I’ll start over 1000 times.

I feel better.

I do!

Which is not really a surprise considering there was nothing exactly wrong before, except for my fear that something could go wrong…

Pretty complex. I know. I have a beautiful mind, thank you.

So, I am learning to enjoy life without being afraid. Without feeling guilty that apparently no one else gets it their way but me. Specially since… that’s not really true. I wanna thank the girls who married Hanson and had an enormous number of beautiful, healthy children for reminding me of that every day, actually.

not afraid macaulay

So, I don’t wanna keep reading about the confusing, blurred, scary days!

Therefore, I’ll hide my old posts. (most of them) Hence, the giant gaps between posts.

Let’s hit refresh.

Once again.

And I’ll bring them back when I’m ready.

Or not.

Life is about starting over, reinventing yourself.

Statisticaly, the more you a appreciate life, the less it comes back and kick you… right there.


Let’s try that. For today. You might be a little less prone to be screwed if you do.


I refuse to be angry.

Don’t get me wrong, I am no Ned Flanders.


But I still want to reserve myself the right to refuse to be too angry from now on. And I don’t mean hating the door nob when I bang my elbow against it.  I mean feeling what I felt a couple weeks ago – Read here.

Going to bed and waking up STILL angry was such a terrible experience! I could feel it changing my body. It made my stomach hurt, my mind was blurred and everything was bitter. I didn’t eat at all and my girl’s tummies were *funny* (if you know what I mean). They were nervous too. They felt it.

I hated it.

It got me wondering HOW CAN SOME PEOPLE LIVE LIKE THIS CONSTANTLY? How can someone just handle so much hate? Doesn’t your body react to that? I mean, don’t you eventually DIE from anger?

Actually, yes, you do. Just like the Monks don’t get cancer or Alzheimer’s or heart attacks – read here – , angry people make themselves sick. (Well, not that ANGER is the cause of these nasty things 100% of the time, duh. But there IS a real percentage of cases attributed to it.)

I am not surprised at all. It was a terrible, terrible feeling… no wonder your body gets exhausted trying to keep it going. I only felt it for a day and I was crawling.

So, there you have it. All you fucking assholes can just go on being assholes and I’ll try my best to replying with a “well… fuck it.”.

You won’t stop annoying me… but letting you go feels so much better than being angry at you that I’ll go with that.

Let’s all enjoy the last weekend of Summer instead.

my girls

Done panicking and wishing

When I started this blog I called it “I am not always panicking“. Because I really wasn’t. I enjoyed those 5 minutes between one panic attack and the next.

Later, I learned how to control them.

We moved to Canada and, all our wishes were about to come true. The snow would fall outside as the Christmas lights would reflect on our window.

The snow I had wished for for so long was now a part of my life. A very permanent part, may I add.

But at one point, the wishing was over too.

When this summer came I realized how the rain made me feel. I am not sure it was the colors, the smell or the memories it brought back. It was just a feeling.

One of the wettest summer in the history of Ottawa made me realize something inside me was changing. Drop after drop, my heart became full. I was experiencing this weird new feeling, … this… happiness.

I was done panicking, done wishing. I was about to find my place in this country. I was heading home.

To me, home is a place where you can settle. A place so warm and comfortable you feel relaxed enough to “watch the puddles gather rain“. When you get there, you don’t look forward for the future and you don’t worry… you just enjoy every moment.

So, here’s where I find myself right now. I am happier when it rains. And here’s where you’ll find me for now.

I will dare to use the word “happy” on my blog’s title. I’ll be terrified of jinxing life, but I need to allow myself to knowledge that I am, in fact, happy.  And hopefully, in a while, I will be adding the word “home” to it.

Sorry about the mess,



Organizing and the playroom

I am not as perceptive as I’d like to be. For instance, sometimes I know I shouldn’t be doing what I do – work-wise – but I still can’t put my finger on what it is that I SHOULD, in fact, be doing.

That’s why I was so surprised this morning when my boss assigned me something different to do. I’ll basically be organizing a bit more and drawing a bit less.

He said he noticed how much I enjoyed organizing things and, since I was pretty much the only one with excel abilities in the drawing office, I was the person for the job.

He noticed how everyone else’s desk is a mess and everything on mine was perpendicular, separated by color and alphabetized. 

The coolest part is, when he actually said I’d be doing that, I was excited! I hadn’t been excited about work in a while. I mean, I don’t mind it at all, it can be interesting (kinda)… but I do get bored quite easily. Bored, sleepy and hungry actually.

So, yeah, it took a total stranger to suggest something completely obvious.

I am an organizer.

I should know this, since last Monday was a holiday and I deliberately chose to separate my kids’s toys in categories and line them up – which lasted for about a second ’cause… well, they are kids.

Now, people, is THIS a job?

Probably not, but it’s definitely a clue.

Did I create the best, most organized playroom ever? Of course not. But I absolutely liked the way it felt… even though I never finished it! =)

I still have a long way to go and I don’t have the money to do anything fancy , but the girls enjoyed it so much! And OMG so did I!

These little things make me so happy… they make me feel at home! I feel really blessed right now and actually happy. Let’s all hope my stupid grandmother’s spirit doesn’t curse me with bad news just ’cause I actually said the H word…

Let’s review my check list for 2017:

  • everyone is healthy – good.
  • the house is good.
  • work is good.
  • the city NEEDS ADJUSTMENTS! But I’ll get there!

