Photo by: Adam O'Brien

MUA: Kelsie Clark

Hair: Julia Bayuk: Everhair

No models were retouched in the making of this project.

Curvy - Bubbly - Compassionate

Let me begin by saying that this is one of the most terrifying posts I've ever published- I won't lie. Not because I feel I have something to be ashamed of, but because a part of me knows that a small percentage of people who click on this post will.

They will find this page, skim maybe one or two lines of my story, potentially make a judgement about me or my lifestyle based on the photos I'm courageously sharing with you, and click away-

Which is Okay. This post isn't for them anyway; It's for you:
The beautiful human being who felt compelled to read my story. Who somehow identifies with this movement or these photos and, hopefully, the story that accompanies them. 

You are the reason that I partook in this movement. Heck, you're the reason we organized this event in the first place!

I'll start by introducing myself, for those who don't know me: I'm Alycia. I'm a nearly-24 year old living in Halifax, Nova Scotia. I'm a bubbly, sensitive and compassionate young woman who tries to see beauty in all corners of the world. 

I live with a whole separate story surrounding mental illness, but today I want to talk about my journey with Body Dysmorphia, and learning to have compassion and love for my body.

Photo by: Adam O'Brien

MUA: Kelsie Clark

Hair: Julia Bayuk: Everhair

No models were retouched in the making of this project.

I grew up as a curvy girl, and remember very distinctly being bullied for my size and shape.
Not only by classmates, but also from members of my family.
I was taught at a very young age to fear food, and I was shamed when I wanted, or ate anything more than what was deemed "appropriate". I was told time and time again, beginning at the tender age of 10, that I "needed to lose weight".
And so, naturally, I carried these beliefs and fears with me throughout my life.
Food was bad, and I had to feel ashamed if I wanted to feed my body.

Throw into the mix a level of loneliness, rejection and no sense of belonging and you've got yourself a recipe for self-destruction. Which is exactly what became of me.
I hated my body. I wanted so badly to be that "perfect" size 0 or 2 or 4- Because that's what I was taught to vie for.
I would sit in my room and beg the world- beg whatever God there may be- to change my body. That I would do anything, because then, I would be worthy of love. I would belong. People would love me, include me, and tell me I was beautiful.

Now, I am in no way saying that this is a "Women's Only" issue by any means; But women have been taught for centuries that a thin, flat waistline was the only form of true beauty. So, if your body's default didn't match this ideal, you were made to feel as though you had to change it. Eat more salad, eat less, exercise more, lose weight, start a diet... This belief system was ingrained into the way I thought and felt about myself.
I was taught that my body was an object to change, to covet, to objectify, to have, to win... And when I was 18, someone decided that my body was theirs to have.
I now, more than ever, hated my body. I hated what it looked like, I hated what it felt like, and I hated that it didn't seem to belong to me. It belonged to a society that made decisions for me. A society that got to decide whether or not I was beautiful. Whether or not I was "healthy" or "worthy". A society that taught me that my body was not my own.

Even today, I feel ashamed and embarrassed to eat in front of people, for fear of being judged. You're too fat to eat. You shouldn't eat that. I rip myself apart in the same manner as I saw those I loved do to their loved ones...

Romantic partners of mine expressed disappointment that I wasn't thin enough, or that I didn't have the coveted thigh gap... I felt ashamed of who I was. And I have to wonder, where the hell did all of this body shaming come from?

2014

I eventually found myself working with a personal trainer, Josh Armstrong, who worked with me to help me achieve a healthier lifestyle. He taught me about the fundamentals of foods and the basics of exercise. I was empowered with knowledge that completely debunked everything I thought I knew about weight and health. For many months, I practiced healthy lifestyle changes that resulted in me losing inches and building muscle, and I value this part of my journey very much.

When I began losing weight, however, the praise I received for doing so was overwhelming. I suddenly felt less hated, more loved, and I wanted more. The reactions I received taught me that by losing more weight, I became more lovable. I was not praised for how much healthier I was. I was praised for how much smaller I was. And that, my dear friends, is the issue.
It became an obsession for me. How much closer to that societal ideal could I get?
For years I began counting calories, tracking my body-fat percentage, checking my weight on a daily basis... I was addicted.

