I spent a night posing as a sex worker on the streets of Calgary.
It took me ten years to get the words out. And then another ten years of editing to finally capture the raw terror and the hollow hopelessness of that night. Even with two undercover officers watching my back, I felt the weight of a world most people choose to ignore.
The young women standing next to me didn’t have a safety net. This story is for them, a testament to the guts and humanity they show in the face of a desperate trade.
On January 2nd, I got the news. Deep into caregiving for my husband as he battles an incurable disease, a time where hope often feels like a distant memory, this email cast light into the gloom of exhaustion.
We talk a lot about “transparency” and “exploitation” in the news lately, but we rarely look at the human cost right in front of us. I wrote this to show you what that cost looks like.
One hundred and fifteen days ago, I began a journey to find my way back to centre. My husband’s health was deteriorating and I was fighting embracing becoming a full-time caregiver. Everyday I struggled to navigate the jagged edges of a life I chose which now also contained so many unexpected notes of becoming something I never imagined being to the man I love. To avoid playing a discordant rhythm, I had to learn the keys of tenderness, compassion, and love, by rote, so that whatever each day may bring, I sing a song of joy. Which is why I chose to write a love poem a day for a year -to create a new song of love and joy that encompassed it all.
In my struggle to learn this new melody, the ‘critter’ and I have fought over sharps and flats. We’ve wrestled with who controls the beat and what tempo to play every day. With grace and patience, the sage within has held her silence, knowing that until I released my need for control, I would never hear her urgings to accet the peace of surrender. She is wise this sage woman within. She knows that until I embrace what each moment brings, I’ll never experience the joy of Being. Here. Now.
Slowly, with practice, I am finding the quiet between each note and discovering that the “constant din” softens when I listen into the hum of presence that is constantly playing bass to the refrain of Love I seek. I am learning to let the “bones” of this song of joy we sing, together, to be the ancient melody I play – and in its presence, I am free to stop trying to write music that no one can hear above the cacophony of the noise of my heart trying to find its beat drowns out its harmony.
To my sage within, who I have often ignored, thank you for guiding me back to the truth. To the sea that caresses the shores of hope and opens my mind to possibilities, thank you for sharing your ebb and flow. And to you, who have walked these many days with me:
May you find your own hearth. May you hear the voice of your own Sage. And may you too embrace the inexplicable joy of discovering, the song in your heart is the home of your dreams.
The ink is dry, the bones have appeared, and the circle is unbroken. Through writing a love poem a day for the past 115 days, I have moved from fighting the wind to dancing with it. I have shifted from silencing the music of the wind to setting myself free to live each day singing a song of joy, no matter what blows in through the windows opened wine. What a miracle! All of it!
May this season of love, light and joy bring you great tidings of comfort and joy and miracles for all!
A Song for Every Child by Louise Gallagher
Look up! A star shines bright this winter’s night and angels sing of every child’s birthright
Peace. Hope. Love and Joy. Peace. Hope. Love and Joy.
Sing Loud! Let our voices be strong Let our hands correct the world’s many wrongs So that every child may one day hear No guns, no hatred, and have nothing to fear.
Peace. Hope. Love and Joy. Peace. Hope. Love and Joy. Rejoice! put down your arms of destruction and take up the tools of construction let’s build a world where all can be kind, caring, loving and free.
Peace. Hope. Love and Joy. Peace. Hope. Love and Joy.
____________________________________
To listen to the poem as a Christmas song, I asked an AI assistant to provide a musical score and voice. Listen to it HERE.
It is two years since my sister, Jackie, took her last breath.
I still catch myself wanting to reach for my phone and call her.
I still find myself wishing I could tell her about the latest little quirk of life that made me laugh, or to simply hear her voice telling me to slow down. Life isn’t a race.
Yet, though I can’t, I know, the love that she shared so freely, is still flowing all around and in me.
I am so blessed.
The Love That Never Dies by Louise Gallagher
When does grief die, and quietly slip into missing the presence that vanished in one last breath?
When does each breath you take stop holding the sharp tang of a loss you cannot replace?
When does the pain of reaching out to a number, disconnected begin to ease into remembering the voice you can never hear again?
Perhaps, remembering is their love walking hand in hand, carrying you through the grief to the Love that never dies.
In 2017, a wave of discord and division following the U.S. election sparked a profound necessity for protest within me.
This resulted in my creating a series of 82 feminist-based protest paintings. It is my visual rebellion against what I felt was happening globally.
The message is clear: They said it couldn’t be done, She proved them wrong.
As women, we must keep our voices strong, stand united, and support one another in retaining the hard-won victories across the broad spectrum of issues that have historically left us feeling undervalued, diminished, or like second-class citizens or possessions. And, a reminder that we must continue to fight for the rights of women the world over to have agency over their own bodies, minds and lives.
This series, The She Dares Rebellion Paintings, is my challenge, my defiance, and a rallying cry to dare boldly in the face of regression. It is a testament to the powerful, rebellious agency of women—then, now, and always.
