Why Remember?

This week was Remembrance Week in Canada.

The focus for many was first and foremost, on our veterans. Earlier in the week, on Monday, November 8, we observed National Indigenous Veterans Day. And on Thursday, November, 11, we observed Remembrance Day. I thought of those who have died. I thought of those who have returned with complex mental illnesses. And, as I do on November 11 every year, I thought of my cousin who died on this day, far too young, as a strong, healthy, university student on his way to becoming a Professional Engineer before suddenly being taken by a horrific bacterial infection that came out of nowhere.

I thought about how short and precious life is. I thought about how things can change in the blink of an eye.

The week of November 11 is always heavy.

So, like many, I spent the week remembering. Reflecting. On oh so many things.

And in that process, something completely unexpected happened. This week of reflection and remembering stirred up old memories of my own, as I remembered more clearly than ever, where I’ve been, and decisions I’ve made. I considered what could have been, and dreamed about what is possible in the future based on where I am today.

Also this week, in the middle of Remembrance Week, I had the honour and privilege of delivering a keynote address on Creating a Connected Culture for Growth to an energetic group of Tourism Industry professionals.

In person.

The theme was perfect for an industry that has been deeply impacted by the pandemic: Power of the Past; Strength of the Future.

Perfect, I thought, in so many ways.

The experience of reconnecting with people in person, and being on stage speaking to a full house, feeling their energy, after so very long is difficult to put into words. Looking back on it now, I can see how the multitude of emotions set the stage for a breakthrough, whether I was planning on it or not. And that’s exactly what happened.

In the weeks leading up to the event, I’d been asked to cover for a few folks on a number of different projects and initiatives, who had to stop working to take care of their health.

Then, last weekend, a mental health crisis hit close to home. Someone young and struggling.

It brought me straight back to my own younger years (that turned into my not so younger years) of being unwell.

My triggered memories were primarily between the ages of 18-22. Or should I say my lack of memories.

That’s the first clue.

When friends reminisce about events during that period of time, I rarely remember the details.

Those years are a blur, and there are other times in my life that also remain a blur.

Not a coincidence that those were the times I was unwell and not fully present in my life.

But what finally hit me this week, like a firehose to the face, was the truth of what was really happening at that time.

I have always skirted around my “story”.

Chalked it up to being young.

Immature.

Maybe a little reckless.

But this week, I finally remembered truth.

Here’s when it hit me hard: I was listening to another fabulous speaker at the event this week, as she expertly weaved her message around her early years at Military College.

It clicked in that moment. I became uncomfortable. The familiar heat of shame started to spread through my body. I even considered making an excuse and leaving. But I stayed present, listened fully to her message, and allowed my triggered memory the space it needed to unfold while she spoke.

The year I spent at Military College was a turning point in my life.

I was 22 years old and I had hit rock bottom, both mentally and physically. I just didn’t know it at the time. I spent half of my Christmas Break in a military hospital in Ottawa as doctors tried to determine why my iron was dangerously low, searching for ulcers and other signs of physical illness. They never did find the source. Of course they didn’t. Because the truth of the matter is that the real source was years of untreated mental illness that had transferred itself to my body.

My “story”, for almost 30 years, up until very recently, has been that MilCol just wasn’t a fit for me. And all that time, I carried the shame of failure deep in my core, hidden under the surface of my charming smile and eventual career success.

But this week, I remembered it differently.

This week, the shame finally and completely disappeared in the light of truth.

I remembered that I was a young woman who was ill and needed treatment long before arriving on campus that fall. The signs were all there. But I didn’t want to see them or deal with them.

The College experience shouldn’t have been that hard for me. I had spent years in the Reserve Army, I thrived at Basic Officer Training, I was fit, I got along well with others, I played in the military band, I was on the varsity volleyball team, and I excelled academically.

So why did it all unravel that year?

Why and how did it become too much?

The answer is this: it wasn’t too much.

It was never about the College.

It was never about the PT tests.

It was never about the inspections, the yelling, the nonsense.

It simply wasn’t about any of the external circumstances in my life at that time.

It was about being unwell and not getting treatment. For years.

Mental illness carries a stigma.

Back then, I felt alone and ashamed, despite having people around me who cared deeply.

I didn’t know how to see and face the truth. I didn’t even know how to name it.

In fact, I became an expert for years at hiding truth. I ended up leaving the College after a year, transferring to the University of Ottawa, and starting a challenging and rewarding career in management consulting. On the outside I had gained success, but in truth, there were deep pockets of neglected shame that stayed with me and impacted my ability to feel safe and connected to my myself and others for many many years.

Today, I remember.

I remember fully.

Today, I am well.

Today, I know the signs.

Today, I see truth.

It takes strength and courage to speak truth and take care of our mental health.

I didn’t have the courage then, but today, life is good. Safe. Joyful. Fulfilling. Meaningful. Connected.

Over the past several years, I have spent time and energy, bit by bit, in small increments, remembering the truth of the past. And that has allowed me to grow.

Do I live back there?

Absolutely not.

Do I dwell on the lost years of what could have been?

Not anymore.

But I remember.

We must remember the past to create our future.

Just like the theme of the Conference this week:

Power of the Past; Strength of the Future.

As I said, perfect.

I encourage you this week to take a look back to where you came from.

Remember your true story.

To ready yourself for growth.

For connection.

The future is yours to create.

Remember.

But don’t live there.

Life is short. For some, far too short.

This is your one precious life.

Live it well.