Good Life Project - Christa Couture | This, Too

Episode Date: March 11, 2021

Christa Couture is an award-winning performing and recording artist, filmmaker, writer and broadcaster. She is also proudly Indigenous (mixed Cree and Scandinavian), queer, disabled, and a mom. Her seventh album Safe Harbour was released on Coax Records in 2020. As a writer and storyteller, Christa has been published in Room, Shameless, and Augur magazines, she’s gone viral on CBC with an article and photos on disability and pregnancy. Christa’s also a frequent contributor to CBC Radio and is currently the weekday afternoon host on 106.5 ELMNT FM in Toronto. Her life has been both extraordinary and fiercely engaged. She is utterly and awake, connected, and alive, which is a powerful state, given the stunning amount of loss that’s touched down in her life, from the loss of her leg as a child to the loss of children, a sense of identity, community, and the need to find a way to reimagine life, to not just exist, but also live in the face of deeply challenging circumstance. In her debut memoir How to Lose Everything (https://bookshop.org/a/22758/9781771622622), she shares many stories and we dive into her extraordinary path, revelations and lens of life, possibility, hope and grace.You can find Christa Couture at:Website : http://christacouture.com/Instagram : https://www.instagram.com/christacouture/-------------Have you discovered your Sparketype yet? Take the Sparketype Assessment™ now. IT’S FREE (https://www.goodlifeproject.com/sparketypes/) and takes about 7-minutes to complete. At a minimum, it’ll open your eyes in a big way. It also just might change your life.If you enjoyed the show, please share it with a friend. Thank you to our super cool brand partners. If you like the show, please support them - they help make the podcast possible. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

My guest today, Krista Couture, is an award-winning performing and recording artist, filmmaker, writer, and broadcaster. She's also proudly indigenous, mixed Cree and Scandinavian, queer, disabled, and a mom. Her seventh album, Safe Harbor, was released on Coke's Records in 2020. And as a writer and a storyteller, Krista has been published in Room, Shameless, Augur Magazine. She's gone viral on the CBC with an article and photos on disability and pregnancy. Krista is also a frequent contributor to CBC Radio and is currently the weekday afternoon host on 106.5 Element FM in Toronto. And her life has been both extraordinary and fiercely engaged. She is

utterly awake and connected and alive and joyful, which is a pretty powerful state for her to be in given the stunning amount of loss that has touched down in her life from the loss of her leg in her early teens to the loss of children, a sense of identity, community, and the need to find a way to reimagine life, not just exist, but also live in the face of deeply challenging circumstances. In her debut memoir, How to Lose Everything, she shares many of these stories. We dive into this extraordinary path, the revelations, her lens on life, possibility, hope, and grace, and what you'll really be moved by is this sense of underlying joy, this fabric of lightness in the context of a life experience

that people could look at and think, wow, that has been really tough. And yet somehow she's not Pollyannistic. She's not delusionally hopeful or optimistic, but she has found a way to reconnect with a sense of lightness, hope, and possibility that I think we could all learn from. So excited to share this conversation with you. I'm Jonathan Fields, and this is Good Life Project. If you're at a point in life when you're ready to lead with purpose, we can get you there. The University of Victoria's MBA in Sustainable Innovation is not like other MBA programs. It's for true changemakers who want to think differently and solve the world's most pressing challenges. From healthcare and the environment to energy, government, and technology,

it's your path to meaningful leadership in all sectors. For details, visit uvic.ca slash futuremba. That's uvic.ca slash futuremba. The Apple Watch Series 10 is here. It has the biggest display ever. It's also the thinnest Apple Watch ever, making it even more comfortable on your wrist, whether you're running, swimming, or sleeping.

And it's the fastest-charging Apple Watch, getting you eight hours of charge in just 15 minutes. The Apple Watch Series 10, available for the first time in glossy jet black aluminum. Compared to previous generations, iPhone XS or later required. Charge time and actual results will vary. Mayday, mayday. We've been compromised. The pilot's a hitman.

I knew you were going to be fun. On January 24th. Tell me how to fly this thing. Mark Wahlberg. You know what the difference between me and you is? You're going to die. Don't shoot him, we need him. Y'all need a pilot.

Flight risk. There's something really important that I think we need to talk about first. And that is the fact that apparently you fold everything, including dishcloths. We got to start with the important stuff here. Yes, I do. I do fold everything. Oh, my gosh. My secret is out. I mean, well, I'm a very like tidy, very organized person. And, you know, on one hand, I love like opening the drawer to everything being neatly tidied and put away because then it's like pleasing. It's like a small little tiny moment of, you know, it's like having fresh flowers. It's just like, oh, that's nice. And I think for a while, I mean, there was probably a part in my life where any little mishap would crush me. And I think it sort of turned me into a bit of a neat freak because it meant that that was an area of my

life I could feel some control over. So there was a time where it just kind of served me well to think, okay, well, at least I can fold these dishcloths and put them away so that when I open the drawer, it's not total chaos. I can't do much else. So I think I've always been a tidy person, but I think it probably got heightened in the last 10 years. But yes, it's true. It's true. I think I know where you maybe got that information.

Some secret intel. All I'm going to share is that the person who relayed this very critical intel to me said that it also happened to be pretty life changing for them. That's good to hear. It's had a positive effect. Resisted in the beginning. Right. But then ultimately life changing in every way imaginable. So you grew up, it sounds like to a certain extent, kind of splitting your time, part with your mom in Canada and then summers-ish with your dad in Montclair, New Jersey, just outside of New York, for those who don't know where that is. Your dad was Cree and it sounds like he was a healer. Was the culture, sort of the First Nations culture, a part of your life from the early days? I'm curious. Yeah. And in this way that I wouldn't have known was remarkable or even to name because it was just there. And my dad did also live in Northern

Alberta. There was, yeah, definitely split my time in a few homes as per like custody agreements and my parents both moving a lot. And so where he lived in Northern Alberta was on a Cree reserve and he was a healer. And so, you know, at my dad's house, there was a sweat lodge and usually one or two teepees in the yard. And he ran various ceremonies. And in the summers, we would go to another camp where he ran fasts for people. And I would, my sister and I would just be running around in the field and he would be doing that work. And so, you know, as a kid, I didn't, I, you know, of course I took it for granted that this was present in my life and that I had access to ceremony, which of course for a lot of indigenous people, there's been, you know, a break for a lot

of heartbreaking reasons. And so I feel really grateful that it was just there. I mean, the sorrow I feel about it now is that, you know, as a teenager, I was like, okay, whatever, dad. And then by the time in my 20s, I was ready to sort of come back and say, okay, wait, can we now talk about this? Can you share these teachings with me in a more, you know, explicit way was when he was was sick and when he died. And so I wasn't able to kind of learn more from him in a more direct way, but of course it shaped me and it was there in my childhood. Yeah. I mean, even just to know that this is a part of you from the earliest days and to learn through osmosis, through just being around it, I think that's so powerful.