2015

There came a point where Friends expressed their disdain with the fact that I'd lost too much weight and was far too obsessed with my body fat percentage, but I couldn't stop. I felt like loving my body was right around the corner. It was always "right around the corner". At my smallest, I hated my body the same as if I'd never changed at all. It was never good enough; There was always something else that needed to change.

Photo by: Adam O'Brien

MUA: Kelsie Clark

Hair: Julia Bayuk: Everyhair

No models were retouched in the making of this project.

Today, as I stand before you, I'm a larger picture of what I was at my smallest, after a battle with my Mental Health. The inability to get out of bed, let alone exercise, resulted in decreased energy levels... And I found myself even further from meeting that societal standard of beauty.

Ultimately, I wouldn't change it for the world.

Do I love the way my body looks? I won't lie- I'm not quite there yet. There are things I still wish to improve, such as my strength and physical resilience. But I've developed a sense of compassion for my body regardless of shape or size or weight. A new-found acceptance for who I am today. And that is the most amazing part of this experience. I no longer hate myself, and that's a HUGE step in the right direction. 

To those of you who continue to shame others for their bodies, here is what I have to say to you:

You need to seriously reevaluate your own perceptions of beauty, because they stem from deep within yourself.
(Okay, there's a few other things I'd love to say, but there's a time and a place...)

There is NO wrong way to have a body.

Your size, your weight, your skin color, your scars, your proportions, your "flaws"... They're all beautiful, and they do not define you or your worth.

Photo by: Adam O'Brien

MUA: Kelsie Clark

Hair: Julia Bayuk: Everhair

No models were retouched in the making of this project.

Leave a little kindness wherever you go,

Alycia
alycia@findyourlight.ca

#FYLBodyPositive
#AlyciaFYL

Dear Mr. Andy Fillmore, and Mr. Darren Fisher,
Halifax, Nova Scotia


As a Mental Health Advocate, I see many strong and courageous individuals send their cries for change to our Prime Minister, Justin Trudeau.

As a Haligonian, however, I feel an overwhelming need to instead direct my concerns to you, as I know we have the capacity to work together in setting a precedent to make much needed changes to our Mental Health System here in Nova Scotia. 

I know that you've heard the concerns before, and I will certainly not be the last to bring them to your attention, but I hope you will hear me out, regardless.

Let me start by introducing myself: 

My name is Alycia. I am a 23 year old living with symptomology of Complex PTSD, along with diagnosed Major Depressive Disorder and Generalized Anxiety Disorder. 

I have lived with the latter two for 10 years, and instead of receiving better, more comprehensive treatment with time, I- like many- have been left to fend for myself the majority of my fight.

When I have mustered up the incredible courage it takes to reach out for help and support, I have been turned away. I have been turned away from both Primary and Secondary services alike, and that is such a discouraging, helpless feeling. It discredits your sense of self worth. We live in a system that constantly tells you that you are not sick enough to receive support, and that's a huge dilemma.

Let me tell you why;

This past January, whilst nearing my "1 Year of Recovery", I experienced a significant relapse in my Mental Health. With the only fight I had left in me, I reached out for support and admitted I could not get through this alone.
Three nights in a row, I was brought by paramedics to the ER, where doctors and psychiatrists made empty promises of follow-up appointments, told me that if I were to be admitted, I could not receive or take advantage of the services I needed to get better (which is a blatant lie), and was sent home despite the knowledge that I did not feel safe and had plans to take my life.
On the second night, in fact, I shared with the doctor my then-carefully calculated plan, and with a huge lacking in any sort of compassion or empathy, was asked "If you haven't yet received this substance in the mail, why can't you go home and just come back when it arrives?".

I understand that there is a lacking in beds, in resources, in staff to handle the very prevalent issue of Mental Health, however the blatant disregard for patient's feelings or stability- to the point of interrogation- merely instigates a patient's susceptibility to completing suicide, and this needs to change. This cannot take a back seat- Our citizens living with these concerns are being turned away, invalidated and challenged to take more drastic measures before they will be taken seriously.
The fact of the matter is when a patient is turned away from care and support, the likelihood that they will reach out again is significantly decreased. We need to be working harder to mitigate this injustice.

