Book review: Moxie by Jennifer Mathieu

There is a kind of story we like to tell about girlhood and resistance (it's white middle class teenage girl resistance, but resistance nonetheless), and Moxie sits squarely inside it: small town, bad boys, worse adults, one girl who finally has enough and starts to fight back. Reading it, though, what surfaced for me was not a catalogue of harms I had to survive, but the strange parallel universe I survived (and maybe thrived in) in as a young girl punk in Calgary, Alberta, in a school that (almost accidentally...but I see now probably on purpose judging from where many of my fellow 1999 grads are now) made a different ending possible.

Punk girl in a not-so-moxie school

My high school did not have a dress code, and I was never sexually harassed in the hallways. That does not mean it was a feminist utopia; it means the constraints were quieter, tucked into tracking, expectations, and the usual sorting of who mattered and who did not. What Moxie made me remember was how improbable it felt, even then, to be a teenage girl with spiked rainbow hair, fuzzy slippers, sometimes combat boots, many many piercings, and short back skirts and fishnet stockings, who was not constantly being told to shrink, to cover up, to smooth the edges. Or maybe I was too assertive to notice? I'm not sure anymore. 

A zine, a photocopier, a possibility

When Vivian in Moxie sneaks into her bathroom to make that first zine, I could smell the warm toner and hear the slap of the photocopier lid from my own weekend trips to my dad's downtown office building to sneak making copies (and taking the Orange crush from the break room). I also wrote a zine back then, putting together ranty paragraphs and cut-up images, not because a football team was terrorizing the girls in my class, but because (I suppose) a riot grrrl and punk movement taught me that if the stories on offer did not fit, you could grab a sharpie, cut up your Sassy magazine, and make new ones. For Vivian, the zine is an emergency flare in hostile territory; for me, it was a way of naming a power I had already, tentatively, been granted.

The English teacher who held the door

The person who made that power feel legitimate was not a boy with a guitar or a cool older cousin; it was my grade 10 English teacher, Mrs. Payne. She quite obviously follow the curriculum, but also gave so much positive feedback to teenage me, existential crisis me. She took me seriously, asked questions that assumed I had ideas worth grappling with, and treated my weirdness like opportunity. In a different school, she might have been the lone adult ally in a Moxie-style uprising; in mine, she quietly expanded the space of what counted as “good student,” until there was room for a mouthy punk girl with a million safety pins in her backpack straps and opinions about everything.

Reading Moxie from the lucky side

This is why Moxie landed in my body the way it did: as a reminder that the fact I did not have to fight my school for the right to exist as I was is itself a kind of historical and geographic miracle of 1990s St. Mary's High School. What Jennifer Mathieu lays out in this books is that everyday sexism in schools is not a rite of passage but a policy choice, and it made me look back with sharper eyes at all the invisible decisions that kept my teenage self relatively empowering and not soul crushing: the absence of a dress code, the teachers who did not sexualize us, the adults who let girls be loud without punishing them, the people who did sports and were also in band and drama. Reading from that position is uncomfortable, because it exposes the gap between my own experience and that of so many girls for whom high school was exactly as dangerous and diminishing as Mathieu describes.

What we owe the next girls

The heartbreaking part of my reality is that I stopped being in high school in 1999 and Moxie takes place in 2017. If Moxie is, at its heart, a story about girls discovering that they do not have to suffer alone, then part of the work for those of us who were comparatively protected is to ask what we are going to do with that early safety. My zine is long gone (although also strangely old copies of it sit on my desk that I am typing this blog on), but the practice it represented, noticing, naming, refusing to let someone else narrate your life, is still the deepest through-line from that Calgary punk girl to the nurse, writer, and educator I am now. The invitation Moxie offers is not just to cheer for Vivian, but to look back at the teachers who quietly held the door open, the policies that did or did not constrain us, and then to step, deliberately, into the role of adult conspirator for the next generation of girls who are still trying to find a photocopier and a little courage.

Love,

Michelle D. 