And it's something that I've been kind of fascinated with the concept of lineage and heritage over the last couple of years. Maybe I'm at that point in my life where I'm getting curious about it. And I feel like so often so many of us really know nothing about, you know, not just our parents as human beings, but also the lineage that, you know, their parents and their parents and their parents and what may have been lost along the way. Yeah. And it's interesting what gets shared because my dad was also French. Like my last name Couture was my dad's last name. But I know like nothing about French Canadian culture. Like, you know, I would feel a bit shaky saying, I mean, I could say a French Canadian ancestry, but I don't feel like I'm part of that sort of cultural group in the present.

Whereas my, for my mother's side, she's Scandinavian and her parents lived in New Norway, Alberta kind of says it all right there. And, and so there was, there was some presence of that, you know, I'd hear the stories and some of the words and the way they talked about being Norwegian and Swedish was there. But yeah, I am also part French, but I kind of, I don't really talk about it because I'm like, I wouldn't know what to say. So it's interesting with the lineage because it's also like what was, what happened to be present. And so I can't, the ways that I think of myself, I mean, I think of my father very much as a Cree person, although he was also mixed, you know, technically.

Yeah. And on the Cree side too, I mean, so your English name is Krista, but you have a different Cree name, which also is, I mean, you can peel that onions in a lot of different ways. There's a lot of foreshadowing in the name that you were given at the youngest of ages. Yeah. So there's a really beautiful thing that happens with our traditional names, which can be given at any time. And people can even be given one as a child, a different one as an adult. It can change. But I had a naming ceremony when I was, I think, around two with an elder that my father was learning with. He was actually Arapaho. And even though we were Cree, but we'd gone down to Wyoming. And so in my naming ceremony, I was given the name Saini Bey, which means singing woman. And we came out of that ceremony and the elder Raymond told my family, she's going to sing a lot and she's going to talk a lot.

And exactly, it became this, you know, in retrospect, it's very accurate, but also this sort of prophecy. And our traditional names are a way to sort of describe where you might go, but they're also a way to be reminded of your gifts or your contribution or your place in your community. I mean, many Indigenous cultures, certainly in Cree, in our Cree community, like it's community first. And it's not to say that the self is unimportant, but that's sort of where self-care can come from, is if our community is cared for, that we will all be cared for. And so when we think about our traditional names, it's telling us how do we care for our community? How do we contribute? And so for me, a singing woman, I contribute and I care and I give and I share by singing,

by writing, by telling stories. And so it's a really beautiful perspective to have, you know, to think about your life as sort of this guiding story. I mean, it's interesting to me also that, as you just shared, that might change later in life. You might be given a different name, which is kind of fascinating to me because if the name translates in some way, shape, or form to what you might understand as an identity, and then in your 20s or 30s, you're given a different name, then you're kind of like,

wait, this isn't just a different name. Do you mean like I'm now an entirely different identity have i just grown into it or has what was the first one wrong and like you start re-examining the last you know a couple of decades of life yeah and i actually only recently learned that i could get a new name because i was kind of having an identity crisis yeah let's see your that's bang on because i and i it's in the book but i had thyroid cancer a couple years ago and Oh, no kidding. singing like I wanted I can't call myself singing woman like I just what do I say who am I and now who am I in my community if I'm not the person singing and then I learned from someone else who was like oh just go get a new name just talk to your elders and and say hey this is what's

happening and I think I mean there's a beautiful thing often with our teachings or what has been shared with me is that you know you you take from it what you need. And so if at some point you need, if you need a new name, if you need another way to ground yourself, you know, you can ask and see, you know, see what the answer is. But I found through finding out, oh, I could get a new name, like, do I need to do that? And then in talking to some other Indigenous people and then through some other circumstances, the name gave me a tool to reconsider my role. And I said that Raymond said she'll talk a lot and she'll sing a lot and she'll talk a lot. And I'd only really focused on the singing part and the fact that singing woman was in the name. But I heard the second half of that much more profoundly after my vocal injury to think,

wait a minute, the part of the teaching was she's going to talk a lot. Like that's part of being singing woman. I can still serve this role. I can still express myself in this way. And it was really meaningful to have that shift. And so in a way, the name grew with me or I grew with the name. I mean, I think we've kind of informed each other. So I haven't gone for a new name is the conclusion that I've decided I can stick with Singing Woman. Yeah, but I mean, it is really fascinating. And

it's fascinating how you sort of revisited, okay, so beyond the immediate translation, there was this slightly more expansive offering, you know, when you were to, to the family, like, oh, actually, you know, it encompasses something bigger and something more. And I know as, as a young kid, I mean, it sounds like you were writing music from the earliest days. Like this was actually songwriting and writing lyrics and writing music was just a part of your DNA almost, but not necessarily performing it until like a chunk later. Yeah. Yeah. I mean, it did. Singing songs always came so naturally to me.

And I think when times where people say, how do you write songs? To me, it was so curious because I think, well, how do you not? Like, is everyone not singing songs? Are you not waking up and these words are coming out of you? Because it just seemed so, so automatic and natural to me. But I had, I have always had a lot of stage fright. And so there was a kind of ongoing battle for a while to have this drive in me that wanted to share these songs and wanted to perform and, to perform and see what happened. And then this very like physical fear that has kind of gone up and down over the years, but the drive to share them was so strong. Eventually I figured out how to live with the stage fright.

