The Diary Of An Insane Bat Mom

"It's just a phase" is a sentence that I became all too familiar with during my childhood. Little did I know how much impact those words would have on me when I faced my own battles with depression. It began with my mother uttering that dismissive phrase. To her, my depression was nothing more than a passing phase since I was just a child. However, those words cut deep and made me feel abandoned as if my emotional turmoil was insignificant and unworthy of attention. Instead of receiving the support and understanding I desperately needed, those four words felt like chains, keeping me locked in my struggles with no way to escape. They pushed me further into despair, leading me to make harmful decisions. During my teenage years, I found solace in the goth subculture. To many, especially my mother, those famous four words were once again uttered. As an adult, I can see why to so many people, it may have seemed like was "just a phase," but it was far more than that t

Life is a series of chapters, each presenting opportunities for growth, learning, and transformation. One such chapter that often gets overlooked is returning to higher education in your early forties. In a world where age is just a number and possibilities are boundless, going back to school at this stage of life can be a decision that unlocks a new realm of personal and professional development. In this blog post, we'll explore the inspiring journey of pursuing a university education in your early forties and highlight why it's never too late to embark on this remarkable path. 1. Embracing the Decision: Embarking on the journey of returning to university in your early forties is a testament to your courage and determination. It's not a decision to be taken lightly, as it involves juggling responsibilities, managing time, and overcoming potential self-doubt. However, it's essential to remember that the decision to pursue higher education is an investment in yourself an

In shadows cast by an ego's flame, A mother's love turned ego's game. A narcissistic heart, so cold and bright, In her own reflection, she found delight. Her gaze a mirror, to her own desires, She stoked the flames, stoked the fires. Her love, a currency, a twisted dance, Control and praise her only chance. Yet beneath her surface, a yearning grew, For validation, for love that's true. A child's heart, seeking warmth and care, Lost in the narcissistic mother's snare. She spun a web of twisted lies, A masterpiece of self-serving ties. Her needs above all, she'd constantly proclaim, Her child a pawn in her self-centered game. But in the midst of the stormy night, The child found strength, found inner light. No longer captive to her mother's gaze, A journey to healing, to brighter days. For scars may mark where wounds have been, Yet healing's possible from deep within. The narcissistic mother's grip may fade, As self-love and strength begin to casca

Growing up in the culturally diverse Province of Quebec during the 80s and 90s provided a unique and challenging upbringing for me. Being born to a French Canadian father and an English-speaking mother meant I was exposed to both languages and their respective cultures, creating a fascinating but sometimes conflicting experience. In an era when dual-income families were becoming more common, my parents adhered to traditional roles. My father was the sole breadwinner, working tirelessly to support our family, while my mother took care of the household. Looking back now, I deeply appreciate the sacrifices my father made for us, even though it meant I didn't get to see him as much as I would have liked. Despite his demanding schedule, he always made time for me, demonstrating his unwavering love and dedication. When I entered Highschool, my dad pulled me out of the French school system and I went to an English school but I was in a bilingual program with advanced French classes. This