What Will 2026 Bring? Cautious Optimism after a Strange 2025

This Christmas, instead of staging a Greatest Hits of Childhood Dinners in our kitchen, the six of us drove to Courtenay and aimed the holiday straight at the mountain. No turkey. No stuffing. No frantic oven checks. Just lift tickets, layers, and the kind of fatigue that comes from cold air and wipeouts instead of emotional labour. For a family used to the stress of recreating someone else’s nostalgic Christmas, it felt like a jailbreak.

Opting out of Christmas as usual

In our house, I’m not the one cooking; my partner is. For him, Christmas dinner has always been a high-stress process, a full-contact re-enactment of his childhood Christmases with the same dishes, the same flavours, and the same quiet, crushing need to get it “right.” The menu is not just food; it is memory, obligation, grief, and loyalty all layered into one roasting pan.

Every Christmas we can all feel the tension in the air: will the food turn out like it did last year, will the kids like the presents this year (they never do), will the mess be bigger than last year (it always it). It is glass half full in intention and glass almost empty in practice. Choosing snowboarding and Chinese food this year was more than a whimsical experiment (although it was that too) it was a deliberate step off a script that never truly belonged in this non-traditional family of six.

From tree-toppling chaos to one small meltdown

Christmas morning on the mountain felt radically different from Christmas around a high-pressure table. The kids were wrapped in snow gear instead of nice outfits, their excitement aimed at chairlifts instead of perfectly timed courses, and the memories from the day are mostly of falls, laughter, and moments of accomplishment at the bottom of each run (they miraculously did 9). Of course, I was not there for any of it because I do not snowboard and Mount Washington does not have a cozy lodge for the non-hill going guests to sit in while they live vicariously through others. While the kids and my partner carved up the mountain, I carved through a stack of books from the safety of a couch, wrapped in blankets instead of snow pants.

 Christmas dinner was Chinese food at the one Chinese restaurant open in Courtney on Christmas day. No synchronizing sides, no sink full of roasting pans, no gravy. Just a crowded table, chopsticks, noodles, and the relief of knowing the success of the day did not hinge on the internal temperature of a bird. I was surprised that we weren't the only ones in there. At least 4 other families in Courtney also opted the Chinese-food route. 

Phase 2: Parksville

After the Courtenay whirlwind, we shifted to an oceanside townhouse in Parksville and the whole holiday slipped into a different gear. The kids had space to sprawl in a two bedroom townhouse with 3 TVs. We had the ocean as a backdrop instead of an overflowing sink; and time softened, organized more by tide and daylight than by timers and cleaning. 

Was it expensive? Maybe. Was it worth it? Yes. Does it make me want to go on vacation forever? Also yes. There is a dangerous sort of clarity in noticing how much kinder everyone is (to themselves and to each other) when no one is quietly drowning in the pressure to make one single day carry the weight of an entire childhood.

The post-Christmas crash and what it reveals

Back in the Lower Mainland, the emotional whiplash is sharp. Tomorrow means alarms, school drop-offs, a full inbox, and the waiting demands of work and grad school that were gloriously on mute while Vancouver Island worked its magic. The post-Christmas blues hit differently when the break actually did what breaks are supposed to do: restore, soften, reconnect.

There is real grief in leaving that version of life behind, the one where no one is reliving old stress in the name of tradition, where the stakes are lower, and where “special” comes from experiences we chose rather than rituals we inherited. There is also a new, steady conviction that this version of Christmas, the one we consciously designed, is a better fit than the one built around someone else’s childhood script.

Hello 2026

Wanting to stay on vacation forever is not just escapism; it is information. It points directly at what works: experiences over performance, dumplings over martyrdom, oceans and mountains over spotless kitchens, and traditions crafted for the family that actually lives in this house right now.

So what will be different in Christmas 2026?

• Saying no to legacy holiday scripts that leave everyone exhausted, even when they come wrapped in nostalgia.
• Planning more small, manageable getaways that borrow from the Courtenay–Parksville rhythm instead of saving everything for one high-pressure week.
• Letting Chinese food be a legitimate tradition on big days, not a fallback option.
• Protecting my partner from having to recreate his childhood every December to capture some lost tradition. 
• Accepting that my role on the mountain may now be book-reading, snack-wrangling, and knee-preservation, and that this is still full participation in our family story.