Unfortunately, I have learned that when you are in need of support for Mental Health concerns, that you cannot rely on our federally or provincially regulated medical and mental health systems. And, in fact, whilst advocating for the well-being and mental health of others, I am reluctant to turn them over to these services, as I know all too well the mistreatment they are likely to receive.
I work with people every day who are terrified to go to the hospital, because they are made to feel belittled and invalidated. This is, as you know, simply not okay.

I refuse to raise my concerns without providing you with potential solutions, however- So here is what I propose:

1. Training:                    The MD's, Psychiatrists, Nurses and Mental Health Practitioners that are dealing directly with patients in a mental health crisis require more education surrounding language, tone of voice, follow-up treatment, and compassion fatigue. There should not be a case in which a health practitioner who lacks in these departments should be dealing with a patient who is already unstable and in need of kind support. 
2. Additional Staff:        I understand that not all who present themselves to the ER for mental health purposes are in a crisis- many of them require support in lieu of medical attention. Having a trained psychologist on staff would help mitigate the overwhelming number of patients seeing both MD's and Psychiatrists. This, in turn, will help decrease compassion fatigue with our practitioners. 
3. Funding:                     We, in Nova Scotia, have pulled a significant amount of funding from our Mental Health systems and services. Comprehensive and appropriate mental health care is preventative, and if our communities are receiving the appropriate resources, there is less of a need for resources pertaining to a mental health crisis. If the only way we are able to receive any sort of support or medical attention is by becoming "sick enough" to "deserve" it, we are allowing there to be an unnecessary amount of pressure on our emergency departments. An increase in funding for our mental health system, whose wait lists are far from reasonable, and an increase in funding for nonprofits and secondary support systems within the community will also help in terms of alleviating the pressures in the ER. 

There needs to be a shift in conversation surrounding mental health and wellness, and I know that by working together, we can create this shift on a Provincial level. 

And so, Mr. Fillmore and Mr. Fisher, I hope that we can work as a team to #DitchTheStigma surrounding mental illness, and create a more safe, more accessible, more comprehensive system for those in need, to seek the support and care they very much deserve.

Sincerely,

Alycia Dort
alycia@findyourlight.ca

What does is mean to be a leader?

Dedicated to those that have helped mold me into the Leader I am today.

I used to think that a good leader bred followers; eager to serve- to follow directives given by a powerfully driven guide. 

But today, I believe a good leader breeds other good leaders.

A great leader instills in others the genuine belief that they matter. 

That they are strong, and capable. 

They encourage the development of strong values and ambition. 

A good leader does not fear other leaders. 

They do not fear competition, because great leaders work alongside one another.

They lift one another up, and cheer one another on in their success.

Great leaders do not wish for another's failure and, at the failure of a fellow comrade, a great leader lends a hand. A hug. A kind, reassuring word. 

Great leaders are inclusive. Great leaders cultivate their surroundings to their fullest potentials.

And great leaders work with the intent of breeding greater leaders than they, themselves, have become.

Alycia

#AlyciaFYL

My Name is Alycia, and I am a Recovering Alcoholic. 

(Or, depending on your viewpoint, a Recovered Alcoholic.) 

No, I am not an obnoxious drunk.

No, I am not a physically violent person.

No, I am not untrustworthy.

No, I am not dangerous, nor do I need to be treated as such.

I am a 23 year old woman who has acknowledged that alcohol has taken control over a part of my life that otherwise feels too large- too overwhelming- too painful. 

My first drink wasn't until the age of 18 when my then-Best Friend, Nadia, gave me a drink of her Peach Schnaps. I thought it was the most disgusting thing I'd ever put in my mouth. I can't remember the first time I was intoxicated... the only thing I remember with absolute clarity is that it felt amazing. My constantly worried self was now a care-free, liberated girl with ambition and freedom from my over-worked mind. 

I felt invincible. 

I started as a Social Drinker. I would have a glass of wine at dinner with family, or have a few shots with friends at The Cosmo. I was more social, less self-conscious and quite frankly, more extroverted- and I liked that. Scratch that- I LOVED it. The false confidence it gave me- the courage to talk to strangers, to make friends, to dance in public, to kiss a boy... was addictive.