Yeah. I mean, it's interesting also, right? Because if you view your name as just descriptive, it's kind of cool and interesting. But if you view it as, and also this is kind of your job in community, then there's also this sense of, I'm wondering if you felt like through this time, but this is kind of why I'm here. Like there's a job that I'm supposed to be doing

or like there's a sense of responsibility to a community that's larger than me that I show up in this way. And whether that was in any way, shape or form a struggle when you really kind of didn't want to show up in the final part of that way. Yeah, yeah. No, it was because it is, in the sense of my name,

it is my responsibility. And not that I would be punished for not following through, but it was for so long, you know, held as this guiding principle. And so that was part of that kind of struggle for sure of like, but this is who I am and what I'm supposed to do and what I've been asked to do. And I want to do it, but I'm so scared to do it. And, you know, all of those things would kind of swirl together. At the same time, I mean, while this script is running in your life, you start to enter a season, which becomes a series of seasons of real challenge, you know, on the level that so many others, you know, I think we all step into these seasons at some point in our lives, but it really starts to touch down early in your life. I guess around 11 years old when you look down one day and notice that one leg doesn't look like the other. Yeah.

Yeah. My left leg was larger than the other, that I was having really strong stabbing pains from inside my leg. And, you know, I'd be sitting there playing Nintendo and couldn't get comfortable flipping my legs over the chair, lying on the floor. It just hurt all the time. And I was in Montclair. I was having the summer with my dad and we'd gone camping and he said, oh, maybe it's a spider bite. And, you know, there's crazy spiders here on the East Coast. And OK, maybe that's it. And maybe it's growing pains.

Like, OK, maybe that's it. And when I got back home to Edmonton, Alberta to start the school year with my mom, the pain didn't go away and it got quite a bit worse. And so, you know, walk-in clinic, doctor, pediatrician, DOTS got connected very quickly to get me to the hospital and eventually a cancer diagnosis. I had a very large cancerous tumor on my left leg. Yeah. Which led to, I guess, first a long season of chemo. And then eventually the decision when you're about two years later, so I guess 13, that a part of your leg was going to be amputated. Yeah. Which, you know, is multiple layers of trauma, especially at an age where like all you want

to do at that age is fit in. You don't want most people that you just don't want to stand out. You're just like, can I please be accepted? Yeah. And then this sort of becomes your world to a certain extent. Yeah. Yeah. So I had chemotherapy, radiotherapy, and my, it was Ewing's sarcoma.

It went into remission, but then it was another summer with my dad where I was like, man, my leg's starting to hurt again. And another fall diagnosis for the cancer had come back. We're never really gone. And so at that point, the cure was to amputate. That's all that was left. I mean, I'm really lucky. I'm really lucky that there was a cure. We all have lost people to cancer. Every single person I've ever met knows someone with cancer who's had cancer or, you know, had cancer themselves. Like it's everywhere. And so I was really fortunate that there was a cure and absolutely it thrust me into this very different life. And that was very far from what every other 13-year-old I knew outside of the hospital was having. And so I'd have this kind of sense of belonging in the hospital. But as soon as I got back into school, I was always different.

I looked different. I moved different. I was going through something that no one knew what to say or how to act. And I think I felt on the outside for most of my adolescence and teenage years because I was, you know who I think because we'd been besties since we were five or whatever that she got it because she'd seen it happening. But everyone else, it was, I think in some ways I was a mystery. Fair enough. Like other teenagers, they don't know. So yeah. And I know now that that's an enormous experience and strain for a young person. I didn't really know it then. I didn't have a sense of the scope, you know, or the enormity of it. I think in some ways being young protected me from having a sense of how big a deal it was. And my mom did a pretty great job of, you know, taking things seriously, but also just trying to get me

through it without showing her fear. So it was kind of late. It was in my 20s, really, when I actually finally started to grieve or suddenly got a chance to go, hey, wait a second. That was really scary and really hard and really unfair, you know, and like, look what I missed out on. And even now, as I'm getting to know other young adults, like I'm still I come from this weird place that none of them have been to. So yeah, I mean, of course, I don't know any anything else. It's kind of like writing songs, like what's a childhood without cancer? I don't know. But it was, yeah, it was really impactful. And as you say, like all the other kids, all the other families, like the people in the neighborhood, but also the culture of kids who were in various stages of treatment in the hospital, oftentimes in for long windows of time where, you know,

the physical expression of what you're going through and what your body was taking on, which was very often, you very often brutal, was normalized. So it's almost like that became, for you, that becomes the normal. That becomes a place where you can exhale because you're kind of like, yeah, we're all going through this and where you can be more of just you. That becomes a world that becomes, you know better and you know how to navigate and be with. Yeah. And that's where I had belonging for those, those couple years was in the hospital,

was with other bald kids hooked up to machines and also puking our guts out, you know, and we like that, that there was, you know, pain in that and suffering in that, but there was also joy and jokes and playing and, and being kids together. And we could be together in a way because all of those things were understood. And we weren't, you know, none of, we weren't staring at each other the way we'd get stared at outside of the hospital, or we already understood like, you know, we could just jump ahead to, to watching movies together or whatever. And I think I missed that once I was, you know, in recovery and after my leg was amputated, I missed having that, you know, even though I didn't miss being

sick, I didn't miss being in treatment, but I, I missed that sense of, of familiarity. Yeah. It's like there, you know, everyone knew how to be with each other. And then once you're outside of that, it sounds like people just really didn't understand how to be with each other. And then once you're outside of that, it sounds like people just really didn't understand how to be with you in a way that was just natural and comfortable. Yeah. Which I think, I mean, I mean, I think adults don't understand how to, how to navigate that, let alone in your teens where you're just trying to figure out which way is up anyway. Yeah, totally. Yeah. You, I mean, music has always been a part of, of you, but it sounds like, you know, Yeah, totally. adventure, you effectively, you head over the other side of the pond for a chunk of time, the UK and then Amsterdam. And there's a moment there where something changes in your relationship

to music and also eventually your vocation. Yeah. And you know, it's interesting. We talked a bit about that, like wrestle with, am I really a singing woman? Should I be doing this? This is my responsibility. And I think for a while after high school, going into film school and working in television production, I was kind of avoiding it. That was me like still finding something that was like creative and still in, you know, media or production. And I enjoyed it. So it was still a fit, but it, it, it, I wasn't doing the thing I really wanted to do and was really drawn to do, but still figuring out early 20s, you know. And so I went on this, you know, cliche backpacking through Europe, Canadian thing, although truly unprepared because doing it on one leg was not easy.