The post-Christmas blues will probably still show up as work and school ramp back up, because re-entry is always a bit brutal. But this year, they sit beside something sturdier: the knowledge that we tried Christmas a different way, and it actually worked for us. Whatever 2026 brings, there is now proof that joy does not depend on resurrecting ghosts in the kitchen or on my knees surviving another run; it lives in the choices we make about how to spend our time, our money, and our energy as the family we are right now.

Love,

Michelle D.

The Many Selves We Carry: Navigating Identity Across Life’s Arenas

Life is not a straight line. It’s a collection of winding paths, intersecting roles, shifting priorities, and evolving identities. Each of us holds more than one self — the self we are at home, the self we become at work, the self we carry in the classroom, the self we offer to old friends, and the one we craft for new ones. This intricate puzzle of selves is not about being fake or inconsistent. It's adaptive. It's how we move through the world, survive, connect, and belong. We all do it, and sometimes it's not conscious. It does not mean that we aren't being our authentic selves. It means all things can be true at the same time. 

Wearing Different Hats (And Sometimes Different Faces)

We often speak of “being ourselves,” as if that were a singular, easily defined state. But the truth is, we adjust our posture, tone, and even emotional openness depending on the spaces we're into and who is sitting at the table with us. Sometimes we might not even be at that table, but standing at the door and looking for  who to ask for a seat. 

At work, we might be composed, efficient, and polished. Our outward self might quieter about our personal beliefs or struggles. Or maybe not, we might be gregarious and boisterous, the go-getter, the mover and the shaker. At home, that same person could be thoughtful, nurturing, impatient, or chaotic, surrounded by the comfort of home and people who hold their unfiltered version. With our oldest friends, we might slip into a nostalgic musing of who we used to be, or a set of inside jokes that would make no sense to our professional colleagues. And in academic spaces, we might lean into inquiry and formality, revealing the part of us that thrives in structured thought and debate.

This isn’t deception; it’s context. Just like a bilingual speaker switches languages depending on the setting, we switch modes of being. All are real. All are different coloured threads in the greater tapestry of who we are.

Identity as Adaptation

The ability to shift, to read a room, respond to social cues, and tune into who we need to be in that moment, is an adaptive strength. For some, especially those who have grown up navigating multiple cultural, familial, or social expectations, this kind of identity fluidity is second nature.

For others, it’s a skill that’s honed with time, reflection, and sometimes pain. Think of the child who learned early how to de-escalate tension at home by becoming the peacemaker. Or the teenager who realized that being funny earned them a place in a friend group where they otherwise felt invisible. Or the adult who adopts professionalism as armor to navigate workspaces that might not welcome the fullness of who they are.

Adaptation can feel empowering. It might be our superpower that allows us to find our footing depending on the terrain. But it can also raise questions about authenticity. Who am I, really? Is there a “true self” underneath all these layers?

The answer isn’t always clear, and maybe it doesn’t need to be. Our different selves don’t have to cancel each other out. Instead, they can coexist, each offering something vital, each helping us meet life’s demands in different ways.

The Ghosts of Our Past Selves

If you’ve ever stumbled across an old journal or a cringeworthy high school photo, you know what it’s like to meet a past version of yourself. Maybe you remember the music you loved, the dramas that consumed you, the intense friendships or heartbreaks that felt like the center of the universe. Maybe you don't even have to remember it, because you're still living it. Maybe stuck, but maybe embracing all the threads as once. 

So who are we? When we look back, it’s often with soft focus. We romanticize or maybe catastrophize our pasts. We remember long summer nights, the magic of first experiences, the way the world once felt enormous and new. We also might be clinging to the discomfort, the awkwardness, the daily struggles of simply trying to figure it all out or the deep emotional pain of our experiences. 

