I AM MY OWN ELDER

Standing at the Crossroads: Why I Refuse to Fit into Your Boxes

At forty five years I had lived inside stories that weren't mine.

I was born into a world where the scripts had already been written long before I drew my first breath. I was handed roles to play by systems, by institutions, by generational trauma. I learned to mask so deeply that I forgot where the performance ended and I began.

Part of that masking was survival. Navigating life as an autistic person with CPTSD. Carrying the heavy legacy of being a residential school survivor. Enduring extreme religious abuse. And hiding my authentic self  because the world I was born into was hostile to my existence.

To keep from collapsing I wore different masks for different people, different partners, different organizations. I built a reality out of illusions because the truth underneath was too terrifying to face.

I remember a moment thirty years ago when I dug up a verifiable truth that shattered a piece of my rigid religious upbringing. It scared the hell out of me. The fear of damnation was so overwhelming that my mind panicked and I forced myself to run back into the burning building of that religion, desperate for the comfort of the old narrative. But once something in your mind is undone, it's changed forever. You can try to climb back into the box but you will never fit again.

The Burning Ground

At forty seven the false stories finally collapsed.

I had already lost my business, my friends, my stability. I found myself on methadone, homeless, looking into a mirror and asking who the fuck am I and what did I do with forty nine years of my life.

For two or three years I wanted it all to cease. I didn't want to exist because looking at the raw unmasked reality of who I had been was too heavy. I didn't try anything but I thought about it, hoping god would take me. Seeing who you really are, not the masks, not the stories, not the performances, is one of the hardest things a human being can survive.

I call this the difference between clear water and muddy water. Murky muddy water like the Fraser River where you can't see an inch below the surface. That's what it's like living as a human being most of the time. Our minds are constantly creating illusions, stories, a reality for us to live inside. We are always thinking, questioning, processing, trying to make sense of things. And we are terrified of letting go of some stories because we don't know what that means underneath. Maybe we are afraid of hell. I understand that. I lived that.

The human mind loves the murky sediment heavy water of illusions because it's warm and familiar. Inside the old stories there are rules. There are clear good guys and bad guys. To step out into clear water forces you to realize that the mud was not the whole world. That terror can make people freeze. Or it can make them viciously attack anyone who threatens their narrative.

I survived the dark.

My Whole Sovereignty

Today I am 57. I am clean and sober. My daughter lives with me and is thriving in university. I drive a truck. I write. I work with community leaders on recovery housing and homelessness. I am preparing to run for City Council in 2029.

It is not all great. Every single day is a struggle. But I no longer hide.

I have been the abuser and I have been the abused. I have walked through the deepest darkness and I have found the light. Today I accept that all of it makes me human. You cannot weaponize my past against me anymore because I name it, I own it, and I stand in it. I am queer. If someone has a problem with that, it's their problem, not mine.

For a long time I felt like an outsider because I couldn't fit into any single circle. I don't fully fit into Indigenous circles or queer circles or political circles or religious circles. My lineage is a massive sprawling history carried on the fierce unbroken strength of a matrilineal line that survived both Canadian residential schools and African American slavery, mixed with the blood of Norse ancestors who raided and settled centuries ago. I carry the blood of the slave and the slaver, the colonized and the colonizer. All of it lives in my body. I don't get to claim a pure identity. Neither victim nor villain. Neither fully Indigenous nor fully settler. Neither fully anything.

How do you squeeze an entire global history into one neat little social box? You don't.

An elder told me years ago to get involved and help people. A knowledge keeper told me to smudge daily, go to sweats, and stay connected. I respect those teachings. I believe deeply in the connection to the earth, the water, the trees, and all life. We are all interconnected, the animals, the air, each other. But I refuse any rigid fable for another. I've been burned by stories before. I keep my discernment close.

No More Bowing

I have been told I am not humble. I have been told to sit quietly and respect authority figures, pastors, and elders no matter what, even when what they are saying or doing is untrue or broken. Because I refuse to make myself small to keep other people comfortable, I am not always accepted into the circles.

That is the price of sovereignty and I will gladly pay it.

I am my own elder today because I finally trust my own eyes and my own gut. True humility is not blind compliance. It's looking another human being dead in the eye, whether they are an MLA, a CEO, a pastor, or a person sleeping on a piece of cardboard, and knowing we are entirely equal. I will not bow. We are all equal.

They didn't reject me out of strength. They rejected me because I can't be controlled. And uncontrollable people are dangerous to systems that run on compliance.

I see this same pattern with employers, politicians, business owners, and systems. People who sit behind a structure they never question while it's weaponized against others. The structure is always the shield. Religion hides behind doctrine. Employers hide behind policy. Politicians hide behind talking points. And behind the shield, people who never question it because questioning would mean risking their place inside it.

I call it when I see it. Not to destroy but because I've been crushed by those structures and stood back up. I refuse to let any structure be more important than the human beings it's supposed to serve.

Maybe I was never meant to fit into a circle. Maybe my purpose is to stand directly at the intersection of them. A bridge. A crossroads person who can translate between worlds because I carry pieces of all of them inside me.

It is a deeply uncomfortable place to stand. You are exposed to the wind from all sides. But I have never looked solely for comfort. I am looking for what is real.

What Is Real

What is real is what remains after you stop pretending. The earth beneath your feet. The water you drink. The air you breathe. The daughter I am raising. The people I am trying to help. The voice inside that knows when something is off even when everyone in the room is nodding.

That voice is my elder now.

I am still here. Still standing. Still questioning. Still building.

This messy, complex, contradictory, whole life I am building out of the ashes. This is the truth. And it is solid ground.