Julianne Harvey

I’ve had a small health issue crop up this weekend (of a delicate nature, so I’ll kindly spare you the details). At first it was annoying, then worrisome because problems always seem to arise on a long weekend when everything is closed, but eventually I found it soothing when I began to invest in my own care.

As women, we tend to be busy nurturing and caretaking for those we love. Far too often, we ourselves are not on that list. Discomfort or pain tends to bring us back into focus, helping us to figure out how to show love in the form of self-care.

I resented having to search out remedies for the physical problem I was experiencing. It took time away from other things I wanted to be doing. But implementing what I learned to solve a problem I’d never had before forced me to slow down and nurture myself the way I would a sick child.

It was a healing exercise. I needed to be the sick child that my own adult self made time to look after. It reminded me that I am important. When our bodies throw up a white flag, crying out for attention, it’s necessary for us to listen. We are not machines, as much as I long to be, where nothing ever goes wrong. We get tired, or sick, or we age and face certain indignities that must be addressed.

I used to have zero tolerance for physical weakness, in myself or in anyone else. Heaven help my poor kids or husband five years ago when they were sick, as I wrote it off as a character flaw. Coming to terms with my own inherent worth helped to cure me of this abhorrence of any illness or pain. I see now that this disdain for human vulnerability was a survival tactic in my alcoholic childhood home, where competition was a bloodsport that only the strong could endure.

I see vulnerability differently now. I know that it reveals strength, not frailty. I can no longer afford to expect so much from myself or from others. I must employ gentleness in mannerisms, speech, actions. I want to model for my kids that when something hurts, we should slow down and listen. We must make our health a priority, in all areas, and look after ourselves with love and mercy.

I could do without this annoying condition, but it has helped me to recognize that my physical body needs my care as much as my mental, spiritual and emotional needs do. I can slow down and care for what is damaged and in need of rest. I can love myself enough to care for all of me.

In Books, Identity, Parenting, Personal Growth

The Gift of an Ordinary Day

Julianne HarveySeptember 1, 2015September 1, 2015Leave a comment

In my ongoing literary agent research, I came across a recommendation for a motherhood memoir called The Gift of an Ordinary Day, by Katrina Kenison. I just finished it, savouring the last fifty pages like a gourmet meal I didn’t ever want to end, and I feel profoundly stirred by Kenison’s heartrending observations on letting go of our beloved children.

The Gift of an Ordinary Day details her family’s journey to build a house as their two sons are reaching adolescence and growing away from their parents. It’s a familiar story of loss and change; a road I have yet to travel with my own children but can already sense, heavy in my bone marrow, for one day this metamorphosis from dependent to independent happens to all of us.

And what better time to face up to this fact than right now, the beginning of September, with the challenges and demands of a new school year upon us? We cannot freeze-frame the lives of our children, any more than we can halt the steady march of time for ourselves. The entire process of life itself is moving on: changing, dying, transforming. Nothing is static. Accepting this is better than fighting it.

But sometimes it hurts. We feel a deep ache, in the centre of our being, at just how fast our children are growing. We empty out drawers of pants that are too short and socks that no longer fit. We place pencil marks on closet doors until they are taller than we are. We love them at every stage, but we cannot hold them there. We must learn to let them go. It’s the hardest work there is as the mothers who fed them, rocked them, guided and nurtured them, until they have learned to do all of these things for themselves.

Tomorrow Ava begins grade 7 and William starts grade 4. We celebrate these milestones together, but privately I also mourn the ages that are now behind us, stored only in our memories. Parenting is one long lesson in letting go. It’s about transition, adaptation, surrender. Being a mother means loving with our whole heart, a process that opens us up to feel terrible pain and loss.

When we do our job well, raising kids who contribute positively to society and know how to look after themselves, by definition this means they will one day leave us to make their own way in the world. Each step they take in these school years is a step further from our warm, encompassing care. This is what we signed up for by having kids, but it’s important to acknowledge our own feelings around this process.

I’m so grateful to Katrina Kenison for holding up a light for me as I navigate the path of my daughter’s newfound adolescence. I do not want to overlook the beauty, healing and transformation available in each and every ordinary day to come.

In Personal Growth, Relationships, Spiritual Life

A Good WOE

Julianne HarveyAugust 25, 2015Leave a comment

Last week, a friend was going through a busy, stressful time, so I decided to text her a daily WOE (Word of Encouragement) to help her finish strong in her commitments. She let me know that these morning WOEs served their purpose by motivating her through the lowest ebbs of her week, but I was surprised by what they did for me.

I found myself slowing down and turning inward to find something creative and specific to tell her each day. If I got quiet, drawing long, deep breaths and picturing my friend in my mind, I was able to connect with an intuitive sense of what to say. It reminded me how powerful our subconscious is, when we make the attempt to tap into it.

Offering a WOE to those we love doesn’t cost us any money and only a small investment of time. But it does require vulnerability (the willingness to be seen as our true selves) and courage. We offer up a portion of who we are, a radical act of bravery in a culture that tends to value self-reliance above all else.

I started writing handwritten appreciation letters to my friends and family in January of 2015 because I was longing to connect, to belong, to tell those I am in relationship with what I most love and appreciate about them. It has been a wonderfully satisfying exercise in growing my friendships. I needed to step out in vulnerability, for the health of my own soul, as much as my loved ones needed to hear why I am specifically grateful for each one of them.

