A shortened version of this piece appeared in The Toronto Star, November 26, 2022. Autonomy in the face of scarce resources is a false promise At the moment I most needed acute mental health care, I was lobbing rocks into a bucket in anticipation of drowning myself in a remote, pristine lake. But the line I tied to the pail and to my ankle did not hold and I just bobbed on the surface like a beach ball. This sorry incident took place some two months after I’d spent six weeks in hospital suffering from severe depression. Although I initially felt optimistic about my discharge, recovery was elus ..read more

If you would like to buy a copy of my. book for yourself or a friend or family member, please check out my website at miriamedelson.com. It would be a great gift for that special someone in your life. Thank you ..read more

In Vancouver on October 11th I was very excited to launch my new book, “The Swirl In My Burl: Essays”. Around twenty people gathered at the beautiful Massy Arts Centre on East Pender St. for a reading and snacks. The book explores five themes: Growing Up, Mental Health, Parenting, Politics and Nature. I read three of the personal essays to a warm response from those gathered. Next stop: Toronto on October 25th, 7 pm at Another Story Bookshop at 315 Roncesvalles ..read more

After many months of waiting, with no communication from Adelaide Books, I have now received and edited the proofs and seen and approved the cover art. It would seem that my collection of essays, The Swirl in My Burl, is going to be published. The book deals with a variety of subjects, including mental health, parenting, growing up, politics and nature. The essays are accessible and compelling. I’ve begun to set up readings in various places, so far in Toronto and Vancouver. Please contact me if you wish to set up a reading in your community ..read more

And then he kissed me. He was my grade five teacher, Mr. Woodward. It was not a peck on the cheek, but smack-dab wet on my lips. I was ten years old. I never told anyone. I had stayed after school to help him clean up. Perhaps he asked me to, I don’t remember. I wiped the chalkboard and placed fresh white chalk on the ledge so it would be ready for the next morning. The air was redolent with fine particles of chalk dust. My teacher had also taught my older brother a few years earlier. My mother invited Mr. Woodward to dinner, he became a friend of the family. After we moved to Canada from New ..read more

Op Ed NOW Magazine Toronto. February 19, 2022. (longer version) Since when is hot-tubbing with hate groups an acceptable practice in Canada? Like many, I am deeply troubled by these images and the underlying messages they convey.  After visiting Ottawa and devouring press reports about the protests and the Emergencies Act over the last few weeks, I am concerned by the direction the coverage is taking.  For example, a Globe and Mail article February 16th by James Bradshaw (Banks grapple with new Emergencies Act powers to curb the flow of funds to support blockades) quot ..read more

Extreme misogyny and white supremacy aren’t just related, they’re entangled – both see increased demands for equality coming at the expense of white privilege I learned about fascism at my father’s knee. He explained to me that he was not a pacifist because some forces in the world have to be fought. Fascism is one such force. He enlisted to fight in the Second World War because of it.  He was wounded on a beach in France, earning a Purple Heart from the U.S. Army. My father was not a man who glorified his memories of the war. But he did teach us that like the swastika, the “goose step” m ..read more

The first time crippling anxiety assaulted my mind and body at age twenty-nine, I felt super-stimulated by everything going on around me. My mind raced.  I could not follow a radio broadcast, it barreled along too quickly, too much information. No matter how I tried, I could not fall asleep. This continued for seven days before I sought medical care and was forced to take sick leave from my job. Struck by a deep-seated fear that my career was over, I felt bowled over by a sense of shame at my failure to cope. I was convinced my mind was irreparably broken. One evening I labelled the ..read more

It’s mid-afternoon on a cool June day. I am walking in the forest with Bear, my daughter’s dog. He’s a big, black-haired beast of an animal with a sweet disposition. The trees overhang the road, verdant at this time of year. We’re going to walk down to the boat house on the lake. It’s about a 20-minute walk each way. Bear seems to be in his element. He runs ahead and then comes back to me. At one point, though, he disappears into the forest and doesn’t return. I call for him and walk back a ways, looking for the spot where he might have entered the bush. There’s no one around and I have no ide ..read more

An achingly beautiful dancing polar bear sculpted from a piece of light green serpentine. It is a sight to behold. The white specks in the stone have a slight bluish tint and the entire piece gleams in the sunlight coming through the window. The sculpture  simply radiates joy. I am sitting quietly in the living room, aware of the beauty that surrounds me. Art of various kinds, ceramics, African and Indian wall hangings, sculpture and paintings. We are fortunate to have such splendour in our midst. The bear keeps me company and lifts my spirits. It was carved by Joanie Ragee, a young ..read more