Now I'm like, what was I thinking? Whatever. Went to Europe and had been doing my travels, you know, and meeting people. And I was at this host hostel in Amsterdam and had kind of joined up with a group of Scots and Brits who were on a bank holiday weekend. And, you know, it was late at night, early in the morning, hazy back room at the bar, and a guitar was going around the room, you know, as it does when people are playing their cover songs.

And the guitar got to me and I had actually just started taking guitar lessons. I had been writing songs for a long time, but no one had ever heard them. And in that moment of the guitar being passed to me, had I was like okay I can do an Indigo Girls cover or for the first time ever I can sing a song I wrote and I played a song that I'd written and in the moment this there was this pause you know the song ended the notes are probably still ringing on the guitar and it just hung in the air and then one of the other you know, the song ended, the notes are probably still ringing on the guitar and it just hung in the air. And then one of the other, you know, travelers went, I, and everyone started clapping. And it was the small moment, but I was so lifted by it. And it opened a door. It just showed me what it felt like to do that. I, you know, I felt like I became a singer in that moment. I became singing woman or

kind of like singing woman was revealed to me in a new way in that moment. Because I just was like, oh, man, I want to feel that again. I want to feel this moment again, where I gave something, they received it, they gave something back, we were having a moment. We're seeing each other. It was just that beautiful, you know, mix that music brings us, you know, as an audience member or as a creator, there can be an incredible magic that happens in music. We've all felt it, right? And it was a moment of feeling it, but I got to be on the side of generating it. It was like a superpower. So yeah, I went home from that trip in Europe and was like, all right, that's it. I was like a superpower. So yeah, I went home from that trip in Europe and was like, all right, that's it. I want to, I want to do this. I, how do I do it? I don't know, but

I had all of these songs bursting out of me, you know, figured out how to record them, found some open mic nights to go to. And that was the beginning of, yeah, making a shift into being a musician, professional musician. Yeah. I mean, which is, it's interesting to sort of like, you know, feel like on that one evening, something was revealed to you because it wasn't really revealed to you. You knew it all along, but there was something that happened in that moment that allowed you to say now, like now is the time to stand fully in it, to be like this person. Yeah. Yeah. And isn't that the way, you know, we can hear a lesson over and over and, but suddenly in that moment, it made sense to me. It was, it was the right time. Kind of how

20 years after that, I heard that second half of, oh, she's going to talk a lot. You know, it just was the right time for me to truly get it. Yeah. I'm fascinated with the concept of sliding doors. I've asked this to a number of different people. Do you ever or have you ever sort of reflected on that night and wondered, what if I said no when the guitar came around? Oh, man. What if I said no when the guitar came around? Oh, man. What if I had said no? You know, my guess is that it might have come at another time,

that it might have kept knocking. But of course, I don't know. I don't know. I mean, it felt like the stars aligned that night. And so if I'd made a different choice, maybe you and I wouldn't even be talking now. The whole world could be different. Sliding doors is incredible as an idea.

I think it would have still come because it was percolating. But I'm really glad it happened that night. And the song I wrote about that night was just, it's still, I think it's just one of the best, not my best song, but one of my dearest. You know, 20 years later, whatever, hundreds of songs later, it's like, but that night, it just so much came out of it. What good question. Where would I be? What was the chorus to that song? The chorus is, thank you for starting me off. Thank you for the invitation to join you.

Because I felt like I was indebted to the people in that room. And of course, you're right, like that I knew I was a singer, it was already there. But it just was like the alchemy of those people in that moment, I felt like they were part of, of me taking this step. Yeah. The Apple Watch Series X is here. It has the biggest display ever. It's also the thinnest Apple Watch ever, making it even more comfortable on your wrist,

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what the difference between me and you is? You're going shoot if we need them y'all need a pilot flight risk and talk about timing also i mean this was a moment that also it allowed you to really step fully into this which would become not just your primary vocation for a long window of time, not just a form of creative expression for you, but also a place of homecoming and solace and coping to a certain extent, which you would really need because coming home, the years that followed were about to serve up some really, really hard experiences to you. I know you come back and you start to make the transition into the career as a musician and start to create albums, which requires time in the studio, time writing, time performing locally, and then touring the albums. Your first album,

I fell out of Oz, was the first album, right? So you're about to start touring Oz, you simultaneously fall in love with somebody in relatively short order. You realize that you're going to have a baby, which for a chunk of years, because of what you had been through when you were earlier, it sounds like it was something where you were never entirely sure if that was going to be possible. Yeah. I'd been told when I turned 18 and my pediatric oncology team was kind of handing me over to the adult care team, they were like, by the way, a bunch of long-term side effects of the chemo, possible like heart disease, maybe some other cancers, and likely difficulty like with fertility. And I was like, okay, well, I'm 18. So that's not on my radar. But I'd been operating, like, I might never be able to get pregnant, or that it would be hard for me to get pregnant,

because that's what they said. And so to be honest, I was a bit reckless for a while there. But I had had one unplanned pregnancy earlier that I terminated, but that opened my eyes to like, oh, wait a second, it turns out I can't get pregnant. And then in this relationship of, yeah, falling in love, fast and furious, and then another unplanned pregnancy, just as my album was coming out, this new album and this career that I'd, you know, found myself in and had to kind of go, oh, wait, now there's going to be a baby. So what does it mean for the album? And I want this baby, but I also really wanted this career. And this relationship is new and it kind of thrust us into, you know, a very intense time together to figure out, I'm talking about the father of the baby and I,

figuring out what do we want. I mean, he also was just about to start his MFA and we were in our 20s and felt like the world was before us. And I mean, kids change things, pregnancies change things. So I decided to kind of put music on hold a little bit, slow down and wait for the baby to come,

which was our first son, Emmett. Which brings us to the next moment that would really bring you to your knees and also introduces, for the firstett, which is a devastating, devastating experience for you and something that you would have to be with, with this person who you're with, who would eventually, in the time following, become closer with you and you would end up married. But it also, as you're trying to figure out, how do I move forward after this absolutely horrendous experience? This question starts popping up, which is, you know,

when you meet people and you're at a certain age at a certain time and you're like married at that point, hey, do you have kids? Yeah. That question for what year is it now 2020 almost 15 years that question has has hit me in a lot of different ways and so yeah emmet uh died during during labor effectively i mean i think officially the day after Because we did have him on life support for a day. Which I'm grateful for. I got to hold his body and look at him and touch him and see him on the outside.