I was a Social Drinker for many years, and I'm not sure that I can pinpoint a pivotal moment in which I changed from a Social Drinker to a Dependent Drinker; And that is probably the most concerning part of alcohol consumption. The blurry line between "safe" and "sorry".

I can say with a great degree of confidence that there is no magical line, but that it's a continuum, and that we are all subject to this continuum between black and white. 

The terrifying part of alcoholism to me, is the euphoria I felt when I drank. 

I felt like I could actually do this (life). 

That I could cope with whatever life threw at me, because I could drink until I cared less, drink until I didn't care at all, and then drink myself into oblivion, where pain and heartache no longer existed. Nothing existed there. It was peaceful. It was nothing. 

And "nothing" was FAR better than pain. 

As my mental health worsened, and I spiraled into one of the worst Depressions of my life, I began to manipulate my alcohol use. I researched which drugs *not* to mix with alcohol with the intention of passing out for days at a time. I purposefully mixed benzodiazepines and opiates with liquor in hopes to permanently damage my vital organs, and was rushed to the ER on many occasions.

And, eventually, I used liquor in the calculated equation to take try and take my life in 2015. 

My use with alcohol controlled far more than my anxiety. I allowed it to control my life. I allowed it to consume my every move, my every feeling, my every reaction. Still to this day, I struggle with whether alcohol is my friend, or my enemy because at various times, it has served both roles. 

It has played fundamental roles in my deteriorated mental health, and it has played fundamental roles in my recovery. 

The greatest thing I continue to learn, however, is that our relationship and viewpoints on alcoholism are skewed. 

The user is not the enemy, just as alcohol is not innately evil. 

And yet we hear the term "alcoholic" and make a judgement call about that person's accountability, capability and character. 

So, allow me to take a moment to clear up a few misconceptions....

Yes, I am a 23 year old recovering alcoholic.

Yes, I am a capable, committed, compassionate individual. 

Yes, I am an ambitious young woman with goals and values.

Yes, I am a "safe" and gentle person.

Yes, I will have slip-ups and make mistakes now and then, and;

Yes, I am worthy of being treated with love and respect and value. 

Let's #DitchTheStigma surrounding Addiction and Mental Health. 

Leave a little kindness wherever you go,

Alycia

#AlyciaFYL

MAKING CHANGES: HOW TO HELP YOURSELF.

Sigmund Freud wrote “before you diagnose yourself with depression or low self esteem, first make sure that you are not, in fact, just surrounded by assholes.” It is so important to understand that your environment can directly affect how you are feeling and how you heal. If you are constantly feeling overwhelmed and like you have nowhere to decompress, here are some ways that you may be able to find some peace.

Remember that you can always say no.

It took me years to understand that I have another option other than yes. I am the type of person that needs to help everyone and I feel awful if I don’t. My experience with going to counseling with one specific counselor helped me understand that the stress I was undergoing can be dealt with by saying no at least once a day. If you don’t feel like you can make an extra commitment, than don’t. If you don’t feel like sacrificing something to make someone else happy, don’t do it. You’re not being selfish, you’re not being rude. You’re taking care of yourself and you’re making sure that your well-being and your overall happiness is being taken into consideration.

Saying no doesn’t mean you need to have a reason.

Just because you take the plunge to saying no, doesn’t mean you have to explain yourself to anyone. If you don’t have a reason, you don’t need to justify your refusal. Just say no, say thank you maybe next time, or sorry but I can’t and move on with your day.

You never have to settle.

If you’re unhappy with your living situation or who surrounds you, you’re allowed to change it. Change can be very difficult and hard to go through, but it is sometimes critical. Leases can be broken, money isn’t everything and people come and go. What’s important is that you feel confident enough in yourself to be the strong person you were meant to be, and the right people will be pulled toward you.

If you can’t find peace, make it.

I know for our younger readers, living at home can be difficult, especially when you don’t always see eye to eye with them.  Finding your own sense of peace can be liberating. Taking walks, listening to music, painting, and exercise are all different types of therapies that can create zen in any home! 

What I Want You To Know: ANXIETY

Written by Alycia Dort


I wish for you to read this, as it's hard for me to explain; I hope you'll try to understand. I know it can be hard to see the world through my eyes, or for you to put yourself in my shoes. Just know that I brought this article to you because I care about you- Because I trust you enough to let you into my world.

