RH♥︎M
- ljmcleod
- Jul 31
- 2 min read
Re-Humanization HeART movement exhibit May 2025
I invite you to join the movement for another exhibit 2026
6/14 portraits
Before the world announced a "pandemic" in January 2020, I was a soul basking in what my husband and I called AOV—Always on Vacation. Life felt stable and secure, a steady rhythm as a nurse with five weeks of vacation each year to savor. I can still feel the joy of riding our bikes to Sooke Potholes with a friend, our laughter echoing as we swam in the cool water, the wind brushing my skin and lifting my spirit. I was carefree, connected, truly alive—hopeful for a retirement on the horizon and endlessly curious about the deeper layers of healing. I’d just begun my Confident Healer program in September 2019, a step that pulled me between western medicine’s structure and the wild wisdom of nature. A grey thinker at heart, I was rooted in love, intuition, and the magic of synchronicity, unaware of how drastically my world would soon shift.
Then the storm rolled in, dark and unrelenting. My sister’s voice pierced through a phone call, screaming “LIAR!” and “CHARLATAN!” as I tried to share my perspective—her fear swallowing any trace of love between us. There’s been no apology, only a silence that lingers like a wound. The prime minister’s words stung next, branding me and others “racist,” “far-right extremist,” “misogynistic,” with “unacceptable views”—labels that couldn’t have been further from my truth. A friend shared a doctor’s chilling remark from a rally: “I came to see who I won’t treat when they come to Emergency.” It settled heavy in my chest. As a healer who cherished ethics, autonomy, and the art of listening, I was left shocked and numb, drowning in a grief that stole family, friends, and my job of 30+ years. I cried every day, alone, with no one pausing to ask how I was holding up. Yet fear never took me. A strange, steady strength burned inside, as if I was meant to face this tempest. Nature and my husband became my refuge, holding me close as the world dimmed around me. Deep down, I knew I’d be okay.
Now, I stand as a lantern in the storm—stronger yet softer, my light still flickering through the haze. I listen more deeply than ever, turning inward to love myself instead of seeking answers outside. My curiosity dances higher, sharpened by the philosophy of Socrates and a hunger for truth. Rage and distrust sometimes wrestle with the quiet love I send out in blessings to a world that feels asleep. I grieve for those still lost, but I don’t push—I mentor, I heal, waiting patiently like a heron for clarity to emerge. I’ve survived and thrived, unbreakable in a way I never imagined. I write to lighten the clouds enveloping my heart. I teach nursing students with ethics and grace, and dream of slipping back into AOV’s embrace. More than anything, I long to hear your stories—yours, theirs, ours—because that’s where healing begins. That’s how I rehumanize, breath by slow breath, lighting the way forward.
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