an open letter to Sue Monk Kidd

Dear Sue Monk Kidd,

The universe is a mysterious wonder. My name is April and I am experiencing my own mid-life turning point; the point at which I can no longer sit idly while my life is lived without me as an active participant.

I write a blog and had been writing about how I am in a state of emotional diapauses, and using the images of cocoons and butterflies and the idea of my internal metamorphosis. My friend was taking a course and met a woman who recommended reading When the Heart Waits. She read it and was amazed at how similar your story was to what was going on in my own life.

She loaned me her book and I began to read it. And with each page turn I felt more and more connected to you. The images of butterflies, the symbol of the cocoon and how similar it is to my own inner journey … each page drew me closer.

I know that I must sound like a total nut. And I am sure that there are thousands of people who write to you and tell you that your words spoke to them. 

Today I read the story about when a bird flew into your window. When I was 10, a bird flew into our window. My teacher got the bird and put it in a shoe box until it was ready to fly again. He spoke to me about waiting and healing. He taught me that sometimes we have to just wait for something to happen, and although we may not have patience, that it was okay to not have things happen right away. That things like healing take time. 

Rather than continue to tell you about this strong connection I feel to your writing, I would like to share with you a story about another symbol of mine which is foxes. They seem to appear to me at important times in my life.

recently i have been dealing with what radical t calls "the childhood event." and as i work my way through this event, and my shame around it, i often wonder if i am just crazy, or if it was really my fault, or if i made the whole thing up in the first place. 

so i decided to take a leap of faith, an impulsive one actually, and i emailed one of the people who was around during "the childhood event" and i asked some questions that i needed answers to. 

i wasn't expecting a response. but i got one. 

i spoke my truth. and i was validated. and heard. and the validation made my wings grow a little bit. 

i feel lighter this morning. i feel unburdened. 

when i first met nosy nora (my therapist), she used to say that it was like someone else was living my life; like i wasn't participating in my own life. i feel like it is MY life now. 

sharing my story, speaking my truth, is freeing me from the heaviness that i carry around. 

so i decided that i wanted to share another story with you. another truth. because speaking my story makes me strong each day. 

this time it is about foxes. 

The summer I was 17, I was dating a woman who was 21. It was new and exciting and confusing. I was in the woods writing in my journal and thinking about my life and feeling confused. And I looked up and there was a fox staring at me. And I just knew that it was going to be ok.

Then in grade 12, I was on the bus going to school and I was thinking about school and feeling confused and unsure about my education choices and if I should think about changing high schools ... and a fox trotted down Bloor street! And again, I just knew.

There were a few other significant sightings over those few years. But the most significant was in relation to my best friend Gigi (who this blog is named after).

I was at her house and I told Gigi about the importance of foxes in my life. She teased me and said that squirrels were her special animal because she sees them all the time. I went home and as I walked in the door, the phone was ringing. It was Gigi. She said there was a fox in her backyard with a squirrel in its mouth.

We laughed and laughed.

And 2 days later, Gigi died.

A week after her death, I was at her house in her sister's room. Her Dad was in Gigi's room and he suddenly called out "hey, have you ever seen a fox?" Her sister knew the fox story so we looked at each other and our jaws dropped. We ran to the bedroom and her mom joined us there.

The 4 of us stood at the window, crying, holding each other and watching this fox who just sat in the yard staring back at us.

It was moving and healing and there are no words to describe it.

i continue to see foxes at significant moments in my life. most recently i saw a fully intact dead fox on the side of the road. i cried and cried and CRIED. and i emailed Gigi's sister and told her about it. her response was touching:

Maybe the penetrating gaze of that intact dead fox on the driver's side on the highway yesterday, was a mirror to you: not a message that doom and gloom awaits you, but that it's time for your soul to finally rise up from the damaged (metaphorical) carcass that houses it and become the most fully alive, most vibrant and whole vibrational entity that it can be. It's your time to become whole, April, that's what the dead fox symbolizes for me.

i like to think that she is right. that in order for me to morph into a butterfly from this diapause state that i am in, to become the most vibrant and whole entity that i can be, i need to continue to tell my story, to speak my truth, and to heal. 

I wanted to thank you for your book, for your wisdom, and for this strong connection that I feel with you because of our similar stories.

Thank you,

Yours Truly,

April

an open letter to libby oughton

dear libby, 

you probably don't remember me. 

i wouldn't have had the same impact on your life as you had on mine. 

my name is april and i interviewed you through email about 15 years ago for a paper that i was writing for a feminist literature class in university. we stayed in touch a bit after that. and then when i was in grad school, you were in town and we met for coffee at the second cup. 

it was both the most exciting day of my life, as well as the most humiliating. 

the kinder you were to me, the more miserable and negative back to you i was. 

and i have wanted, for the last 13 years, to apologize and to explain. but i never really knew how. 

i was severely depressed when i was living in halifax. i was lonely, and sad, and homesick. i couldn't seem to break my way into any community. i had no sense of belonging. 

i was lost. 

i spent my nights reading in bed and slept as much of the day as possible. reading would transport me into another world where i could escape the reality of my predicament. 

i had been accepted into a master's program in women's studies. i applied with the clearly laid out proposal that my research was in feminist lesbian geography. and i was accepted into the program based on that research. only i moved myself across the country and upon arrival on the very first day of classes i was told that there was no professor that had accepted me into their program who did any type of feminist geography nor lesbian geography, nor lesbian studies. 

which meant i had no adviser, no mentor, and no one to guide me in my research. add to that, a really mean roommate who treated me very badly, the fact that i was really sick, and had no friends .... it made for a lousy year and really lousy timing in meeting you. 

it is no excuse for how negative i was when we met. and yet it is an explanation for the terrible space that i was in. 

and as i navigate my way through the regrets of things that i did, or things that i didn't do, you and that meeting in the second cup are at the top of my list. 

your book made it's way to me because the universe wanted me to have it. it found me at a time in my life when i was discovering who i was (i am still discovering that) and the words spoke to me. the words were alive on the page. i carried that book with me ... ALL THE TIME AND EVERYWHERE. i wrote my own poetry all over the pages. the pages are worn and soft now. and i still read it. your words, meshed with mine. this morning, i sat and read your poetry. and once again i was filled with the joy of words. 

and the universe gave me the opportunity to meet you. to connect with you. to form a friendship forged in our mutual love of words, of feminism, of activism. and i was a sad little brat who spent the entire time complaining instead of learning from you. 

and i regret it every day. 

i hope that you can forgive my youth. i hope you can forgive that wasted opportunity. 

and i hope that this letter finds its way to you and finds you well. and that you will receive this letter with my love and affection. 

if it is meant to be, the universe will get this letter to you. 

with deepest regards, 

xoxo

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