Over the next months, I shall be sharing paintings from the series as my call for solidarity and courage in the face of oppression. I hope you join in.
A photo of two friends, a husband and wife, hugging, waist-deep in the Mediterranean sea, flits across my social media page.
My mind immediately trips me up, spitting me out of contentment with the speed of a child emptying a bowl of mushed peas onto the floor. “C.C. and you will never do that again,” the harsh, woebegone critic hisses. I remind him he’s not welcome here, but the critic pays no heed. His niggling at my peace is relentless.
C.C. is my husband. His health has been severely compromised by COPD and a year of on-again, off-again pneumonia. With each passing day, the list of ‘Things we’ll never do together again’ grows.
This struggle, watching his health decline while my attitude eroded, is why Dear Me, I Love You, was born. I saw a harshness creeping into my voice and a lack of care: who cares if the soup is slopping onto the tray? He should be thankful I serve him at all! That negativity required a fast attitude adjustment.
Whether life is getting me down or lifting me up, writing these poems grounds me in the moment. Like the automatic joy of children’s laughter, writing urges me to stop peering into the darkness and look up. I’m learning that the true challenge isn’t a lack of Love — Love flows, always, everywhere. The challenge is my attitude.
Life Now, Life Imaginedby Louise Gallagher
I struggle some days
to balance
life now
with life imagined.
How two words
juxtaposed
jammed together
have the power
to redefine me.
I struggle to contain
the roles I inhabit
Lover,
friend,
partner,
co-conspirator
and in all of it, that word.
Caregiver.
The heavier the struggle
the greater the need
to retreat
and find solace
in the one place
that soothes
my confusion
my fear
my anger.
Love.
No matter how
battered and torn
my heart
is all I have
to lean into.
A decade ago, I spent a year writing a daily love poem to my husband. That practice taught me the immense, sustaining power of love, even in the darkest times. Now, it’s time to turn that unwavering devotion inward.
At the beginning of September, recognizing that I was feeling stressed and overwhelmed , mostly as the role of care-giver continues to challenge my self-perceptions and my courage to be present within all that is present, I decided to write a love poem.
That one poem inspired this series, Dear Me, I Love You. The commitment is to write a love poem to myself every single day for one year. This compilation represents the first month of that journey, a deep dive into the sometimes difficult, always necessary work of radical self-acceptance.
The creation of these poems became its own lesson in vulnerability and trust. The daily ritual demands a choice: to choose surrender over certainty, acceptance over criticism, and grace over judgment. Within these pages, you will witness a transformation—a journey from seeking external validation to standing firm in the truth that your worth is non-negotiable. It is a chronicle of learning that the love you seek is the love you are already made of, revealed one heartfelt poem at a time.
I invite you to follow along on my Substack– each poem has an intro that explores the inspiration for the poem as well as the philosophical elements underpinning it.
I watch a windsurfer skimming the water, waves slipping underneath the board, body taut, legs primed, arms grasping the bar. A picture of tenacity, grit, and commitment. Commitment to every wave. To every nuance of the water, riding each roll of the surf like a bronco buster on a bull. Anticipating. Adjusting. Moving with each unpredictable buffet of the wind and eruption of the sea.
Like life, we travel through each day, holding on to what’s dear to us, to what’s important. Anticipating. Adjusting. Moving. Sometimes, we miss a step and fall. We have one or two choices: get back up and carry on, or stay down and let the waves carry us further out into the chaos of not taking charge of our own journey.
Sometimes we simply need the right tool. Or the inner wisdom to know we are strong enough to carry on, even when we feel we have no energy left.
Just as the windsurfer learns from every dip and dive, we too can grow stronger through life’s inevitable challenges. It’s in those moments of choosing to rise that our true power is revealed, often found by tapping into our inner wisdom or discovering the right support. What if we all embraced that spirit, understanding that sometimes the most profound growth happens right after a fall?
What helps you get back up when life knocks you down? Is it a particular tool, a mindset shift, or relying on your inner strength? Share your strategies and support others in our community who might be feeling adrift. Join the conversation below!
Fear lives in my belly. It’s that grumbly, rumbly, churning feeling of disquiet that eats away at my peace of mind when I give into it.
Love lives in my entire being. It’s that warm, soothing, tranquil feeling of quiet joy bubbling up to embrace my peace of mind when I give into it.
Which one will I choose? It’s up to me. Just as I can’t ‘try’ to be fearless, I can’t try to ‘be fearful.’ I am or I’m not.
Yoda said it best: “Do or do not. There is no try.”
Which will you choose today? To take the path to the dark side, or to keep walking the path into the light? Will you allow your fearful thoughts to drag you down, or will you allow loving kindness to lift you up and draw you out of the darkness and hold you in the light? It is your choice.