These new WOEs, via email, Facebook or text, are the same. They are an intentional bridge to intimacy in my relationships. They can bring a tiny shard of light into someone’s temporary darkness. They remind us that we are not alone. We are all in this struggle together. Any time we can help someone shoulder a heavy load, it is good for our soul to step up and offer a few kind words.

My friend sent me a personalized WOE in the middle of the week. I think I read it about fifteen times. Every reading brought a lift to my spirit, tears to my eyes and a smile to my face. Encouragement truly does have a spiritual power. It lights up the darkness, providing a dose of motivation when we aren’t even aware that we need it.

Who do you know that could use a Word of Encouragement today? Take this small step, letting your friend or family member know that you are thinking about them. Feel your soul rise along with theirs. Risk a little bit. Invest in the people that matter to you. And see what happens when you give away a good WOE.

In Identity, Parenting

Reconciling Kindness with Authenticity

Julianne HarveyAugust 18, 2015August 16, 2015Leave a comment

I struggle to reconcile kindness with authenticity. So often they seem like opposite ends of the spectrum.

In helping my daughter through friend issues, I feel as if authenticity is at odds with inclusion. Do I teach her to look after herself first, even if this means backing away from a friendship that tends to bring more frustration now than support? But if I also advise her to be as kind as possible, what is she supposed to do when kindness to this person means a type of sacrifice for what feels like authentic friendship for Ava?

It’s one thing to make these kinds of choices for myself, and another thing to watch my child suffer through them. William is quite naturally adept at this. He genuinely doesn’t care if someone wants to be his friend or not. He decides for himself who his friends are (it’s a small number of people) and doesn’t feel obligated to extend friendship to everyone. Part of this might be that he is a boy. Or it could be his introverted personality, where he’s just as happy to be alone as with peers.

But Ava is different. She’s extroverted, socially aware of how she fits into any particular group, and she’s in middle school, a place where belonging can be be a blood sport. I love that she feels ready to make certain decisions about her social life and is willing to accept the consequences of these choices. I think my fear enters in when I start worrying about how other people might perceive her if she stands up for herself when it comes to defining her friends.

I’ve lived through these friend choices and felt the pain of being labelled disloyal, cruel and full of myself. Over time, however, the anger fades away, along with the shame, and I’m left with a tighter, more intimate handful of friends whom I can trust. I had to prune away the negative in order to make room for the positive to grow and flourish. And my life is richer for it.

I want this for Ava, but I have to make my way through my own reservations and private anxieties to get there. It’s one thing to endure scorn and derision from others for yourself, and another to help your child through the same thing. When I talked to a friend about this, wondering aloud if Ava should stay quiet and not risk offending this girl or her entire circle of friends, my friend said, “It sounds like a leadership quality to not need a huge group of friends. Just one or two that you can really count on.”

This helped to soothe my fears for Ava. Perhaps kindness and authenticity can be reasonable bedfellows after all, but it comes down to listening to our intuition. When we feel like we’ve had enough, and we aren’t willing to endure a difficult situation a moment longer, then we honour our authentic self by communicating this with as much kindness as possible. Until that point, we watch and we wait, holding our tongue, which is also a form of kindness and generosity.

At the end of the day, it’s critically important to know that we all have choices. We are not stuck in painful situations. We must do what we believe to be right for us, and then learn to live with the consequences of our decisions.

In Identity, Personal Growth, Writing

Waiting it Out

Julianne HarveyAugust 11, 2015August 10, 2015Leave a comment

Going on vacation is like a reset button for me. This summer has been strange up to this point: disjointed, off-kilter and emotional. I have felt like a fish out of water with no logical reason for this out-of-step sensation.

Then I went away. I had high hopes of learning something profound or life-altering, as has occurred in the past, but instead it was just more of the same. Scratchy on the inside, easily irritated, a rising wind of discontent pushing my peace out of reach.

We all have crappy seasons that we just have to walk through, whether we want to or not. I find them easier to bear when I can pinpoint the cause of my malaise (“Oh, that’s why!”), but this time around no source for my frustration made itself evident.

When the time approached to head home, I felt disappointed that no great revelation had descended. Like most people, I wanted to feel happy and relaxed; to embrace the summer heat with its long days and pleasant evenings. I yearned to flip a switch and feel like myself again, but nothing was working.

Then we came home. Suddenly, a heaviness lifted and I knew a shift had taken place. I still couldn’t identify a reason for this change, but somehow it ceased to matter. Our inner landscape is a tumultuous place. We can’t hold onto the good and avoid the bad. We must accept what comes, learning from what is unsettling as much as from the things that bring us joy.

I long to be patient with my own humanity. I want to extend mercy for my flailing vulnerabilities instead of hurrying my soul through its inevitable rough patches. And yet I fail miserably at this. I want to assign a scientific meaning to everything I feel, like pencil points on graph paper, instead of accepting that feeling blue is part of the human condition.

We can’t be skilled at everything. There is always more to learn and to achieve. Perhaps, for today, it is enough to simply rest in my own soul, without forcing any one specific outcome. I know from experience that a painful season leads to a fertile, peaceful one. Hurrying growth along breeds nothing but resentment. Patience is a better plan. Too bad it’s so damn hard.

We are all doing better than we think we are. I tend to make it harder than it has to be. Sometimes, we just have to wait it out, finding the good and the beautiful in the midst of the difficult. Answers come to us later, when we stop fighting the power of the current and find ourselves back out on the sand. Labour is agonizing for a reason. At the end of it, you get new life.