The first thing I want you to know is that anxiety is different from feeling nervous. Anxiety isn't always logical, but that doesn't give me any more control over it. There are times it comes out of nowhere. It is difficult for me to always know what's triggered it because, frankly, sometimes there isn't a trigger. If I go out of my way to avoid a known trigger, please understand this does not make me weak. I am doing what is in my best interest; I am doing what I can. I understand that it can be frustrating. Heck, it's incredibly frustrating for me! But I'm learning to be patient with myself and my recovery, and I hope you can do the same.

It's sometimes hard for me to be in social situations and events. I'm not trying to be anti-social or rude. I keep to myself when my anxiety spikes because it better allows me to focus on my breathing, as well as reminding myself that I am safe. I understand that it can come off incorrectly, and I can only hope you'll come to understand. When people engage me in conversation when I'm anxious, what I see is danger, and I feel unsafe. If you are with me when this happens, holding my hand, letting me know you are here, and reassuring me can be helpful. A spike in anxiety doesn't always mean I want to leave, but I may become more introverted in the face of a high anxiety baseline.

At times it is just a matter of sensory overload. My anxiety can come out of nowhere, but it can also be aggravated by too much stimuli. When there is a lot going on, it makes it more difficult for me to focus on realistic, safe thoughts and helpful breathing. Often, the chaos of too much sensory input puts me in a position where I am likely to have an anxiety attack. There may come a time where I do have to leave, or that I may need you to guide me to somewhere more safe. It's not always easy for me to find an exit or excuse myself; There are times where my anxiety paralyzes me, and I feel trapped.

Sometimes my anxiety gets to a point where it is all-consuming, and I feel both paralyzed and debilitated. There are times where I cannot bring myself to attend events, parties, or get-togethers. It hurts me, and makes me feel unworthy of being invited, but please understand that I *want* to be able to do these things, more than anything!
It's hard for me to tell you I'm not able to attend because I often feel ashamed that my anxiety has such a strong hold on my life, and I am scared you won't understand. I'm scared you will be angry with me. Know that I am harder on myself than anyone, and that I'm far more upset with myself than you are, even though I shouldn't be.

Please know that I am actively trying my best to better manage my anxiety, and that celebrating my little successes means the world to me. If I am able to go out for coffee and say hi to a stranger, that is a big deal! I may not always be able to participate in the activities that you want me to, but I am trying my best. Each and every day is a fight for me, and having you by my side to help me through means more than you'll ever know. Anxiety isn't something I'm able to get over, but it is something I'm actively working on managing in my day-to-day life. Sometimes this means compromising.

But ultimately, what I want you to know is that I appreciate you. Thank you for helping me through these difficult times, and thank you for trying to understand.

If you would like to learn more about Anxiety and Anxiety Disorders, you can find more posts about Anxiety below!

Managing Baseline Anxiety
Identifying and Managing Triggers

Written by Isabelle Agnew

“Mom, what if I’m depressed?” 

I remember this moment clearly: My mom and I were sitting in her bed, watching TV together. It was one of those rare moments where it was just the two of us and we were just able to sit back and relax instead of worrying about work or school. We had been discussing my lack of social skills and how little I had been eating recently, and, for the first, it occurred to me that maybe what I was feeling was depression. 

“To be honest with you,” she said to me, “I’m not really sure what the symptoms of depression are.” So we looked them up: 

-Feelings of helplessness and hopelessness 

-Loss of interest in daily activities 

-Appetite or weight changes 

-Sleep changes 

-Anger or irritability 

-Loss of energy 

-Self-loathing 

Check, check, and check. I had been experiencing every single depression symptom for close to a year, so how had I missed this? 

My mom suggested we make an appointment with my family doctor to see what he thought about it, so a few days later I was sitting in a cold, sterile office. The doctor asked me a bunch of questions, and first considered that I might be Agoraphobic, but he eventually determined that I was, in fact, suffering from Major Depressive Disorder. He prescribed me Fluoxetine (AKA Prozac), referred me to a psychologist, and gave my mom and I the usual warnings that come along with a depressed teenager, mainly to be mindful of suicidal thoughts and to reach out to someone if that happens. 

