From what I can remember

WARNING: Potentially Disturbing Content

As a Gitxsan woman, I carry the weight of my childhood trauma, and I know I’m not alone in this. Although I’ve faced many challenges, I’ve also found moments of peace and happiness that have helped me survive.

I lived with my biological parents until I was 10 years old, which is not the norm for Indigenous children, then or now. By the time I was 5, most kids around me were being taken away to Indian Residential Schools (IRS). I was the first in my family for generations to stay home. 

Think about that for a moment. A child should never have to feel the pain of being torn away from their parents. While sometimes separation is unavoidable, and that’s tragic, it’s not the same as what Indigenous people have endured. The genocide of our people in Canada and the USA is a deep, painful reality that can’t be compared to a simple separation. It breaks my heart for the children who are affected.

I carry the scars of this trauma with me. I have PTSD and don’t remember much of my childhood—thankfully, in some ways. Both of my parents went to IRS; my dad for 10 years and my mom for 1. They faced daily torture as children, and while they survived, they returned forever changed and damaged.

My dad didn’t know he had PTSD, and it seemed like he had Dissociative Identity Disorder. When I confronted him about his abusive behavior, he would deny it, thinking I was imagining things. In his traditional way, he prayed for my healing from what he believed were delusions. My mom also left IRS with her own PTSD, and she struggles with fears and triggers to this day. She, too, was abusive at times and didn’t know how to care for us once we turned five.

Despite everything, I’ve always loved and respected my parents. This respect is part of our Gitxsan culture, ingrained in us from a young age. We honor our elders for all they’ve endured and survived.

I want to share some of my nightmares and moments of joy as a survivor of the intergenerational impacts of Indian Residential Schools.

I grew up in a small port where our people would fish or work for the Cassiar cannery. We were crammed into a tiny 1.5-room duplex with two adults and eight kids. We stayed there as long as the fish were running. The port felt like something out of a Popeye movie—I loved it there. The smell of the fishing nets and the ocean air brought me comfort. When school breaks came, I’d play with the other kids. We played ‘kick the can,’ ‘tag,’ and swung on the monkey bars.

But there were many days when I was left behind, locked out of our home. My parents often forgot about me, leaving me alone with nothing to eat. I was just a little kid, around 3 to 6 years old, waking up alone because my babysitter didn’t know how to take care of a child. While everyone in the community would pack up and head to Prince Rupert to party, I was left scared, hiding in the trees to stay away from dangerous men. The trees surrounded the port, and I would go to the end of the wharf or across the road, hoping someone would return safely so I could go to their place and wait.

I remember one holiday when my brother DM came home drunk. I was so happy to see him; he let me in and cooked fish and rice with onions. It was one of the best meals I ever had. He said, “Poor nuu'uu, are you feeling better?” I cherished those moments with my brother. He was always protective and caring.

That’s just a glimpse into my story. I hope to keep writing and sharing my experiences as a way to heal and connect with others. Resilience runs in our blood, and together, we can rise above the darkness we’ve faced.


---

Ancient Secrets

In the heart of the Gitxsan territory, where the rivers flowed like silver ribbons and the mountains whispered ancient secrets, there lived a woman of extraordinary gifts. Her name was Dax’gyet, a name that echoed through time, carrying the weight of her ancestors’ wisdom. As a reincarnation of a powerful shaman, she was the bridge between the past and the present, the living embodiment of healing and magic.

Dax’gyet had inherited the sacred knowledge of her mother, Sim’oh’get noxh noxh, a healer revered for her ability to mend bodies and souls alike. From her father, Hal’do’gwit, a witch doctor steeped in the mysteries of the unseen world, she learned to navigate the shadows and harness the power of the elements. With each passing day, she grew into her abilities, mastering the art of potion-making and the secrets of the land.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a golden glow over the forest, Dax’gyet sat in meditation beneath an ancient cedar tree. The air shimmered with energy as she closed her eyes, allowing her spirit to soar beyond the confines of the physical realm. In her visions, she saw glimpses of the future—both beautiful and terrifying. She saw her people, once torn apart by the scars of history, beginning to heal and reclaim their strength.

But she also glimpsed darkness—the lingering shadows of trauma that threatened to consume those she loved. Determined to protect her community, Dax’gyet gathered herbs and roots, each one imbued with its own magic. With the precision of a master, she crafted potions that could heal the sick, soothe the troubled mind, or, when necessary, serve as a warning to those who would do harm.

