Tag Archives: Love

Claiming my Birthright. 72 My Way!

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My birthday photo today. 72 and I get to choose to not wear make-up!

Another year around the sun, and the emotions are a chaotic, beautiful mess. Joy and weariness co-exist. That’s the whole point, isn’t it? Today, I claim my birthright: unadulterated self-celebration.

Birthdays are a moment of necessary, guilt-free narcissism. We get to hit pause and declare: This is all about me.

But this year’s number – 72 – is different. Seventy-one was the year I finally got clear. I stopped tiptoeing around other people’s visions for my life and stepped fully into my own power. I shed the fear of upsetting someone else’s apple cart and chose to claim ‘the more’ I truly want.

It was a challenging year. We weathered my husband’s health storms, navigating travel with his oxygen and wheelchairs. Yet, I found myself more confident than ever, able to right my own boat in any sea. It was a year of profound firsts: traveling to Europe, (the continent where I spent most of my formative years) with my youngest daughter, discovering Malta (and Maltese hospitality! wow!), and even living on an island.

More than any of those adventures, this past year I finally put down the metaphorical knife I used to fend off intruders to my personal space. I don’t need defense; I need declaration. I claimed my space. Unequivocally.

Here’s to aging, not worrying about whether it’s “graceful” or “fierce.”

Here’s to claiming the right to do it however I damn well please.

The Weary Carry (Month 2: Day 23 of Dear Me, I Love You.”

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We all have defining memories, those perfect moments where the world felt simplified and safe. Perhaps it’s a quiet evening where the fire burned low, or a moment when a lover said, “You and me against the world.” For a long time, I held a moment trapped in memory to preserve the feeling of simplicity and safety the tent we built out of sheets provided against the harsh reality of life outside our bubble. To release that memory felt like a betrayal of what, I once thought was ever-lasting love, but was not strong enough to withstand the buffeting and pummeling of the winds of life.

I carried that memory for many seasons, long after the snow stopped and melted. My promise to forever carry it in my heart grew heavier and heavier; a physical weight holding me tethered to a past and a relationship that had died, not through death, but through our own human frailties. We confuse endurance with love, and mistake exhaustion for failure to thrive.

Today’s Month 2: Day 23 poem of Dear Me, I Love You, my year-long commitment to write a love poem a day, is about the moment of necessary surrender. It’s about letting go of the burden of the past so that we can finally be caught by something greater than our thoughts. The Weary Carry is the realization that when you set down the burden of the past, there is space to hear Love whispering, “Carry me. I will never leave you.”

The Weary Carry
by Louise Gallagher

We built a tent out of the sheets 
and lay naked under its domed protection, 
fingers and toes touching. 
The fire burned low while outside, 
snow fell into the silent night, 
tucking itself into memory.

“You and me against the world,” you said. 
I held my hand against your chest 
where your heart kept quiet time with mine. 
“No matter what,” I said, “I carry you here.”

The snow stopped, 
the fire dimmed, 
and time passed. 
Springs came 
and passed away 
into summers, 
then autumns, 
and winters again.

I carried the memory for many seasons,
 until my own heart grew weary 
of remembering the weight
of all that was lost
when I believed love had died.

Free of the burden of remembering
lightened of the past,
Love caught me and whispered, 
“Carry me. I will never leave you.”

Lover, Partner, Caregiver: Balancing Life Now With Life Imagined

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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 Imagined
by 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.

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The Petulant Critic and the Mona Lisa Smile

Month 2 – Day 9: The challenge of the caregiver: How to find yourself, and choose love, when the voice of fear keeps asking, “Where did you go?”

She Dares by Louise Gallagher

Oct 10, 2025

4:00 am. My mind drifts into wakefulness, still shaking off a disturbing dream.

In it, I am walking a path across a field. A snake appears on the trail. Mouth spilling letters like jelly beans, he spies me and slithers away. The scattered letters dance a frenzied jig, then fall in scattered sequence into a question I desperately try not want read: “Where did you go?”

Angry, I rush forward to kick their accusatory presence away, but a woman appears on the trail. Her smile, as enigmatic as a Mona Lisa, is her only response. She holds out her hands, and the letters leap up to form a radiant diamond necklace around her neck.

What the feck?

This dream crystallizes the biggest challenge of my life as a full-time caregiver: To not lose myself in the midst of caring for another. Somewhere in the daily angst and confusion of watching the man I love lose ground to this almost year-long pneumonia that has complicated his COPD even further, I have lost ground against anger, regret, and fear. My disgruntled state of mind has disrupted everything, compromising the very kindness and compassion I strive to live by.

