My mom in momma bear retaliation to sooth her cub, had our childhood piano delivered from Barrie to my Toronto home. The Baldwin. It arrived. And gently, I played.

I want to paint worlds where feeling is fact and the space for healing is valued.

The cuts were tangible proof that I was messed up, broken, and needed fixing. Something that I desperately felt inside, could now be seen outside. 

I’m not the only one being pelted with the comments that I am “above average looking” for a “regular person” but couldn’t possibly be “pretty enough” to be an actress.

It occurs to me for the first time in my life that I do not need to be fixed. Maybe I never needed to be fixed, by my Mom, doctors, drugs, friends, partners.

I'm not sure why time alone frightens me. It might be that I come from a loud, expressive family where privacy was not an option.