We need to allow ourselves to be happy.

No pressure, I’m learning it myself.


Do you believe in Smurfs?

I think of myself as sane. For real. No matter how much the psychiatrist is convinced there’s a schizophrenic elf messing up with the circuits of my brain, I find myself to be pretty reasonable.

Yes, sometimes I react strongly to life-threatening situations, whether the situation is a benign mole that could -in about 20 years- turn evil on me or the tiny black lines I found on my children’s poop, (that actually turned out to be banana fibers, in case you mothers are wondering)… but the only reason I do that, is because I wanna make SURE I know what’s going on and fix it. Quickly.

I mean, that’s reasonable, correct?

Fine, there WAS that day when I checked my temperature 40 times, including in the middle of the night and first thing in the morning…

I guess reassuring myself that my body temperature was normal just made me feel less nervous about the disease I never had.

Ok, fine, that’s one point to schizophrenia.

But I’ve got some good, reasonable, sane moments.

Like, the other day, when the psychiatrist asked me if I believed in the devil.

Well, like any sane person, I do not. Not 100%, anyway. But the idea is pretty scary, right? I mean… it’s the freaking devil. So, there is, I guess that 1% chance that the devil could be real and for that reason I try NOT to read much about it or join any satanic cults ’cause I figured that if there’s something there… I wouldn’t really wanna get involved.

Isn’t that what a sane person would answer? I think I was being very, very plausible.

Fine. At one point I also told her I believed in ghosts.

Well, not ghosts per-say, like… Do I believe people have a soul? Yes! That’s still allowed, right? And I also told her I believed that eventually these souls could try to communicate with us, specially the people who were close to us when they were alive, ’cause Stella (our nanny) had talked to me during a dream once. I also told her that I did not feel prepared to interact with those souls and that, again, I was not 100% sure it was real, because that kind or certainty could only come from a real contact.

I swear to God I thought I was being sane, but apparently I very much wasn’t, because based on those answers she popped up the following question:

What else do you believe in? Do you believe in Smurfs?

Yes, you read it correctly! Smurfs! Smurfs:


At that point, I absolutely thought about answering YES ’cause my sarcastic vein was pulsing SO HARD I had a hard time controlling my mouth.

But instead, I just said: “No, I am not quite at the level yet, but check back in a few months.”

You would think that the person prescribing medication for your brain would know by now, based on your previous answers, that there it’s a long, long road between believing in souls and believing in smurfs.

I guess not.

I wish I believed in smurfs rather than obsessed about rare diseases, though. It sounds like a hell whole lot more fun!

Plus, they are super cute.


Because I’m happy

My words probably won’t make any sense, still, I needed to sit down for while, even if it’s 1A.M. and the kids will be up soon, unless I’m lucky and they sleep through the night tonight.

It’s quite ironic, actually… For over an year I’ve dreamt about the day they’d sleep for more than 2 hours straight and, now that they do, I’m the one who can’t sleep. I choose to stay awake and take this time to myself. I have an urge to write, because I feel like it’ll help my organize my thoughts. I’m a pretty happy person, and that’s new to me.

Our lives have changed a lot in the last couple of years (mine and my husband’s). I have changed a lot too. And, although everything that’s happened to us is wonderful, I’ve lost parts of myself along the way. I don’t know who that red haired old woman staring at me in the mirror is. She is also super fat and has a terrible memory… there’s no way she’s me. I’m just the woman suffocating inside her.

I do not miss being who I used to be completely. There’s no me without my husband and children anymore, but I also don’t wanna settle for whom I’ve become. That makes me feel like an ungrateful bastard… specially when I read my own words. That’s why I’m a big believer in writing. It helps making things clearer for ourselves, in my humble opinion.

It all started when I was a kid… and went down all the way through my 30th birthday. I have always been terrified about the idea of going through labour. I never really thought I’d survive it. Anything beyond that moment just sounded too good to be true. Too good to be real life. That might be the reason why I sometimes  stare at my daughters wondering if this is really happening to me. I was the girl who was never meant to be someone’s wife, I was used to being alone and I had accepted that… I had let go of all my dreams. I had no reason to get a good job or my own house. I had no motivation. It was just me in my world.  And I believed that for so long that when my perfect family filled with people came knocking on my door, it took me a long time to realize it was real. I didn’t know what to do! What kind of music should I listen to? Up until that moment Damien Rice had been the soundtrack for my life.  I got lost.

Even though there were so many things missing in my life before I had my own family, that was the life I was familiar with and that place was comfortable… well, maybe not comfortable, but there were no big surprises.

So, I survived all the panic attacks that came along the way, but I’m still learning how to live inside this butter commercial. Part of me believes people shouldn’t be completely happy. That’s something my grandmother always told us “don’t be too happy ’cause if you’re happy today it means there’s something terrible coming your way tomorrow” and I think she was ridiculous for saying that, but the damn thing got stuck in my mind for ages! I had several panic attacks growing up, which don’t seem to strike me anymore.

And now , here I am. I still worry about the world and blame myself for being so shallow, from time to time. But the truth is, in my small world, my small things matter… and I’m so lucky for living in it. There are no big issues here, I am not surviving a war or fighting a disease. I am just me learning to live with the disturbing thoughts in my head… and the happy ones too. I hope we all understand my grandmother was wrong from the way she spelled pizza to her pessimist quotes. It’s time for bed now.

Thank you for listening, Miss Internet.

Love, Shelly