But then we had to let him go. And so do you have children? I mean, when you've lost a child, I mean, even for other reasons, it's a tough question for a lot of people, maybe who didn't ever want to have kids and are tired of talking about it or can't have kids. And that's a heartbreak or like me who had lost a child. You know, I would have different answers at different times. I could say yes, but he died after Emmett. Or I could say no. And then I would feel like this punch in my stomach

because it meant so much to me to think of myself as a mother. And it would depend on who was asking and where I was and how I was doing and all of these different factors, always trying to kind of guess how it might go. Who am I talking to? Are they going to be okay with this? Or is this going to freak them out if I start talking about death? Because that happens. And yeah, that question, I mean, it's a question I try to never ask. Even though I find myself all of these years later and everything that's happened and now with a three-year-old that I will go to ask people or a version of it, which is, do you have other kids,

you know, be on the playground and you're small talking with parents, you know, and you know, how old are they? Oh, yes. And then, oh, do you have other kids? And I, no, don't, don't do it. Don't do it. Even though it's like, it seems like such a normal question, but I just, it can be so loaded. And so I try to never ask it. You know, if someone offers that information, sure. But yeah, it was a hard question. And because after we had Emmett and got married and were once again feeling hopeful about our future. And I was making music again and my ex was making art again.

Okay, okay, we can do this. We can get through this together. Um, and then I got pregnant again with our son Ford and Ford was born with, uh, uh, hypoplastic love heart syndrome, very rare and very serious heart defect, um, and lived a really difficult life. And then he died when he was 14 months old. And so then the question again, do you have kids? It just got even harder, even harder. And, you know, in my book, like it's called How to Lose Everything. And it has a lot of these experiences in it.

Cancer and bone cancer and thyroidectomy. But really my sons are the everything. You know, those other experiences are losses, but they don't have the expanse that the loss of my children does. And so, but it's still a question that I like. I've yet to have a firm response. I've yet to have my go-to that always makes sense, even now with my daughter. Because now it's like, I have one child. I have three children or maybe none. I don't know. I don't know if I want to talk about it. It stays something that the question to a certain extent is, I mean, there's so many layers to it. But also if we go back to our earlier conversation with, okay, so at two years old, you know, you're given this role of the person who sings, the person who speaks, or the storyteller as a provider of ease, solace, connecting. And if you feel like that's a part of kind of wire here,

and you're going through this thing, or a series of experiences for you, which keeps pulling you away from people. And simultaneously you feel like, but I'm here to do this thing, which brings us all together. I wonder if that's anything that you have and maybe even still grapple with. Yeah. Yeah. I mean, I think similar to when I had cancer, there was ways, certainly in the early after my sons died, that I was like, wow, here I am on the outside again. Here I am, someone who's had this extraordinary, rare, terrifying experience that no one seems to understand because it's not happening to that many people. Or, you know, it does happen. It happens.

But I certainly felt like, especially as each kind of bullet point of tragedy, that I was like, wow, I'm really, really starting to separate myself from the norm here. But coming back to then sharing those experiences or my responsibility to do that or what does that mean and what does that look like now? I did reach a point. I mean, at first, playing music was, like you said, it was solace for me. It was a way that I could move some of those emotions, you know, that I could sit at my piano and you can, a piano can take a lot as can a guitar. You can really hit those things. I could sit there and I could bang the keys and I could sing and, and, you know, the songs would be coming out of me, these lyrics would be coming out of me and this angerness and this, it's like bitter and, and, and sorrow and all of these

things would be pouring out of me through music. And I'm, I'm so grateful that I had that outlet. I mean, I think if I was a gardener, I would have just been like really digging up the garden or like whatever your thing is, you know, but that was my thing. And I happen to know what my thing is, thank goodness. And, and so I could, I could spend time doing that. And so at first music came back really for me, it was like, this is for me, this is a way for me to get it out of me a little bit. And then, as I started to still kind of process the experiences and as ever feel drawn to sharing them, I started to think about which of those songs, okay, which of those songs were like purely cathartic and no one needs to hear? Fine, that's that list. And which of the songs are stories that will be an invitation for people to learn about something or to feel their own sorrow and their own loss? Which of these songs can I give and offer and do my thing as singing woman where we exactly get to connect and get to feel seen together and get to have this moment in music together where things kind of make sense for a second.

And so after each loss, after my son Emmett died, I wrote another album. And then after Ford died, I wrote another album and took those songs on the road. I mean, it's interesting, the thing about like even growing up with being told, oh, she'll sing a lot, she'll talk a lot, like those stories, right? We all tell ourselves stories about who we are. And at some point, there's many of them where we realize we need to stop telling that story. You can change them. We can change the stories we tell about ourselves. But there's such power in kind of repeating stories. And I got to, by being in a different town every night, by being in a different stage, say over and over, you know, this is what happened. This is my heartbreak. Can I show it to you? What's your heartbreak? And because it was a new crowd every

night, I could kind of do it again and again. And it was a way for me to make sense of the experiences. You know, like, you know, if you're in a like car accident, like a like a fender bender and for the next two weeks, like everyone you run into, you're like, did I tell you I was in a car accident? It was on Friday, because you're trying to kind of get used to the story. You're trying to absorb it and figure out what your version of the story is. And so I had these huge experiences to try and make sense of. And through getting to just kind of share those stories through music and have people respond or have people, you know, connect with their own emotion. I got to like put pieces together in a way and do the thing, do the thing that I do. And so yeah, there was still

kind of sometimes that push and pull of music and motherhood and am I or am I not? And I think there was a way too, because, you know, even though I had felt some grief about having to put my career on hold it's not that I didn't want to have my children I mean I you know I sort of felt this moment of guilt of being like well I didn't I didn't mean this I didn't mean that I rather have my music career than my kids like that's who got the message wrong because that's not what I meant but kind of in the aftermath in trying to make sense of it in trying to pick up the pieces and trying to move forward somehow that music came back and and all of these pieces of yeah career and income and but yes self-expression and and and being in service you know like you said the storyteller like it's it's it's kind of it's being in service and allowing people to, you know, see their own stories.

