I don't paint, and I can't draw, but I see things, I think, quite well, and I love being able to freeze things with the camera, particularly the children. Then I discovered with the camera that you can tell a whole story with just freezing a moment in reality. I find it a very good way, a very satisfying feeling.
Everywhere I go, particularly when there's people who know me or recognize me, I get the warmest hugs and happiest sighs full of hope and full of relief.
I'm not really part of the Internet world, my age a factor in that and a lack of interest in sharing with so many, so little, so much, so often.
I have a lot of lovely things in my life that I wasn't able to have before I got healed from my imbalanced life.
I know what it's like to feel marginalized and defeated and humiliated by suffering from a mental illness.
I was a quicksilver girl who saw every leaf on every tree. For me, there was no middle ground between sinking and flying, and once I was into my early adult years, my roller coaster got wilder and faster: I seemed to rise and fall with the same reckless velocity.
Canadians know me so well - I am part of Canada's collective memory - and my fame would get people through the door who would not otherwise be interesting in talking about mental health.
The secret is to nip any mental disorder in the bud. As soon as you're not feeling yourself, reach out and get some help because you can quickly get better. If you get stuck in it, it's so hard to get out.
You can't fix yourself out of a mental health issue. You can't wake up and say, 'Today I'm not being depressed!' It's a process to get well, but there is recovery.
A truly empowered woman turns her values into verbs. She understands what she values most, and she takes steps to bring that value to life.
I am not a weirdo, a wacko, or an eccentric for wanting to do good, honest work on a day-to-day basis.
I remember, after my first postpartum depression, I didn't know what had happened to me. I was stuck in this gray depression where I just wanted to retreat and pull the covers over my head and weep. My mother and I, we went to a psychiatrist, and he just patted me on the head and told me I had baby blues, which was not helpful, obviously.