The internal critic hisses the question: Where did I go?

Today’s poem for Month 2: Day 9 of Dear Me, I Love You, my mission to write a love poem a day for a year is the answer. I’m finding myself again, right where I belong, anchored in these words reminding me to Choose Love. Always.

The Sage’s Silence
by Louise Gallagher

With the whine of a petulant child,
the critic within asks,
“Where did you go?”

The Sage holds her silence in grace,
her Mona Lisa smile
her only response.

She knows I am right here
anchored in the Now
which cannot be anywhere else
but where Love is
when I lean into her tender voice
urging me 
with every breath
to Choose Love. Always.

The Evidence of Time

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The muse has a delightful way of weaving her magic throughout my being, even when I’m not paying attention.

Whether I’m walking along the shore, immersed in the quiet of the forest, or kneading dough for bread, her whispers find me. Like tendrils of smoke, these fleeting thoughts curl into my mind, each one vanishing as quickly as the next.

Yet, when I finally return to the page, fingers poised over the keyboard, a torrent of inspiration flows forth, like a stream rushing down a mountainside, seeking the boundless freedom of the river that will lead it to the sea.

I cannot see its source. I cannot feel its pulse. I can only respond to its urgings to let the muse flow free. Surrendering, consonants and vowls, letters and words tumble out seeking form unhindered by my manipulations. As phrases form and coalesce, and I dive beneath the surface meaning like a pearl diver seeking treasure, my creative essence transforms from a thought into reality.

Immersed in the long exhale of creative expression, my thoughts find space and air to breathe on the page; naked, exposed, vulnerable.

And in that vulnerability, I find my heart soaring, my spirits lifting and my voice rising up to sing out loud, “This is Life and I am so grateful for every moment. No matter how I label them, good, bad or indifferent, every moment is full of life teeming with possibility, adventure, hope and Love.”

What a gift!

The Evidence of Time
by Louise Gallagher

To age and not fear, 
to grow older, unburdened by worry, 
free from the whispers of wrinkles and lines, 
the creaks and aches, 
the evidence of time passing. 

To live a life where age 
holds no sway over worth, 
where spirit soars 
beyond the measure of years.

This is the defiance of our days, 
as time's river flows ever forward, 
calendar pages turning
 with quickening pace.

These are the reminders 
of the inevitable truth: 
One day, the final page will turn, 
the heart's rhythm will cease its beat, 
the last breath will softly fade, 
and the echoes
 of "I love you" will fall silent.

No magic potion halts the passage of time,
no secret formula holds back the years.

Yet, the choice remains ours: 
To live each day fearlessly, boldly, bravely, 
passionately alive, 
with wonder and awe, 
celebrating every heartbeat, 
every breath, 
every whispered "I love you," 
as precious gifts 
weaving the grand tapestry of our days
into a life well loved.
A life well lived.

Dancing with Shadows: Finding Light in the Depths of Our Stories

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Dive into your own story,” my novel-writing workplan instructs. I hesitate, a knot tightening in my stomach. I get it, truly, but the past has a way of clinging to shadows, doesn’t it?

It reminds me of writing The Dandelion Spirit, the story of my descent and eventual ascent out of the hell of an abusive relationship that almost killed me. Back then, I wanted to skip the messy bits and the downward spiral along with the heartbreak that led to my eventual blooming. But my publisher, wise soul that he is, insisted on context. “Show them the broken pieces,” he urged, “so they can marvel at how you put yourself back together.”

And so I did. Tears flowed, old wounds ached, but through the writing, a strange alchemy occurred. The past, once a monster lurking in the corners of my mind, became a tapestry woven with threads of resilience and hope.

“That was then,” I whispered to myself, my mantra for survival. “This is now. I am safe. I am loved. I am enough.”

Now, facing this new story, the echoes of that past resistance return. My novel, you see, dances with the shadows of my own relationship with my mother – a dance that continued long after she was gone.

To breathe life into my heroine’s journey, to illuminate her triumphs, I must first descend into the darkness of her past, a past mirrored in my own.

It’s a daunting task, this excavation of memory. But perhaps, like those ancient cave paintings, our stories – the light and the shadow – are meant to be shared, to illuminate not just our own paths, but the paths of others who yearn for healing and wholeness.

And so, I dive in. Not to dwell in the pain, but to find the glimmers of resilience, the whispers of hope that have always been there, waiting to be unearthed. Because maybe, just maybe, in the telling of our stories, we find not just healing, but a way to truly live beyond the grief and sorrow, and step into the radiant light of who we were always meant to be.