Yeah. You write in, um, in your book for a long time until I had new things to hold on to those moments of connection with an audience kept me alive. So it's, it sounds like it was this bi-directional thing, um, you know, um, and it also, that line also kind of telegraphs this really interesting trajectory from there, you know, which is not so much getting over any of this because that's not what happens, but, um, figuring out, okay, so I'm waking up tomorrow or I'm waking up today. Okay. So how do I move into this day? And then the next day and then the next day and the next day, you know, where you start to say, okay, so, so I, I have to somehow create a life from this point forward and using your language from a beautiful talk that you did a little while back, you know, not necessarily better, but different. Yeah. Yeah. And, you know, after the loss of our children and then our marriage ended, and then I really felt like, okay, what's left? That I did have to wake up and say, well, what can I create?

Or what can I build? And go through a process like it's not what I wanted. It's not what I thought would happen. But what's possible? And I think, you know, when I talk about different, instead of better, it's kind of being open to possibility, to being open to some mystery. I struggle with the word hope. I think people who have a discomfort with sorrow really want to talk about hope and there always being hope and there isn't. Factually, there's not always hope. Sometimes there is. Often there's hope. But for me, what became a way to be hopeful was to be open to mystery, was to say, okay, I don't know. I don't know

what's coming. Maybe it'll get worse. Could. Maybe there'll be new things. And just kind of being open to that. That was a way that I found to move forward. It's like, I don't know what it's going to be, but it's going to be different. It's not going to be this. So let's see what happens. And I moved across the country. I'd been living in Vancouver from my adult life until then for 17 years and moved to Toronto and, you know, started some new work, made some new friends, and just tried to, you know, pick up the pieces and build something new, but also have to like, just find totally new pieces and recreate something for myself. Yeah. It's sort of, um, it's not even

about reassembling the same pieces into a different puzzle. It's a different puzzle. Yeah. And different pieces. And maybe you're, you're, you're fabricating the pieces as you go. Yeah. Um, and just sort of like seeing what it looks like. There's, there's a moment that you share yeah um and just sort of like seeing what it looks like there's there's a moment that you share um while you're sort of in this process and then you're you're really you're sort of back and performing um the prosthetic leg that you had for many years was limited in a lot of ways and i guess technology evolved to a point where there were microprocessor built things and things which would allow for a much more comfortable and natural gate and for you to move through the world differently. Being an artist and a performer in the music business, like so many, it's not necessarily,

you know, you're not necessarily flush with huge piles of cash all day, every day. So this technology, you know, like while it's something that for you seems really appealing, it's also incredibly expensive. And you decide to do something that was a pretty profound act of vulnerability, but also it showed you that you didn't just have an audience, you had a community. Yes. The knee raiser. That's what it's called. This moment my life the knee razor so as a performer I'd actually tried to keep my disability not really secret but I I had a prosthetic cover and I always wore pants and like a lot of people didn't know I only had one leg and that's I mean

that's in part because I was reasonably afraid of how people would respond because of people didn't know I only had one leg. And that's, I mean, that's in part because I was reasonably afraid of how people would respond because of people's attitudes towards disability. But it reached a point where I got to try one of these microprocessor knees that are, yeah, not covered by the healthcare programs we have here and, you know, $40,000 knees, but you can try them for two weeks. You can get a two-week trial of these exciting knees. And so I decided to try it just to see what it was like. I was like, okay, there's all this buzz about these knees. I remember what it was like to have two legs, like how great can this be? And it was amazing. It felt amazing. And the day that I had to give it back, I posted a photo on Facebook, you know, as one does, of me in the clinic saying, I've just got to use this knee.

I got to, you know, go downstairs, step over step for the first time in 20 years. You know, I got to have all these sensations and now I'm giving it back. And I kind of feel like I'm, you know, turning into a pumpkin, like the Cinderella, you know, carriage at midnight. And all these people chimed in. First of all, we're like, wait, what? You only have one leg? And oh my God, you know, how can we have to get this leg for you? What can we do? And I think, you know, not only did it show me that I belong to a community, I sometimes call it the leg that folk music bought, because it was like very much the folk community across Canada that made it possible that we're contributing. And there were some people, you know, like I had an uncle who threw in 2000 or something.

But for a lot of musicians, exactly, you don't have much money. They were putting in $10 or $20 or whatever they could. And it meant so much to me. And even like parents of kids I grew up with, like I would see the contributions coming in and see these names and go, oh, that person, oh, that person. Like it was an incredible gift. I think everyone should get to see the range of lives that they've touched because we maybe don't, well, we don't know unless you throw a fundraiser and everyone signs up. So I got to feel this incredible amount of support, but I think it also gave people an

opportunity to express it in a way, you know, that for a few years they'd wanted to because people knew about my sons. I'd been sort of talking publicly because I was making these albums about loss and, you know, people knew I'd lost one child and then a second child and people ached for me, of course, and they didn't know what to do. And the knee razor happened and I think it gave them something to do. I think people were glad to be like, great, we can't fix those other things. Those things hurt. But we can make this difference for you. We can do this.