When we remember only the good, this nostalgia isn’t a betrayal of truth. It’s the story we tell ourselves about how we became who we are. It’s the emotional memory that sticks: not what happened exactly, but what it meant to us at the time. The details may be inaccurate, but the feeling are real. And no one knows them expect us. 

Why These Stories Matter

The selves we’ve been, the ones we are now, and the ones we’re still becoming, they all carry pieces of truth. Some of our identities are shaped by choice, others by necessity. Some fade with time, while others remain dormant until a familiar face, smell, or song brings them rushing back.

These stories, whether from childhood or last week, help us make sense of ourselves. They are reminders of our capacity to grow, to reinvent, and to endure. They help us remember that who we are is not fixed, and that’s not something to fear, it’s something to hold on to. Give it a big hug, and keep it close.

So, when we find ourselves reminiscing about bike rides through our childhood neighborhoods, or mixtapes made for crushes we can’t quite remember, we aren’t just indulging in fiction. We’re reaching for something true: the sense that who we were mattered, that who we are becoming still carries those pieces, and that all of it — the awkward, the resilient, the joyful, the hidden — belongs to us. But also remember our happy memory might be someone else's emotional pain. These things can all be true. 

Love,

Michelle D. 

Love,

Michelle D. 

How to Save the World, Raise a Kid, and Walk the Tightrope of Comedy and Tragedy: Reflections from 17 Years as a Nurse and Activist

Almost seventeen years ago, I stepped onto my first hospital floor as a new mental health nurse. Fresh out of an accelerated nursing undergraduate degree program, I was brimming with ideals, determination, and the belief that good intentions and hard work could fix a broken healthcare system. Over time, that optimism met the harsh realities of systemic inequities, workplace burnout, and institutional inertia. But it also evolved, deepened, and matured into a more grounded commitment to social justice—a commitment that has been profoundly shaped by becoming a mother.

My nursing practice has taken me across two distinct regions of Canada: the unceded and traditional territories of the Coast Salish Peoples, including the Qayqayt, Kwikwetlem, Tsleil-Waututh, Squamish, and Musqueam Nations in the Lower Mainland of British Columbia; and the traditional territories of the Treaty 7 Nations in Calgary, which include the Blackfoot Confederacy (Siksika, Kainai, and Piikani Nations), the Tsuut’ina Nation, and the Stoney Nakoda Nations (Chiniki, Bearspaw, and Wesley). Working on these lands has deepened my understanding of healthcare inequities, colonial legacies, and the ongoing resilience of Indigenous communities.

When I first started nursing, my focus was primarily on the immediate tasks at hand: administering medications, dressing wounds, comforting patients in pain, and collaborating with my team. I saw nursing as a calling, a role where compassion and skill met to create healing spaces. Yet even in those early days, I began noticing patterns—certain patients waited longer for care, others faced dismissive attitudes or judgment based on their appearance, language, or socioeconomic status. At first, I thought these were isolated incidents. Over time, I realized they were symptoms of deeply embedded systemic inequities.

Becoming a parent added another layer to my perspective. Parenthood and life partnerhood changed me in ways I wasn’t prepared for, but somehow was ready for. It wasn’t just the physical and emotional demands of raising a child while working full-time as a nurse; it was the sharp awareness of how privilege and social structures shape outcomes. I began to see my patients differently—not just as individuals in need of care, but as someone's child, parent, or loved one. I imagined my own child in their place, and the urgency of fighting for equity in healthcare became even more personal.

Balancing activism with motherhood and a demanding nursing career hasn’t been easy. There have been sleepless nights—not just from caring for a sick child or managing shift work, but from the weight of witnessing injustice day after day. There have been moments when I’ve felt spread too thin, as though I were failing in every role. But there have also been moments of clarity and triumph: organizing a successful advocacy campaign, seeing a policy change come to life, or having my child ask thoughtful questions about fairness and kindness after overhearing one of my work calls.

One thing I’ve learned over the years is that activism doesn’t always look like grand gestures. Sometimes it’s in the small moments: advocating for a patient who isn’t being heard, questioning an unjust policy in a team meeting, or simply holding space for a colleague who is struggling. These micro-level acts of resistance and care are just as vital as large-scale systemic change.