I’d love to hear from you. What stories are you working to bring to life? How are you navigating the delicate dance between past, present, and future? Share your thoughts and experiences in the comments below – let’s support each other on this journey of storytelling and self-discovery.

By sharing your story, you not only heal yourself but also offer a beacon of hope and inspiration to others. Every story matters. Like a pebble tossed into still water,
our stories of courage and triupmph create ripples that expand outwards, merging into waves of shared experience, washing over the world with love, healing, and the promise of a brighter tomorrow.

Namaste

What Gets Better with Age?

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The title of this post is today’s daily question asked by the auto-prompter on WordPress. Good question.

As a child, I believed life improved with age. While that’s largely true, some things, like the scar under my chin from trying to reload a BeBe gun while resting my chin on it, don’t get better—they get richer in stories. Life, it turns out, is a blend of growth and weathering, where some edges soften and others gain character.

Of course, some of that growth can become evident on our bodies. Grey hair, wrinkles, sagging skin, widening hips and fuller bellies tell their own stories of time’s passage. Inside me, however, are the invisible signs of how deep my roots grow and how wise my years have become.

These inner changes aren’t always visible in the mirror, but they are etched into my soul. I’ve come to realize that some of life’s most precious treasures don’t tarnish with time. In fact, they often appreciate in value, much like a beloved antique passed down through generations.

Take, for instance, the understanding I have of myself. It’s no longer a fleeting reflection in a pond, but a deep dive into the ocean of my being. I know what makes my heart sing, what triggers my anxieties, and what fuels my passions. These insights, earned through years of self-reflection and lived experience, (not to mention a whole lot of therapy, personal growth courses and a whole library of self-help books) are like pearls gathered from the depths.

Every mountain scaled, every stumble along the path, has etched itself into the tapestry of my being. Whether a soaring triumph or a humbling tumble, each step of my journey has woven threads of wisdom and resilience into my life’s fabric. As I unearth the hidden treasures within each experience, I find myself lighter, shedding the burdens that once weighed me down, and richer in the boundless currency of joy, gratitude, and love.

My relationships have undergone a similar transformation, with some fading like old photographs and others deepening and strengthening like weathered oak trees. I’ve learned to cherish the connections that nourish my soul and to gracefully let go of those that no longer bring me joy. This discernment, born of time and wisdom, is a gift I wouldn’t trade for youthful naivety.

Even my perception of the world has shifted. The black-and-white landscapes of my youth have given way to a kaleidoscope of colors, textures, and perspectives. I’ve come to appreciate the complexity of human nature, the interconnectedness of all things, and the delicate balance between joy and sorrow. This nuanced understanding is like a mosaic, pieced together from countless shards of experience, with each experience contributing to the masterpiece that is becoming, wth every passing day, the story of my life — a life full of Joy. Gratitude. and Love.

What about you? What do you think grows better with age?

Finding Self-Love, Forgiveness and Healing After a Toxic Relationship

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In my MasterClass – RADIANT BOLD AGING, I share what I’ve learned about the power of forgiveness and self-compassion and love in having triumped over an abuse relationship that set me free to love myself completely.

Through a very toxic relationship, I learned that self-hatred is the enemy of freedom, self- denial the path to peridition.

When I escaped that relationship, my priority was to heal myself so I could repair and reclaim the bonds I’d broken with my daughters. Over the almost five years of that relationship, I’d caused them immense pain and betrayed their trust.

In my MC, I share how, while it was easy to want to blame my ex-partner for everything, I knew I was accountable for my actions. The path to regaining their trust and forgiveness started with forgiving myself so that I could be 100% accountable for the pain I’d caused them.

This was a difficult step because I wanted it to be ‘all his fault’. Fact is, to heal myself and my relationship with my daughters, I had to step into my own agency. So, I made a conscious decision to simplify the process of forgiving myself. I repeatedly told myself, “I forgive myself,” without any qualifications or dwelling on past mistakes. It was liberating to let go of the guilt and shame.

Similarly, when thoughts of abuser resurfaced (which in those first heady days of freedom they frequently did), I mentally put up stop signs and redirected my focus to healing and creating a positive future.

The journey to healing wasn’t linear. There were setbacks and moments of doubt, but with each step, I fell deeper and deeper in love with myself AND rekindled the love and connection with my daughters.

Healing is ongoing, and the past still holds some influence in our unconscious, even when we think ‘we’re done with that’. Triggers can emerge enexpectedly. The power is in choosing to step into ‘the mess’ to heal the broken places triggers reveal. I’ve learned to navigate those spaces with forgiveness and self-compassion.