This will improve this part of your life. Wonderful. Let's do it. And so it was profound because I got to get this new knee that was life changing. I felt this incredible amount of support and love and care that I had felt I you know, but I also was also felt people's helplessness about it. And so this was a moment of like, Oh, great, like you get to take action. I get to feel it. This makes sense. And so not only was it was it profound in those ways, Because it had been such an exciting experience, I decided I

wanted to do something to celebrate it or acknowledge this incredible act of community care. And so that's when I got the flower leg, which is this floral cosmesis, meaning just like the cover on my prosthetic leg, which as mentioned, I'd always tried to go for the ones that pass, but don't really like the, you know, something that sort of looks like my skin tone, but it was like a nylon over foam. Anyways, but I decided to do something that wasn't going to hide it and was in fact going to point a neon sign to it. And I got this cover made where I actually found this linen upholstery fabric that I love. It's laminated onto the fiberglass. And so it's now this incredibly striking accessory,

goes with everything. And now I tend to show it off. Like I have my pants tailored to just have one leg or I wear skirts or whatever, because now I love to show it. And it's sort of like that moment in the Amsterdam bar, like, or the sliding doors, like, I might not have taken that step to make this part of myself so visible in a way that is celebratory and decorative, if it hadn't been as a response to all of the support that I'd received. And then in turn, that flower leg has transformed my life. It's changed how I see myself as a disabled person. It's changed how people look at me as a disabled person. It's changed the conversations about it.

And all of these things I had no idea would come out of putting some flowers on my leg. And so, of course, now I can kind of look back and connect those dots and say, okay, this led to that and this led to that. But I don't know if there would have been another way to get to this point with my leg. Yeah. I mean, what, what an amazing just moment, um, and experience. And, you know, it, it, it sounds like when you, when you put up that first simple post, you know, and you're kind of like, ah, I'm giving this back. The intention was maybe just to be a little bit vulnerable, but your community was, like you said, waiting.

Even if they didn't know that this was a part of your truth, they knew what you had been through in addition to that. And they wanted to do something. They wanted to say, we've got you in some way, shape or form, but didn't know how. And this gave them just a very straightforward, easy vehicle to say we've got you in some way, shape or form, but didn't know how. And this gave them like just a very straightforward, easy vehicle to say like, we got you, we appreciate you. And it's almost like you're giving them a gift

of saying there's this easy action that'll help support. But I think I didn't know how to ask. And I think I didn't quite realize I was asking in that moment too, right? And you're right, it is a gift. And I think I've certainly been on the end of that too. Or sometimes when people ask like, what should I be doing to support someone who's going through something? And I mean, it it's, we don't want to be a burden. And a lot of us have that mentality, but really people want to help. They want to do

what they can mostly. I think that's mostly true. And so, so yeah it was this moment that I gave people permission an invitation to do something and it was vulnerable I mean I still I could like sort of share the photo on the anniversary every now and then because I think it's in the clinic and you see the prosthetic leg and so it was even a way of just showing like my body that I hadn't done before because of my own discomfort around having a disabled body. And so, yeah, it was, it was a, it was a step that has led to a lot of other kind of undoing of, of my own, you know, ableism and self-consciousness of, of saying, okay, this is what I look like. Okay. Okay. This is what I need. Okay. You know? And then, and and being caught being accepted. Yeah.

Yeah, it's really interesting to hear you sort of say of the undoing of my own ableism, because I think when we think about it from the outside looking in, you're sort of like, well, no, it's it's it's always others, you know, like with ableism towards somebody who is living with a disability rather than, but you can't do that to yourself. But in fact, it sounds like part of this, just the internal dialogue with you was a certain amount of rejecting a part of who you were or wanting to keep it hidden as much as possible, maybe for different reasons.

Maybe, like you say, going back to the early part of the conversation, at the end of the day, we all just want to belong. Yeah. And I mean, like internalized ableism is unavoidable. And for a long time, I would have very concrete, real thoughts of I don't want to look like this, which is a crummy feeling, right? We've all felt that. We've all had those moments. But and we kind of know intellectually

where that standard comes from. And we know the problems with it and that we're all impacted by this like homogenized, you know, European centric idea of beauty and all of those things. But the experience of it is really hard and it hurts. Right. And I often thought, I don't want to look like this. I don't like the way that I walk. I don't like the way that, you know, it feels and I see my, you know, and all of this, all this negativity towards my, myself, because I hadn't been shown disabled bodies as beautiful or strong or, or interesting the way that certain bodies are shown to us as beautiful and strong. I mean, that's the power of representation, right? And so most of us have had to grapple with that a little bit, but it took time to, yeah, to undo it. And I mean,

bless social media for like the knee razor for putting that post and something coming out of it. But that's also where I started to see other disabled people. it you know was inspired to question why I had these ideas about myself and started to see you know other people rocking their prosthetic legs or whatever it is and and having more conversations about representation and disability and and so all these things were kind of happening at the same time and feeding each other. Yeah. The Apple Watch Series 10 is here. It has the biggest display ever. It's also the thinnest Apple Watch ever,

making it even more comfortable on your wrist, whether you're running, swimming, or sleeping. And it's the fastest-charging Apple Watch, getting you 8 hours of charge in just 15 minutes. The Apple Watch Series 10, available for the first time in glossy jet black aluminum. Compared to previous generations, iPhone XS or later required, charge time and actual results will vary.

Mayday, mayday, we've been compromised. The pilot's a hitman. I knew you were gonna be fun. On January 24th. Tell me how to fly this thing. Mark Wahlberg. You know what the difference between me and you is? You're going to die.

Don't shoot him. We need him. Y'all need a pilot. Flight risk. At the same time also, so you're in, you're in Toronto now, the other side of the country. Really sort of like building a different life, a new career, being much more front and center also. And, you know, performing. Music is still your jam.

And then you end up with thyroid cancer. Yeah. Which is like, it's this bizarre thing where like people are like, you know, it's like the classic old joke with thyroid cancer. Like good news, bad news. You know, like on the one hand, it's the big C. On the other hand, it's the best one to get. Like I've heard that story from a number of different people now. But you're, I mean, you have surgery to remove the thyroid. As a singer, there's a little bit of stuff that goes wrong sing, which going back to, okay, so now I've just grappled with this thing that's been a part of me since I was 13 years old, and I'm now in a place

where I am completely and utterly public and owning it and celebrating it, and then this other part of me, which has been decreed as a significant part of my identity since I was two, which is singing woman. Well, now I'm struggling to do that. Yeah. It was a blow.

It was like, yeah, exactly. It wasn't the big C. It was like, yeah, I was fed the same line. It's not breast cancer.