Another lesson has been learning to set boundaries. In the early years, I often felt guilty stepping away from advocacy work to focus on my family or my own well-being. But burnout helps no one. I've learned that sustainability in activism requires moments of rest and renewal. It also means modeling balance for the next generation of nurses and activists.

My child has grown up watching me navigate these dual identities—as a nurse and as a social justice advocate. They’ve seen me come home from hard shifts, heard me vent about systemic barriers, but they've also seen me celebrate the small victories. I hope that by witnessing this, they’re learning that care work—whether in healthcare, in families, or in activism—is valuable and powerful.

Looking back, I realize how much I’ve changed in 17 years. I am less naive, more pragmatic, but also more deeply committed to the core values that brought me into nursing in the first place: compassion, justice, and the belief that healthcare is a human right. I’ve also learned to accept that change is slow and often frustrating, but every small step matters.

To other working mothers who are also nurses and activists: your work is seen, your exhaustion is valid, and your contributions are immeasurable. Whether you’re advocating in boardrooms, at the bedside, or around your kitchen table, you are making a difference.

Seventeen years in, I am still here—a little more tired, perhaps, but also more resolute. The work continues, and so do I.

Love,

Michelle D. 

Challenging Gender Stereotypes: A Call for Social Change and Empowerment

I largely wrote this 10 years ago, but it's never been more relevant than today...I write sadly as I watch my 14-year-old daughter's spirit crushed by gender stereotyped social mores,  and toxic masculinity. In today’s society, the conversations we have about women’s roles, behaviors, and expectations still largely reflect outdated and harmful views. These views not only stigmatize women for their choices but also perpetuate a culture of shame and violence. As a person who believes in social justice for women, I feel compelled to challenge these beliefs, especially when I hear prejudiced opinions in front of impressionable minds. I know that I cannot change someone’s deeply rooted beliefs, but I firmly believe that sharing my own can help challenge the traditional gender stereotypes that have long dictated what it means to be a woman.

One of the most damaging and prevalent attitudes in our society is the belief that a woman's worth is tied to her sexual purity. If you doubt this do a weekend binge of One Tree Hill (which I have been watching with my 8-year-old son, judge me if you must, but he gets it so I assure you we have built gender reflexivity into this evening activity) or any teenage drama made before 2024 (don't worry, I know what year it is). This ideology is rooted in a culture of control, where women are often judged by their sexual behavior, and those who deviate from these rigid standards are subjected to stigmatization. Jessica Valenti, in her book The Purity Myth: How America's Obsession with Virginity is Hurting Young Women (2009), addressed this issue with great clarity, stating: “It's time to teach our daughters that their ability to be good people depends on their being good people, not on whether or not they're sexually active” (Valenti, 2009). This powerful quote speaks to the heart of the issue – the need to detach a woman’s morality and self-worth from her sexual behavior. Unfortunately, this is a lesson that is often not taught, leading to internalized shame and societal judgment.

As a parent who has largely identified as a woman for most of my life, I recognize the importance of teaching my children—particularly my daughter—about the value of self-respect and self-worth that is not defined by others' perceptions or outdated gender norms. I believe it is crucial to instill in them the understanding that their choices should be based on their values, not on societal expectations of what a “good” woman should be. And yet, the reality is that many young women today are still learning to feel ashamed of decisions that differ from these traditional, violent, and often patriarchal notions of what it means to be a woman. These judgments can be subtle, disguised as “concern” or “advice,” but their impact is deeply harmful.

The term “slut,” for example, is frequently used to describe a woman whose sexual behavior is perceived as deviating from these traditional standards. To use such a term is not only an insult to the individual woman but a reflection of a culture that condemns women for their sexuality. The word is often weaponized to shame women into conforming to a narrow and oppressive idea of femininity. And, even worse, women who do not conform to these expectations often internalize this judgment, perpetuating a cycle of self-shame and self-policing.

