Dear Me (Yeah, You!)

Breathe in twice and exhale once, on repeat, until your lungs have no more air. That’s not a threat — it’s simply what happened to me recently when my nervous system had a reset.

When breathwork facilitator Tess Rouse tells you you might cry and that’s okay, let it flow through you, you’d best take her words seriously.

I recently had the privilege of sitting in a room with 100 women, all sharing in the knowledge and experiences offered during the Kootenay Women Summit held in Rossland this fall.

I’ve attended events like these before, but I was not prepared for the vulnerability and the touching connections I’d make in such a short time. My heart was ripped out and placed on the table in front of me, still rhythmically beating, possibly a little faster than before. 

Having reserved the Thursday morning of the summit to take part, I strategically took in the marketing portion of the event — which, I guess, if you wanted to categorize who I am and where I fit, is probably where I’d land.

Scrambling in a few minutes late — interrupted on my route by a quick stop at the school for my daughter — I was astonished to see a full room of women from all walks of life. I spotted an open seat right at the front. Shamefully, I tiptoed in, late to class and now having to sit in the very front… but honestly, just darn happy to be there.

I side-eyed the woman next to me, not knowing who she was and, with the talks underway, not wanting to interrupt and introduce myself just yet.

Surprisingly, she was then called to the front to share her presentation: The Dear Me Project, by Sarah Kapoor — Kootenay Film’s Regional Commissioner and the business owner behind Thoughtluck.

Sarah shared her journey with writing, speaking about journaling as a way to find her voice as a shy child from an immigrant family. Always feeling somewhat between two worlds, her journal was the steadying force in her life.

As she spoke, she touched on the power of storytelling itself — how the way we tell a story shapes what the story becomes. She echoed Marshall McLuhan’s famous phrase, “the medium is the message,” suggesting our tools, our platforms, our chosen forms of expression all influence the meaning we take from them.

In adulthood, her practice of journaling was parked momentarily — or so it seemed from her presentation — as she went on to do “grown-up” things like education, journalism (like me), growing her family with two kids (like me, too) and eventually settling back in Creston, leaving the hustle and bustle of the Greater Toronto and Hamilton Area (somewhat like me; I left Vancouver).

When the medium changed for writing — she alluded to the demise of legacy media and the rise of social media (my words, not hers) — she began to disengage. Publications were dripping toward their death, good writers were out of work, and fake news was everywhere. It was a botched field resembling a plastic surgery job gone wrong.

She boycotted. She quit writing.

But something ached in her; she was no longer fulfilled.

So she began piecing herself back together through writing in the purest way she knew — a practice that started when she was a young girl trying to find her way, writing from a lens of care, reimagining or hoping for her past and future selves.

She began to journal again.

Imagine writing a letter to your eight-year-old self… or to your future 40-something-year-old self. What would you say?

Eventually, this evolved into what is now The Dear Me Project, the vessel through which the very talented and bright Sarah Kapoor expresses herself and releases others from mediums that may no longer be serving them.

There was a bunch of science-backed information Sarah touched on in her talk the next day when she shared more on the project — which I sadly missed — but I want to share my own notes as a way to vulnerably expose why this piece hit me in the heart and why I felt seen by Sarah instantly.

(PS: Sarah, I’m sorry I bailed. It was really nice to meet you, if you ever read this!)

•         Writing is a practice, like breathing.
•         The story moved from saving you to selling to you.
•         The medium is the message.

A room of fully fixated eyes collectively stared at Sarah. Then, each of us individually picked a number from a hat — each number corresponding to an age — and either wrote a letter to ourselves at that age or wrote from that age to our present self.

I picked 100.

The words quickly started flowing from pens.

Dear me,

As I write this letter to you at 41, spry and unaware of your youthfulness and power, I want you to know that at 100, that feistiness doesn’t vanish. While my hands are gnarled with experience, there is power still. I always said I’d live forever — even considered a future as a vampire.

Life feels hard at times, but remember that’s part of who you are. Your strength is in that holding pattern. But rest assured: there is a shift coming.

You will continue to grow, and learn to live with more purpose and choice. You will celebrate your worth. Your relationships will deepen once you fully embrace, trust, and stop holding back.

Though you feel funny admitting that — because it’s not evident to the outside eye — you’ll stop feeling that too. You’ll choose where to put that emotion, directing it toward something worthy of your commitment and love.

Beyond the emotional confidence you’ll gain and the connections you’ll further form, you’ll go on to do meaningful work with your writing and storytelling. You will be intentional. You will find the right path. Know that.

In much the same way that writing transported me through time, the breathwork broke me open. It was a reminder of how letting go can be just as powerful as remembering. Let’s go there now. My lungs gasped for air, and a tingling sensation swept across my face. I began to travel through my own body — like a strong string pulling at the junk from all the nooks and crannies, removing what no longer needed to be stored.

I felt a rush, and the tears started flowing. I kept breathing, unable to keep my hands still as I wiped my face. Questioning: Am I okay? What’s happening?

Open your eyes.

Still teary, I collected myself, almost embarrassed I had reached this place — but then I realized I was not alone. 

I left the Kootenay Women Summit feeling both raw and recharged, already looking forward to the next time we meet again.

—

All photos by Ellie Rye Moments, courtesy of Kootenay Women in Business.

Watch the award-winning short documentary, The Dear Me Project on YouTube here.

Learn more about the Summit and other Kootenay Women in Business initiatives here.