It's not lung cancer. Like this is, we can live with this. But as a singer, it was drastic and and i definitely had a moment of like really really thyroid can't like come on like all of this other shit has happened and now this like gonna cut me some slack um so i struggled with it i really because I felt like yeah here I am I'm figuring out how to move forward I'm I'm getting myself up every day I'm creating something I'm proud of myself like and um and then I had this setback and it it put everything put everything on hold for a little while there. It did mean that in having to sit with

questioning, who am I as singing woman? If I'm not singing, what am I doing? What else about me matters? What is it about singing woman that matters? And what do I want? And it was in that downtime of not getting to perform and, and having to stay in one place, which I hadn't done in a long time. I mean, there's this beauty of touring and performing and getting to connect and getting to share my story and all of that stuff. But also, it was definitely some escapism and coping for a while there was just keep myself moving, keep moving, keep moving. And so there I was, I had to sit still. And when I thought about performing the teaching, you know, came clear to me that she's going to talk a lot part.

I thought, okay, well, I can talk. Maybe I'll write. Maybe I'll do more radio stuff I'd been doing. And also it was, you know, and you know, it's this thing of different, not better. It's not like I wanted to have thyroid cancer, but it was in that moment where I started to think about and be open to and be in touch with my desire to potentially have a third child, which, you know, understandably was this big question of like, would I even try? Do I even want to go there? But it really came in having to slow down and

sit back and say, okay, if I'm going to lose that thing, that means so much to me. What do I want? What do I want? And then it was like, well, you kind of really want a kid and you do still really want to connect and tell stories, but maybe there's this other way you can do it. Um, and so those things started to become clear. Um, and so, you know, it's this way of like, I'm not grateful for, for the thyroidectomy that went wrong for a minute there, but this is what came out of it. on the stage, sharing words and language and stories on the radio where you are now on a regular basis. And then also, like you said, saying, okay, so number three, I want to say yes to this, which, you know, there's so many layers there, you know, because you're not just saying yes to a child at that point saying, I'm going to try this again, but you're saying yes to the very visceral, you know, like lived experience of saying, and this might be yet another being that may not be here, you know, by the time that I'm no longer here. And you're saying yes to that in a way that, you know, like most others can intellectualize a decision, but you've lived it.

Yeah. I knew that in trying to have a third child, you know, and people talk about like, there's always this awareness of miscarriage. Like people won't necessarily say they're pregnant until that kind of 12 week mark. And then I feel like people think they're in the clear. And I'm always like, you're not in the clear. I don't say that out loud. But, but I exactly have this very, you child meant being open to all the things that can go wrong. That's it's how I saw it. And of course, being open to that, it could go right. But even then, it was like, OK, if this goes as well as possible, which is, you know, carrying a baby full term, having a live birth, bringing that healthy baby home. I mean, that's the ideal. Right. And there can be versions of that that healthy baby home. I mean, that's the ideal, right? And there can be

versions of that that still work out. But it was like, even if I bring home a perfect, healthy, full-term baby, I will then also have to probably bump into some grief that I've been leaving alone because it's going to remind me of things. I'm going to see things in this baby that I missed with Emmett and Ford. Like I knew going into it that I would have to also be open to touching on that grief or being triggered sometimes and that that was going to be part of parenting for me. And so I had to be ready for that, which took time. Yeah. You said yes. You said yes to a lot of things in that season. As we sit here and

have this conversation, you have a beautiful three-year-old daughter and this career where the singing voice has returned. Maybe not entirely like 100% to what you, but you have the ability to sing, you have the ability to speak, you've written this gorgeous book, How to Lose Everything, which really sort of walks people through so much of what we've explored. And it's interesting because if you were to take a snapshot, not look at the movie of how you got here, but literally just take a snapshot of you now, you know, that looks like a beautiful life. It's a beautiful life. You know, but at the same time, the movie that brought you to this frame in the film is what brought you to this moment. And there was a lot of brutality and suffering and grief. mess because, you know, kind of saying like with thyroid cancer, like I wouldn't have chosen to have cancer when I was 11. If someone had said, you know, bone cancer, yes or no, I said, no, thanks. But at the same time, I can't imagine who I would be without it. And so to wish that away

would be to kind of wish myself away who I am and who I am in this world and how I see it and experience it. And that's true for all those other losses. And so it's not like those are things that I'm like grateful for. And again, the losses of my sons, I wish that Emmett had lived or I wish that Ford had lived or both of them. God, my life would be completely different if one or both of them had lived. I'd probably still live in Vancouver, might still be in that marriage or at least parenting with that person. And I wouldn't be here. And I, in a way, long for that alternate reality. And I love my life right now. I, you know, love my little family, my partner and my daughter and the things that have been happening in my work and my career. Like these are really satisfying, fulfilling. You know, the book was so fulfilling to create and to share.

And my daughter is just, you know, the best in the world. And I can't imagine life without her. And so just the way that those truths kind of bump into each other and that all of those things brought me here. And so there's ways, you know, I wouldn't choose them or plan for this. And yet here I am. And it is a beautiful picture. At this point in my life, incredibly blessed. I feel so blessed. You know, that's even in the middle of a pandemic, knock on wood, like healthy and housed and employed and with my family. And I mean, who could ask for more?

Which feels like a good place for us to come full circle as well. So sitting in this container of a good life project, if I offer up the phrase to live a good life, what comes up? For me to live a good life is to make music in any way, shape, or form, and to be open to mystery. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you so much for listening,

and thanks also to our fantastic sponsors who help make this show possible. You can check them out in the links we have included in today's show notes. And while you're at it, if you've ever asked yourself, what should I do with my life? We have created a really cool online assessment that will help you discover the source code for the work that you're here to do. You can find it at sparkotype.com. That's S-P-A-R-K-E-T-Y-P-E.com. Or just click the link

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making it even more comfortable on your wrist, whether you're running, swimming, or sleeping. And it's the fastest-charging Apple Watch, getting you 8 hours of charge in just 15 minutes. The Apple Watch Series 10, available for the first time in glossy jet black aluminum. Compared to previous generations, iPhone XS or later required, charge time and actual results will vary. Mayday, mayday, we've been compromised. The pilot's a hitman.

I knew you were going to be fun. On January 24th. Tell me how to fly this thing. Mark Wahlberg. You know what the difference between me and you is? You're gonna die. Don't shoot him, we need him! Y'all need a pilot.

Flight Risk.