Let's stop this BS, and start to work toward a society where women are not shamed for their sexual behavior, where they are not reduced to labels like “slut” or “whore,” but where they are instead respected for their autonomy and personal choices. This is part of a larger fight for gender equality and a shift toward recognizing women as full human beings, whose worth is based on who they are as people, not on how they behave in relation to outdated expectations of sexual purity.

For me, this is not just a theoretical issue. It is something that I confront daily, both in the world around me and in my own home. As a person who has birthed 4 children (vaginally if you must know, 50 % of them at home) believes in social justice, I will always speak out against these harmful ideas, whether I’m in a conversation with a friend, a colleague, or even a stranger. I understand that I may not be able to change others' beliefs, but I can certainly share my own. By doing so, I hope to challenge the culture of shame that continues to surround women and their sexuality. I am also committed to helping others—especially the younger generation—develop critical thinking skills, challenge traditional stereotypes, and foster a culture of respect and understanding.

I have witnessed firsthand (meaning I have lived this firsthand) the devastating effects that this culture of shame can have on women, especially young women. The societal pressure to conform to unrealistic standards of purity can lead to feelings of inadequacy, anxiety, and depression. The shame attached to their sexual decisions can cause lifelong harm, influencing their self-esteem and their relationships with others. This is why it is so important for us, as parents, educators, and mentors, to create environments where women can feel safe, valued, and empowered, regardless of their sexual choices.

Let's be clear, I understand that the issue extends beyond individual beliefs—it is institutionalized in our societal norms and reinforced by the media, schools, and even health care systems (yes, I realize that I am working within a system that in many ways perpetuates the problem). These structures perpetuate harmful stereotypes and ideals that confine women to narrow roles and punish those who step outside of them. As a society, we must actively work to dismantle these structures and create a world where women can live freely and without fear of judgment.

As an aside, I have been reflecting on my own work as a nurse and the role I play in advocating for the mental health and well-being of others. Returning to the broader issue at hand, I believe it is essential for women to feel empowered to challenge the stereotypes that have held them back for centuries. We must teach our children (not just the ones that we biologically birth, I'm using the royal we here and the communities in which we raise children in) to value themselves for who they are and not for how closely they adhere to narrow and outdated ideals of what it means to be a woman. This is how we can create a society that fosters gender equality, social justice, and, ultimately, a culture of respect and kindness.

As I continue to do the work I do, I remain committed to this cause. I will always challenge the damaging narratives that aim to keep women small, ashamed, and silent. And, I will continue to speak up for a future where women are free to make their own choices, free from fear, judgment, and shame.

Reference

Valenti, J. (2009). The purity myth: How America's obsession with virginity is hurting young women. Seal Press: Berkeley.

New Westminster Shopping in a Nutshell: Where Good Food, Weird Books, and Antiques Converge

New Westminster is as cool as me (a middle-aged parent of 4 who drives a Toyota minivan, so you decide what my definition of cool is). Visit some time. 

Bruncheria: Comfort Food That Doesn’t Care About Your New Year’s Resolution

First things first: let’s talk about Bruncheria. The first time I went here I was super angry that they had nothing keto-friendly on the menu. That anger faded and I ate my breakfast sans whole wheat toast. It's walking distance from my house, it has a patio, and the service is adequate. That really ticks all the boxes. 

Wildfire Books: A Bookstore That Doesn’t Think You’re Basic

Do you like books, feminism, and social activism? Well then you will love Wildfire Books. It's located up the street from Orange Crush Velvet which is where you just went to get your used book, vintage jeans, and News Kids on the Block t-shirt, so you might as well stop by to get a book. This independent bookstore isn’t about selling the same tired bestsellers you see everywhere else. No, Wildfire is curated for people who actually read—not just collect books for their Instagram aesthetic (whatever that means). Whether you're into Filipino cozy mysteries, queer fiction, or teen unconventional romance, Wildfire’s got you covered.

