Tag: love

life

Seeing Myself Through the Eyes of Others

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There’s a strange kind of heartbreak that comes with realizing how people perceive you—not as a whole person with needs and emotions, but as a piece in their puzzle, a resource when they need guidance, a steady presence when they need to unload their worries. But when the roles reverse, when I find myself needing, who is there?

I’ve always been the one looking out for others, showing up, listening, holding space. It’s instinctual—maybe even second nature—but lately, I’ve been asking myself: Who’s looking out for me?

When I was in the hospital, my phone stayed silent. No check-ins, no genuine concern—just polite gestures, performative sympathy. “Let me send you flowers,” they said. Flowers? What am I supposed to do with flowers? I needed support. I needed someone who I could call without feeling like I had to package my pain in a way that made them comfortable. I didn’t want to perform anymore.

And yet, I see my own part in this dynamic. I’ve created space for people to rely on me, and in doing so, I never made space for my own needs. People treat us based on the permissions we give them—how much we allow, how much we absorb, how much we excuse. And the truth is, I’ve allowed this.

Today, I felt like shaking my fists at the world, demanding better, demanding change. But as the hours passed, I turned that frustration inward. I saw my role in this. I saw how I’ve enabled these patterns. And now, as I move forward, I want to change them.

Not by cutting people out, not by shrinking away, but by teaching myself—and those around me—how to be there for me, too.

Because I deserve that.

— Sandy

life

See You Later, Marguerite

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The last time we saw each other in person was nine years ago. I remember the day vividly—you had made the decision to retire early, and while I was happy for you, the reality of your departure hit me hard. I cried on your last day, and you reassured me that we would see each other again, that we’d do lunch. But deep down, I think I knew there was a possibility that life would get in the way. I remember telling you it wouldn’t be the same, my voice small, I admitted, “I won’t get to see you every day.” And as life unfolded, our schedules never aligned—that last day truly became the last time I saw you.

I followed you on Facebook — stalked you like a stereotypical millennial, eager to keep up with your life. I saw the joy you found in spending time with your family—never once did you refer to your kids as “step-kids,” you loved them fully and completely. You adored babysitting your grandbabies, showering them with love and laughter. You were a force of warmth, kindness, and just the right amount of fiery spirit. Then, this past Sunday, I saw you had an Instagram account; you appeared as a friend recommendation, and I immediately sent you a request. What I didn’t know was that you had passed away the day before.

Losing you so soon feels deeply unfair. You were taken far too young, especially someone like you—so structured, so intentional in the way you lived, from your scheduled breaks for breakfast, lunch, and even brushing your teeth. You had created a rhythm in life that worked so beautifully for you, and now, far too early, that rhythm has come to an end.

I carry so many cherished memories of you, and now, losing you makes me reflect on my own priorities. You were not only successful in your career but also in life itself. Everyone remembers your kindness, but more importantly, you knew how to strike the perfect balance between work and home. You switched off when it mattered, poured yourself into your passions, found joy in your bowling league, and honed your golf game with dedication. I will forever hold onto the image of you on the golf course, lying on the greens near the hole, celebrating your first-ever hole-in-one—that moment, that joy, will always be etched in my heart.

These last few months couldn’t have been easy for you. I pray that you’re at peace now. Here’s to many more hole-in-ones in the stars. You are deeply loved. Thank you for all of the lessons. You will never be forgotten.

Love,
Sandy.

life

January 9th

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Some people claim that time heals all wounds, but I find this statement completely false. First of all, who are these people and what authority do they have to make such a sweeping claim? Second of all, it’s not time that heals wounds, but rather, actively working on healing yourself.

Grade 7, January 9th has forever been etched in my mind. It changed me as a person. Toronto had a massive snowstorm, and my friend, who I have cherished memories of, decided to cut the phone cords in his home and end his life. His funeral was the first one I ever attended, and until recently, I would wonder if there was anything more I could have done to help him. But the truth is, to embrace life also means to accept death. Even though he was very young, he made a choice. A choice that affected the lives of those who loved him forever.

Soon after his death, there were rumors that he was gay and he was harassed for it. I don’t know if there was any truth to the rumors, and frankly, it doesn’t matter. He was a kind person, and the world lost some of its magic. There was a hill that we used to play on often, and I still pass that hill and smile. He made my childhood a little brighter, and I’m grateful for that.

As I sit here on January 9th, more than 27 years later, Toronto is having another snowstorm, and I’m reminded of that day in grade 9. Hearing the news of his parents running to a neighbor to ask them to call an ambulance. The memories come back, and I’m finally making the decision to work through my unresolved feelings. His death changed me as a person. I’m known to be a very outspoken person, but if you pay attention to what I say, I will never deliberately say something to hurt anyone. My friend’s death taught me that the saying ‘sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me’ is nothing but nonsense. Words matter. They have weight. They can push someone over the edge.

His death impacted me so much that for the last 3 years, I have been doing my job and a colleague’s job to ‘cover for them’. Even though it has been at my own expense. My colleague lost both of her parents at the same time and spiraled down. I felt that it was my duty to ‘help her’ while she got back to being herself. But she hasn’t been herself since. At what point do I recognize that her experience has changed her as a person forever? And at what point do I say, ‘it’s not my duty to heal her and take a step back for my own mental health’. Last year, I made the decision to talk to her manager and my own manager, because it was becoming too much for me. It wasn’t only the work that was dragging me down, it was her hostility and her rudeness. Sometimes she sounded drunk on the phone, other times she sounded high. I would repeatedly say ‘go get help!’, and ‘focus on your job! this is your livelihood, you have kids!’ But it felt like everything I said fell on deaf ears.

My own trauma of my friend’s passing makes it hard for me to give up on my colleague. I can’t walk away. I know who she was before her life was turned upside down. And while I know it’s not my ‘duty’, I can’t leave her behind. My peers will say ‘it’s not your job to fix this’, and I know it’s not. But I also understand her worth, even if she can’t see it right now. I’m starting to understand that it’s her job to fight for the life that she wants. She is an adult, and I can’t make her get help that she doesn’t want. Her blessing through this experience is to understand that yesterday is gone, hold on to the memories and lessons, and find a way forward in her own power.

And my lesson is to understand that it’s my responsibility to focus on the happy and wonderful things happening in my life. To be easier on myself and understand that how other people live their lives is not my responsibility. I understand that my friend chose to end his life, I did not choose that for him, nor can I alter the past. But just because I couldn’t save him in the past, doesn’t mean it’s my responsibility to save someone in my present. They have to save themselves. They have to fight for themselves. I have been urging her to get professional help for 3 years. I have done my part; the actions are now up to her. She has to make the decision to fight for herself, and I have to find peace with that. This is something that I’m struggling with, but I’m trying.

— xoxo Sandy