I think, at this point, I thought this was it; this was going to be the cure to all my problems. I thought that, just like a physical illness, the medication would kick-in in a few days time and I’d be better – I’d be me again. 

Of course, I was wrong, because it ended up taking upwards of 6 months to start feeling better. 

It took me several months of suffering further to finally come to accept the illness, and it was only after I had embraced it I was truly able to overcome it. 

For a long time, I lived in shame of this new label that I held. On the one hand, it was great to finally have a name for what I was experiencing; I wasn’t just being a lazy teenager, and what I was going through was a legitimate illness. But, on the other hand, this new diagnosis made me feel worse about myself; how was I supposed to explain my depression to my friends and family when mental illness was such a taboo topic? 

In fact, it took me several weeks to even open up to my dad about the depression. I remember my heart pounding as I finally talked to him about my diagnosis. But his reaction wasn’t one of misunderstanding or anger, like I had expected. Instead, he reassured me that he knew what I was going through and that he was there if I needed him. 

So I began to tell friends. I told my closest friends, and felt just as nervous about it. But every single one of them was supportive. I think this new label actually helped a lot of people, including myself, understand why I had been acting the way I had. Suddenly all of the absences from school made sense, and the fact that I never had the energy to hang out with friends was explained. 

What I quickly realized was that the fact that I was depressed wasn’t nearly as big of a deal as I had anticipated. Nobody cared that I was mentally ill; they all just wanted to support me on my journey to mental health, much like how I would expect them to react if I revealed that I had cancer. 

It was in this realization that I decided to really take a leap and step out of my comfort zone entirely. At the time, I was writing a weekly column in the teen section of the Moncton Times & Transcript, and I decided to open up about my depression in an article. 

This was a huge deal for me. While my friends and family had been overwhelmingly supportive, I had absolutely no idea how the general public was going to react to my admission given the stigma surrounding mental illness at the time.  But I wrote the article anyway, and, let me tell you, that was quite possibly one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. 

Finally coming 100% clean about my depression to absolutely everyone in my life through my column was the breath of fresh air that I needed to help get me out of the hazy fog. 

Not long after the article was published, I had teachers coming to me before, during, and after class to ask if I needed anything from them. They told me they wanted to help me in anyway necessary. I had other students telling me that they thought I was brave, and that my honesty about my depression had truly helped them. 

It seemed like, for the first time in over a year, I had done something right. While my depression had been insistent on making me feel worthless for so long, finally opening up about my experience made me feel like I had won a battle – like maybe it was possible to be happy. 

And, from there, it got better – I got better. I remained open with everyone around me and answered as many questions as I could. If I missed a class I was no longer afraid to admit that it was because I didn’t have the energy to get out of bed, instead of coming up with some dumb, unbelievable excuse. If I wasn’t interested in hanging out with friends I wasn’t afraid of explaining myself. 

I’m not going to lie, those 18 months were definitely some of the darkest of my life. I spent a lot of time in bed, and even more time crying for no good reason. Every single morning the first thought it my head was “how can I get out of school/work/etc. today,” and I lost so much weight that year that I was considered underweight for my height. I was all around an unhealthy person, and that’s painful to think about. 

But the moral of my story is that it got better – I got better! With hard work, determination, and open-mindedness, I was able to overcome my depression. Just when I thought I was hitting rock bottom, I decided to break the barrier and open up about my experiences. I overcame the societal stigma as well as my personal stigma, and, because of that, I’m a healthy individual. 

We all need to be open and honest about what we’re facing, whether it’s a physical problem or a mental problem. Either way, our experiences are valid and should be treated that way, 

If you’re suffering with depression, or any other mental illness, please don’t be afraid to reach out to someone. I know it seems scary to tell someone about your illness at first, but, trust me, your friends and family want to help. They love you, and, chances are, they’re willing to do what they can to help you through this dark time. If, for whatever reason, you don’t feel comfortable opening up to someone you know, then please find a hotline in your area (http://suicideprevention.ca/thinking-about-suicide/find-a-crisis-centre/). I promise that someone loves you, someone cares about you, and you can be happy again! 

Art Therapy piece by Alycia Lucie Dort