Groovecat Books: Vinyl, Books, and the Overwhelming Desire to Look Cooler Than You Are

What did you say? You need a record and another used book? And you just finished your Jr. Bacon cheeseburger at Wendy's on 6th ave? Well then you should stop by Groovecat Books. The vintage record that is playing will brighten your dreary rainy day. Part record store, part bookstore, Groovecat is the place where your love for both music and literature can thrive. The owner has a cat. And it walks through the store sometimes. There's a creepy-sort-of vintage book book at the back of the store. It's fun. 

Found Boutique: Vintage Fashion for People Who Actually Like to Look Good

Somehow you found yourself downtown on Columbia Street. Well, welcome to Found Boutique, where vintage style meets modern sensibilities in a way that you are also donating to charity. This is a very cute used clothing store with new items like candles and such. Spend your money here because it helps fund Union Gospel Mission which does great work for the homeless and people living in poverty in the Lower Mainland. Don't be an a-hole. Be part of the solution. 

Antiques Alley: Where "Old" Doesn’t Mean "Useless"

Did you ever watch the 2012 Nickelodeon movie Rags a hundred times with your now 14 and 12 year old children? I did. And I still can't get enough of it. Well if you are like me (is anyone?) then you are all too familiar with the antique store in the movie, which is none other than Antiques Alley located on Front Street. This store is owned by an old hippie named Craig who asked me if my daughter and I were related, and then sold me a vintage velvet blazer and some antique license plates. It's classic crowded Lower Mainland antique store. I love it here. 

Zesty Lemon: For When You Want to Feel Like a Health Guru

Psych! It's a women's clothing store. So, if you’re into clothes that don’t make you question your life choices (and your credit card balance), then The Zesty Lemon Clothing Co. might just be your new favorite store. It’s got everything you need to look like you’ve got your life together, even if you’re only wearing half of your outfit because the other half is still sitting in your laundry basket.

From effortlessly stylish dresses to cozy cardigans you’ll definitely wear once before they collect dust in your closet, Zesty Lemon has a collection that will make you look like you actually know what’s going on in the world of fashion. The best part? You won’t have to sell your organs to afford it. So go ahead—buy that trendy top you’ll wear once and then forget about, because Zesty Lemon understands that fashion should be fun, not a financial crisis. You're welcome.

Royal Farm Market & Kin’s Farm Market: For When You’re All About That Fresh Life

Look, we all know you're pretending to eat healthy, but let’s be real—sometimes a bag of chips just calls your name (listen up fatty) and you have no choice but to answer. That's where Royal Farm Market and Kin’s Farm Market swoop in like the responsible adults of the produce world. These markets are packed with fresh, locally sourced goodness that’ll make you feel like you've got your life together—at least until you get home and start binge-watching Netflix with a Snickers bar in hand. But hey, let’s definitely judge all the time, every time. Whether you’re stocking up on alfalfa sprouts (is that something people stock up on? Do people stock up on perishables?), pickled beets, or salmon pate, these places will make you feel like you’re winning at life—until you start Googling “best chocolate chip cookie recipes” at 2 a.m. (No one’s perfect, right?).

Goodway’s Specialty Foods: Bulk Heaven 

Last but not least, Goodway’s Specialty Foods. This is the gem hiding in plain sight that you didn’t even know you needed. It's middle-aged ladies behind the counter, wearing white lab coats and teeing up bulk almond flour and pure vanilla extract. I didn't know I needed it, but now I can't live without it. It’s not flashy, but it’s friendly, cozy, and packed with high-quality, affordable products that’ll help you live a balanced, healthy life. Goodway’s specializes in everything from spices and grains to specialty coffee, and the selection is so much more diverse than what you’d find in a regular grocery store. It's got that old-school charm that makes you feel right at home, without all the hassle of the big-box experience.

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New Westminster is Vancouver's little sister who really wants to be Pike Place Market when she grows up but unfortunately (or maybe fortunately) isn't American. I have lived here since 2010 and it's getting slowly gentrified. I do not know yet if that is a good thing or a bad thing. I guess I'll have to stick around to see.

For more insights and updates, you can follow Michelle C. Danda on Instagram.

