by Julianne Harvey

The Ashes of Peace

The Gift of Uncertainty

Why I Need a Mentor

Brick Wall