So Scared: The Gravity of Leaving.
Sometimes, I just wanted to quit.
I’m fucking scared about moving (back) to Vancouver, even though I’ve already been there for four months. I’m afraid of what will happen to Mom. I’m terrified of the next episode. I’m frightened of not being home in Vancouver. But I am scared of going backward.
I feel like an older 757 jumbo jet struggling to lift off from gravity.
That gravity is 19 years of my life in Toronto—my home, chosen family, career, community, and definition of belonging. In these past two weeks back in Toronto, there have been so many moments I freaked out.
I’m scared to unpack and pack, because deep down, I worry this will be forever.
I’m scared to book a car moving company because it feels like a one-way street.
I’m SO scared.
I feel paralyzed.
Anxiety crashes over me like a wave I can’t stop. This next chapter is terrifying because I have no idea what it holds for Mom.
A City of Ice and Grit
It's not that Toronto is perfect. The cold bites, the sidewalks are iced over, and the city is terrible at clearing the snow. But the people—the Greek dad, and his heartwarming cooking—melted my heart.
Yes, even with 55cm of snow, everyone shovels; the grit makes it home.
Fear and Helplessness
Sometimes, the fear is so overwhelming that I want to run, move on, and start fresh.
The winter makes it worse. The heavy gust turned the snow into ice, trapping my car. The wind howled. I feel stuck.
And when I feel stuck, I feel helpless.
I’m scared because, at my core, I feel like a little child.
I’m scared because I don’t know much about dementia.
I’m scared because I already lost my dad.
And I’m the only child. 😭 I’m also only a child.
So I do what feels safest—I hide under the covers.
That first weekend, I told myself I was sick. Stayed in bed. Avoided the world. I even skipped the gym. It’s super odd for me to only go to the gym three times a week.
Climbing Out
Slowly, after the long weekend of hibernation, I climbed out.
I went to the office.
The warmth of my colleagues, the serendipitous hallway conversations, the simple act of being around people—they brought me back to life.
People messaged me to grab a coffee/dinner, and others told me they had read my writing on LinkedIn.
It’s strange. I never thought of myself as a writer. But now, people are drawn to me.
They don’t just read my words. They feel like they are part of the story.
Letting Go
This trip taught me so much about myself.
It’s okay to let go.
It’s okay to turn the heavy page, even when I don’t want to.
And it’s okay because Mom is more capable than I thought. She took the bus herself to BC Cancer to pick up her meds. I needed to let her.
Seeing Growth—Literally
This trip also made me realize how much I’ve changed.
In Vancouver, I work out four times a week. In Toronto, even if I skipped twice when I looked in the mirror—the same mirror I’ve had for years—I was shocked.
Who’s this buff guy staring back at me?
Acceptance
I’m learning to accept reality.
It’s okay to get sick. It’s OK to miss the gym. It’s OK that I hurt my back from shoveling.
It’s okay that -15°C winds make shoveling snow feel impossible.
It’s okay that my fingers are cracked and bleeding from the dry air.
Because I am growing, my hair grew so much these 13 days that I had to cut it twice with my favourite hairdresser. I didn’t want to say goodbye to him. But I had to.
I grew, too.
I had a flashback—a nightmare of Mom falling. But she didn’t.
I am slowly winning.
I am growing.
And so is she.
I have to go.
Let me grow.
(The inner child needs to grow).
Hi Elliot!
Has it warmed up your way yet?