In a Monthly Nutshell

When I was invited by the Mental Health Awareness Committee from the Thunder Bay Regional Health Sciences Centre to lead a dynamic discussion, I knew my audience would be people who live and breathe mental health. They know the signs. They know the impact. They know how to treat it.

So I decided to go deeper, to be more open, more raw, and share parts of my story I usually keep to myself.

The Ostrich Effect

When I committed to doing this presentation, I knew I had to work on it every day. It felt a bit like making a New Year’s resolution, that spark of determination where you picture yourself staying disciplined, making progress, and getting it done with lots of time to spare and practice.

But that’s not exactly what happened.

Every morning, I found myself doing everything but working on the presentation. I would send emails, go into deep spring-cleaning mode, try new recipes, call family and friends. By the time I sat down to focus and work, it was late afternoon, my energy was gone, and so was my motivation.

Looking back now, I think there was something else happening under the surface that I didnt notice at the time. I wasn’t just putting it off. I was keeping my distance. Resisting.

Maybe it was because I knew that working on this presentation meant revisiting some of the hardest and most vulnerable events of my life. And when you have to put those moments into words, you realize that you can’t hide from them anymore.

I wasn’t procrastinating. I was hiding and it was exhausting!

The pressure was on

A week before the presentation, I finally sat down to face it. No more tidying up or “just one more phone call.” I turned on my laptop, took a deep breath, and started putting my thoughts in order.

The night before, I had the layout ready, the key messages I wanted the audience to walk away with, and I even threw a touch of light humor to give them a break from the weight of my story.

While preparing, and revisiting all the moments that once brought me to my knees and left me in tears, I was surprised to see they don't hurt as much. If I dare say, some even made me chuckle. I see them differently.

When the next day I stood in front of the audience, sharing my vulnerable and most embarassing moments, I spoke from my heart. I talked about failing as a young entepreneur, about grieving the person I used to be, about being betrayed from my first husband and being too emotionally weak to speak up for myself.

I shared everything. Even the heartbreak of knowing that a dream I’d always held close, motherhood, was no longer possible after my cancer diagnosis.

The more I spoke, the lighter I felt. The shame loosened its grip around me. The emotions that had lived inside me for years and away from the spotlight, finally had somewhere to go.

To see tears in the eyes of mental health professionals, people who had heard hundreds of stories of struggle, was powerful. I felt the connection in that room, it was real.

The question that opened my eyes

During the Q&A session, one of the health professionals with the kind and gentle approach they’re known for, asked me, “Is it okay if I ask how the children of your two friends are doing?”

My heart sank

I wish I knew. I wish I could tell her that Fotios and Christos were doing well, that they had found healing and had all the support they needed after losing their parents. But the truth is… I don’t know.

That one question cut right through me. It made me face something I’ve been avoiding for far too long... the gap between me and those two boys. It’s a gap in my life I’ve been afraid to bridge. Survivor’s guilt and fear have been holding me back.

And right there, in that room, I knew I couldn’t keep putting it off.

I chose to respond with honesty. I didn’t try to paint the perfect picture. Instead, I shared my deepest fears and regrets, and seeing Sotiris and Effie’s children face-to-face is one of them.

Does that make me weak? Maybe. But it also makes me human.

And the audience felt it too. Even through my vulnerability, connection still happened. People listened. They teared up. They came up afterward, tapped my shoulder, gave me those tight hugs I love so much, and thanked me for being open and having the difficult conversation.

Reel

A few days later, life gave me a different kind of connection, one that included paints, brushes, and laughter.

Butterfly Wings and Community

The month ended with something lighter and just as meaningful. I’d been working on a mural project for the small community I live in and asked for volunteers to help me out.

One young girl, Ava, just 13 years old, showed up. She was curious, respectful, and eager to help. We spent four hours side by side, painting two giant butterfly wings to make a spot where kids can stand, stretch out their arms, and feel like part of something magical. Watch reel here.

Connection comes in so many forms. That day, it was Ava, volunteering her time and showing up with her quiet kindness and brightening my day more than she probably realized.

July taught me many things... some are:

✨️ Never be afraid of revisiting the moments that brought you pain, because through the pain, you grow and rise.

✨️ The saying “One day you will look back on this moment and laugh” is a truth.

✨️ You don’t need to be perfect. You just need to be you.

And maybe, when you let yourself be grounded, surprised, and surrounded by people who make you feel like you belong, you will notice that life can be better.

Thank you, Thunder Bay. ❤️

What about your July in a nutshell?

Any highlights you care to share?

I would love to read your comments.