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Expert Series: Nothing In Your Life Is Wasted
By Noelle Sterne
 Do you find yourself too often shaking your fist at God and asking, “When, oh when? . . . When will I finally get published or called back? . . . When will I be able to quit my day job? . . . When will I have enough money to write or paint or design or dance full-time? . . . When will I meet someone who will support me in the creating I must do?” The answer to all such questions may seem illogical at best and outrageous and barely palatable at worst. But it’s simple.
The Squirming Truth
The truth is this: Each of us, no matter how dire or sad or frustrating our circumstances, is where we want to be. No, I’ll be more accurate: each of us is where we need to be.
We are where we are because we need to learn certain things. And we can’t get to the next place without learning them. This principle applies to everything in life, including your chosen mode of creativity. Read more
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Independent Women: Is It Us?
By Acamea Deadwiler
 I was recently seeing a guy whom I had made plans to meet for our third date. I decided to catch the train 30 minutes away to Chicago in order to avoid the notorious traffic. In discussing our “plan” we spoke of the time I would need him to have me back at the train station in order to return home, when he said, “That’s if you go back home tonight.” I replied jokingly, but dead serious, “Oh, I’m coming back home tonight.” His response was a snide, “You independent women.”
Now, I am a well-educated 31-year-old with no kids, a successful career, a very nice place of dwelling, and a luxury vehicle. I am, by all accounts, every bit of an independent woman. But the way he said it… He just made it sound so dirty, so stigmatized. He said “independent women” as if there were something wrong with it. As if, it was something to be ashamed of. That was the first time I’d heard being an independent woman spoken of in such a condescending manner, and it really made me think. It made me wonder if being independent has become an undesirable characteristic in the eyes of men. Read more
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Bipolar Disorder…And Me…Discovered & Embraced
By M. LaVora Perry
 For almost 40 years, I struggled with depression and a nagging feeling that something was “wrong” with me.
In 1983, at age 21, I’d dropped out of college because I had been too depressed to get out of bed and attend class. A few months later, I spent seven weeks in a mental hospital because I’d abused LSD and other drugs, including the bottle of antidepressant medication I’d tried to overdose on. The drugs had made me manic and psychotic. I didn’t sleep, I had excessive energy, and I thought God was telling me to do things like set my high school photograph on fire, which I did.
In my mid-twenties, I stopped doing drugs. Read more
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Revolution: How Cipralex & I Saved My Life
By Niki Chanway - 17 Years Old
 You’d like to think there’s a quick and easy fix to depression. Exhausted, beaten girl that you are, having spent a large portion of your life wiping the metaphorical sweat from your hypothetical brow, you’re wondering why you just can’t access it.
You waste your Friday nights with your knees curled up to your chest.
Your Saturdays, in bed.
Sundays you force yourself to socialize.
Mondays you’d rather do anything than live through the week again.
You suffer. Struggle. Simper. You pretend that nothing hurts; you thrust candy-coated lies into the mouths of the people who love you. If the words seem sweet enough, maybe they won’t notice the limpness in your fingers, your voice, your spirit. Read more
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No Arms, No Legs….No Worries
By Nick Vujicic from his Attitude Is Altitude website
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Click on picture above to view inspirational video.
Imagine being born without arms. No arms to wrap around someone, no hands to experience touch, or to hold another hand with. Or what about being born without legs? Having no ability to dance, walk, run, or even stand on two feet. Now put both of those scenarios together: no arms and no legs. What would you do? How would that effect your everyday life?
Meet Nick Vujicic… Born in 1982 in Melbourne, Australia, without any medical explanation or warning, Nicholas Vujicic (pronounced Voy-a-chich) came into the world with neither arms nor legs. Read more
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Familiar Faces
By Dawn Lyons
 I recognized the moment as one that I would always remember. I was watching a children’s movie and my dad had settled into his favorite chair to watch it with me. He didn’t judge me for being a 17-year-old girl who was still in love with a literary character who had become animated on film. Maybe Dad wanted to check the guy out in case I found a real-life version someday. I’ll never know why he chose to sit and watch with me that day. I expected he would make some sarcastic comments, but instead he was quiet. After a while, I glanced over and saw him staring at the screen, enthralled. His face held an expression of joy and contentment, and seeing him like this held me awestruck.
I had never seen Dad with such an expression before, and I was very aware that this was something I needed to focus on so I could remember the details with clarity.
Maybe somehow, I knew something, or maybe it was one of those moments you look back upon and think that “someone” was trying to tell you something. Because in the short span of a few weeks, I found myself sitting in Dad’s chair, devastated by his unexpected death. Read more
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Getting To Know You, Getting To Know All About You
By Sharon Carmichael
 Discovering the truth about ourselves isn’t easy. Too often we suppress our emotions, leaving them dormant in our minds awaiting to pop out at us when we are most vulnerable. I know firsthand – I’ve spent most of my life avoiding my feelings. My father was murdered when I was fifteen-months old, and I traveled through life imagining it didn’t bother me. I told myself things like, “I was too young to remember him,” and “I never knew him so there’s no way this could affect me.” Little did I know this resistance was shaping itself inside of me forming a home within my identity. Read more
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My Epic Journey From South Africa To White Rock, B.C.
By Ivor Block
 I was born in Johannesburg, South Africa, which at 16,000 km. is the furthest place from Vancouver on Earth. Three years later my sister, Denise, was born.
Although I thought I was a cute child, my mother decided otherwise, which led to me being physically and emotionally abused until I reached my teens. Luckily my favorite Aunt, who is now 101, loved me and took me in almost every summer holiday. Read more
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