One fateful night, a powerful storm swept through the valley, awakening the spirits of the land. As lightning illuminated the sky, Dax’gyet was called to the riverbank. There, she encountered a wounded wolf, its leg caught in a hunter’s trap. With compassion in her heart, she knelt beside the creature, whispering words of healing as she pulled the trap apart. The wolf, sensing her intent, accepted her help, and in return, bestowed a gift upon her—a vision of the future where she would lead her people to a new dawn.

In the days that followed, Dax’gyet became a beacon of hope. Her reputation spread far and wide, drawing those in need of healing or guidance. She helped those struggling with the weight of their past, teaching them to embrace their pain as a part of their journey. With each life she touched, she wove a tapestry of resilience and strength, reminding them that they were never alone.

Yet, as she embraced her role, shadows of her own past haunted her. The memories of her childhood—the loneliness, the fear—echoed in her mind. But she understood now that these experiences were not just burdens; they were the roots of her power. They fueled her magic and deepened her connection to the earth and her people.

One day, a stranger arrived at her doorstep, a young woman with haunted eyes and a heart full of sorrow. She had heard tales of Dax’gyet’s gifts and sought her help. As they spoke, the woman revealed that she, too, carried the scars of trauma, a legacy of pain passed down through generations. Dax’gyet listened intently, her heart aching for the girl’s suffering. 

“I can help you,” Dax’gyet said softly, placing her hand on the woman’s trembling shoulder. “But you must be willing to confront your past. Only then can you truly heal.”

Together, they ventured into the depths of the forest, where the spirits of their ancestors lingered. Under the watchful gaze of the stars, Dax’gyet guided the woman through a ritual of release, allowing her to confront her fears and embrace the love of her lineage.

As dawn broke, the woman emerged transformed, a light shining in her eyes that had been absent before. In that moment, Dax’gyet recognized the true power of her magic—not just in potions or spells, but in the ability to inspire others to reclaim their stories and rise above the darkness.

Dax’gyet’s journey was far from over. She would continue to walk the path of the shaman, wielding her gifts to heal, protect, and guide her people. With every challenge she faced, she would remember that the strength of her ancestors flowed through her veins—a reminder that even in the depths of despair, light could be found, and magic could change the world.

--- 



Popular posts from this blog

Bear with hanging tongue

Image
The bear with the tongue hanging out of its mouth is not what you think.  Gather around, and let me share a story that carries the weight of our history, a tale that speaks of resilience and survival. Many people do not understand the significance of the tongue, often mistaking it as merely a feature of the bear. But there is much more to this story, one that we must keep alive as our Aboriginal stories, culture, and beliefs are too often appropriated for the profit of others. In our tradition, totem poles are read from the bottom up, with the tribe usually depicted at the base. It is important to note that the Gitxsan do not have a bear tribe. Instead, the bear symbolizes Russia, a powerful force that once threatened our lands. Long ago, the West Coast nations—including the Gitxsan, Nisga'a, Haida, and others—joined together to stand against Russia when they began to claim our traditional territories and take our people as slaves. Among those who suffered was a woman from th...
Read more

When the food drops

Image
I learned a lot from my grandfather and my parents just by watching them every day. We didn’t talk much about spirituality; we just lived it. Spirituality runs deep in our upbringing; it’s something that flows through our blood and is passed down by our ancestors who have gone before us. Our beliefs aren’t fancy or dramatic—there's no fire and lightning, just the spirit. We used to respect all of life, knowing that spirits are present in everything, including ourselves. God is within us and beside us; every thought we have is a prayer. I should mention that medicine can be used for harm too. Thoughts filled with hatred can be prayers as well. Some people who mix their medicine with bad intentions are called Hel'dow'gwit, or witchcraft. Over the past 50 years, many Gitxsan have changed and evolved. Sweat lodges, which were once only for hunting preparation, are now spaces for prayers and healing. Traditional gatherings have transformed into Healing Circles where we talk abou...
Read more

Burning

Image
Too often, our Gitxsan culture is romanticized, which can create an illusion that it is unattainable or far removed from the realities of our daily lives. This perception can make it seem uninviting to our young people, who may feel disconnected from the traditions and values that define us. We must remember to light the fire, to gather together, and to prepare meals with love for our family and friends. The act of burning food is not a failure but a reminder of our humanity and the lessons we learn along the way. Each meal shared is an opportunity to connect, to nurture, and to honor those we cherish. Every thought is a prayer. When we think of our loved ones who have journeyed on, they are with us in spirit, surrounding us with their love and gratitude for the respect and intention we hold in our hearts. It is in these moments that we can feel their presence, reminding us of the strength of our connections and the importance of our cultural practices. Let us not shy away from the imp...
Read more