Some time ago, during a presentation, I experienced a moment where fear washed over me with such velocity I was left speechless. I’d made a mistake in how I presented something to a group of about 100 people, and when my co-presenter offered some feedback, my critter mind went into hyper-active defensive mode. I heard their words as a scathing critique, condemning me as stupid and unprofessional.
Here’s the thing: that is not what my co-presenter said. All they really did was provide constructive feedback on how to do it better next time. In my fear of making mistakes, of looking foolish in front of the group, of being shamed for not doing it right, my fear twisted their feedback completely out of context. In that moment, my fear rose up and heard condemnation. It drove me away from courage and truth into the darkness of self-criticism.
I’d like to tell you I recovered right there on the spot. Truth is, as soon as I could, I ‘gracefully’ (ok. I rushed out of the room without making eye contact with anyone) left the room, desperately trying not to draw attention to myself and went to the washroom. In a stall, alone and crying, I had a little pity party and then pulled myself together. When the session resumed, I stood in front of the group and continued.
The Breakthrough Moment: Fear as a Catalyst for Clarity
Yet, here’s the thing about those moments. This particular one was a breakthrough. The initial wave of fear, the self-condemnation that followed my co-presenter’s kind words, felt utterly disorienting. But that very intensity, that visceral jolt of discomfort, became the catalyst I didn’t know I needed. It forced me to ask: Why did I react this way? What was truly going on inside me? All night long, I worried over and thought through the events of that evening, trying to discern why my reaction to such a simple moment had been so visceral, so immediate, so intense. The discomfort of that fear was no longer paralyzing; it was probing. It pushed me to look beyond the surface interaction and into the depths of my own internal landscape.
The next morning, I awoke, tired yet incredibly clear on what that moment of feeling shame at the front of the room represented. And in my enlightenment, the sun broke through the darkness and light illuminated my path in all its brilliant clarity. The fear, in its uncomfortable intensity, had served its purpose: it had shone a spotlight on a hidden truth.
Since I was a small child, I had held a belief within me that was not true. I didn’t even know the belief was there until such an insignificant moment erupted into a deep dive into truth. The ‘belief that is a lie’ rose to the top and screamed in my face, and, I swear, felt like it was ripping my heart out. This painful confrontation, however, was precisely what was needed. The fear had not been the enemy; it had been the messenger, pointing me toward a limiting pattern I needed and was ready to shed.
The specific details of the ‘belief that is a lie’ are not what matters most today. What matters is, I stepped into it and today, I am celebrating. I am dancing. I am shouting for joy. Throughout my life, this ‘belief that is a lie’ had caused me a lot of pain, confusion, and harm. On some deep subconscious level, I had always been aware of its presence, lurking in the darkness, disturbing my status quo and jeopardizing my capacity to feel and know pure joy.
Now that I see it. Now that I know it. Now that I can face it, I can deal with it. I am grateful. The very fear that initially threatened to derail me ultimately became the powerful force that propelled me towards greater self-awareness and healing.
I cannot heal or change what I do not acknowledge. I acknowledge that the ‘belief that is a lie’ does not serve me well. It does not bring me the ‘more’ of what I want in my life.
Today, I choose to step boldly, confidently, and joyfully onto the path of light, love, and well-being, understanding that sometimes, the greatest growth begins with the uncomfortable truth that fear reveals.
Which path do you choose today?
As a Thank You for being here, I have created a mini-guide on transforming fear into a motivating force for good.
Just click below to download your complementary copy of ‘When Fear Becomes Your Guide’
I am back home. My suitcase arrived today having decided to stay in Paris a couple of extra days. It was obviously having even more fun than me!
The challenge is, Customs obviously opened it, and, because my daughter had stuffed a few extra things in it and laid on top of it to close it, Customs simply put it in a big plastic bag. Three plastic bags actually, one on top of the other to keep everything together. I’m grateful for their consideration!
It’s nice to have it home. Though now I really do have to unpack and do the laundry!
From almost forgetting my purse when I left (I’d left it at home and didn’t realize it until after my husband dropped me off at the ferry and I was waiting to board. Fortunately, I’d called him right away and he brought it to me before the next ferry left! Losing my bag at the end is just a small end note to an amazing trip. A friend asked me yesterday what was the highlight. I didn’t have to think about it – the time with my daughter. Pure delight. The sights and sounds and experiences were amazing. But… laughing and chatting, sharing meals and talking for hours — so much grace and gratitude.
This morning, Beaumont and I walked along the shoreline, the wind whispered its secrets of far away places into the branches of the trees stretched out above us. The waves lapped along the rocks beguiling them with tales are the depths below and seagulls cawed and cussed as they dive bombed waves lapping against the shore.
And the muse stirred… and I listened.
Dancing with Shadows by Louise Gallagher
The shadow stretches body thrown across freshly mown lawn, shorn short, prickling its dark expanse searching for separation yearning for freedom beyond the tree trunk standing firm holding it close to its roots until night stealthily descends steeling away the day separating light and shadow slipping silently into oblivion.
Dare Boldly 