That relationship, though awful for my family and the friends who loved me, strengthened me, my daughters, and all my relationships. My daughter once shared that she didn’t regret it, as it ultimately made us stronger. I agree.

A few years ago, my eldest daughter and I shared our story of healing at a conference. It was challenging but also incredibly rewarding. It was a reminder that I can’t change the past, but I can choose to ‘let it be’ and shape a positive future through forgiveness and love.

This journey taught me to stop seeking fairy tales and to believe in myself. I learned that dreams can come true when we embrace truth, dignity, kindness, and forgiveness.

Most importantly, I discovered the importance of letting go of self-doubt and falling in love with ourselves and our lives.

If you’re interested in falling in love with yourself, in igniting your passion for living free of the past, and instilling more fun and joy into your everyday, join me at RADIANT BOLD AGING, June 7, 10-11:30 am (MT). It’s free and online — you can come as you are — in your pajamas or ball gown!

I hope to see you there.

Embracing the Flow: Lessons from TEDxCalgary

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When you embrace the flow,

the energy of life

comes alive within you.

Last Friday, I had the joy of attending TEDxCalgary‘s event FLOW.

As an artist and writer, I am continually immersed in creative energy—whether I call it the muse, collective consciousness, my creative essence or simple, The Flow.

FLOW is dynamic energy. Quantum physics teaches us that energy exists as either particles or waves. In our daily lives, we mostly function as particles, but in our creative endeavors, we ride the waves.

Creativity is like a river, constantly flowing, shifting, and creating. Every day, I sit at my desk and gaze out at the Bow River, its ever-changing flow reminding me that all life is energy, and energy never stagnates, just as creativity is part of the energy of each and every human being on this planet.

So, where are you in the flow? Remember, you are not the river; you are part of the flow. Are you stuck in a belief that your current state, no matter how uncomfortable or sublime, is the only place you can be? Or can you embrace a belief that celebrates your creative nature which is an ever-moving, ever-changing state of being human in the flow of life?

Be like the river and flow free.

Attending TEDxCalgary’s event reminded me of a powerful moment I shared in my TEDxCalgary talk, Lessons in Love. In it, I retell the story of becoming so lost on the road of life that one day I stood at the side of a river and wished I could unhook gravity’s hold on my body, allowing myself to fall into the river and be washed out to sea. I was not that powerful, thankfully. But I was powerful enough to change my state of being and reclaim my love of life so that I could unhook myself from the trauma that brought me to that moment and flow with grace and ease through all life’s changing moments.

I invite you to watch my talk, where I delve deeper into this experience and the lessons it taught me about love, resilience, and the power of embracing life’s flow.

Shared Dreams: A Mother’s Love

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When I became a mother, I was terrified. How could I be entrusted with such precious beings? How would I ever live up to their right to live and grow into their dreams? I had no idea how I would manage, or even if I could. But I took a breath, and every day I continued to breathe through the fear, the pain, the anxiety, and the absolute conviction that I was failing, again and again. Yet, in those breaths, I also found the joy, the love, the absolute miracle of motherhood.

There are moments where I surpassed even my own fears, where I rose to the challenges, and there were moments where I fell, hard. There were moments to celebrate and moments I regret. Yet, even in that regret, I know that being a mother to my daughters is the greatest challenge and joy I have ever faced. I do not regret one single moment of this journey.

Too often, while working at a family homeless shelter, I witnessed one of the most heartrending scenes—a mother arriving with her one-day-old infant in her arms. Despite the often overwhelming struggles with addiction and poverty, the mothers’ desires mirrored my own: to want only the best for their child. She, too, carried dreams for her newborn, a poignant reminder that the hopes we hold for our children bind us together, transcending circumstances.

Becoming a mother was transformative for me. Thanks to my two amazing daughters, I was gifted the opportunity to heal, grow, and evolve into the woman I am today. Being a mother is the daily choice to accept my fallibilities, to learn to love myself—beauty and beast, warts and wounds, wisdom—and to forgive myself and begin again to learn, grow, change, and expand, time and time again.

Every child, including you and me, has come into this world through a mother’s womb. This Mother’s Day, let us honour all the wombs that gave birth, and all the arms that held, soothed, and loved a child, whether from your womb or another’s. May today remind you of how precious, beautiful, loved, and loving you are. You are magnificent.

Thank you to my mother and her mother’s mothers for this gift of life. Thank you to my daughters for the gift of seeing myself through Love’s eyes.

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Processed with VSCO with a6 preset