Choosing Kindness: A Necessity Beyond the British Columbia Provincial Election

 As we await the outcome of the recent British Columbia provincial election, the atmosphere is filled with anticipation and uncertainty. Critical issues such as housing affordability, climate change, healthcare accessibility, and Indigenous rights have sparked passionate debates, leaving many of us feeling anxious about the future. In this moment, it’s essential to remember the power of choosing kindness, regardless of the election results. Fostering a spirit of compassion and collaboration is crucial for building strong, resilient communities.

The Importance of the Election

In British Columbia, voters faced pressing concerns that hit close to home. The housing crisis has reached critical levels, with countless families struggling to find suitable homes. As candidates presented their solutions, discussions often turned heated, with strong opinions on whether to prioritize new developments or implement stricter rent controls. The urgency to combat climate change further divided us; while some advocate for immediate action, others worry about the economic consequences. And let’s not forget the frustrations many feel regarding healthcare accessibility, with wait times and service disparities remaining significant topics.

In such a charged environment, it’s easy to slip into a mindset of blame. Political rhetoric can quickly become toxic, pitting neighbors against one another instead of fostering constructive dialogue. But we must remind ourselves that every opinion is rooted in personal experience and genuine concern for our shared future.

Building Communities Through Kindness

Choosing kindness in our interactions can significantly change the political landscape. When we approach debates with empathy, we recognize that our neighbors are also searching for solutions to the same challenges. Instead of viewing opposing views as threats, we can see them as opportunities for collaboration and understanding.

Building strong communities requires collective effort. Whether we advocate for increasing housing supply or enhancing rent controls, our ultimate goal—affordable housing for all—remains the same. By emphasizing this shared vision, we create a foundation for constructive dialogue, steering away from finger-pointing and blame.

The Role of Community Engagement

Active community engagement is essential for nurturing kindness. Local initiatives—such as town hall meetings, community forums, and volunteer projects—provide valuable spaces for diverse voices to come together. These platforms not only encourage respectful conversations but also help dispel myths that fuel division.

Take, for instance, the discussions surrounding Indigenous rights and reconciliation. Meaningful engagement with Indigenous communities allows us to learn about their histories and perspectives. This understanding is vital for making informed decisions that respect Indigenous rights and contribute to healing. Choosing kindness here means listening actively, acknowledging past injustices, and working collaboratively toward a more equitable future.

The Power of Kindness in Action

The impact of choosing kindness extends beyond political discourse into our daily lives. Simple acts—like listening to someone with a different viewpoint or participating in community events—create an atmosphere of respect and openness. Over time, these small gestures can accumulate, leading to a cultural shift that prioritizes understanding over division.

Moreover, in times of uncertainty, kindness serves as a source of resilience. When our communities face challenges—be they economic, social, or environmental—a culture of kindness fosters support and solidarity. Neighbors who feel valued are more likely to collaborate, sharing resources and ideas rather than retreating into isolation.

Looking Ahead: Embracing Unity

Regardless of the election outcome, the need for kindness remains paramount. Politicians and policies may shift, but the strength of our communities lies in the relationships we nurture and the understanding we promote. A victory for one party should not translate into a loss for another; instead, it should motivate us all to come together for the common good.

In the wake of the election, let’s challenge ourselves to extend kindness to those who may feel disappointed. Encouraging inclusive dialogues that embrace different perspectives strengthens our democratic process and fosters a healthier political climate. This commitment to kindness can help heal divides and create a sense of belonging that is vital for a thriving society.

What Next? A Call to Kindness

As we navigate the uncertainty following the British Columbia provincial election, let’s prioritize kindness in our conversations and actions. The debates may have been intense, and the implications significant, but our commitment to one another must transcend the political arena. By choosing kindness, we lay the groundwork for resilient communities that can withstand future challenges.

In a time when division often feels easier than unity, let’s choose the more challenging path—the path of compassion, understanding, and collaboration. In doing so, we not only enrich our lives but also create a legacy of kindness that will inspire future generations. Choosing kindness is not just an ideal; it’s a necessity for the future we all wish to build together.