From what I can remember 4




Caution: Content May Be Sensitive

I found myself dreaming of my father’s house on the Gitwangak Reserve, a place whose memories often haunted me with echoes of domestic strife and sorrowful pasts. My biological father endured a decade in Indian Residential School, and the impact of those years left deep marks on our family.

Two vivid recollections from our life on the rez have lingered in my mind, shaping my existence in ways I cannot seem to escape.


Memory One:


Picture this: Throughout history, our Gitxsan community has faced discrimination from outsiders. In the past, we had to manually deal with sewage until proper plumbing was finally installed. The plumbers treated us with disdain, making us wait while our toilets overflowed. I could feel the stress radiating from my parents due to this mistreatment.


My brothers were expected to handle the aftermath, but the task was overwhelming. In a moment of frustration, my father constructed an outhouse as a solution to our ongoing struggle.


One day, engulfed by anger and stress, my father erupted. He shouted at my brothers, demanding they clean the bathroom. His fury escalated until, to my horror, he pushed my brother’s head into the toilet. I was terrified he might actually harm him, but fortunately, he did not.


To this day, I carry a peculiar anxiety about waste. I recognize it sounds odd, but I’ve learned to navigate through life despite it. In certain situations, I feel that familiar surge of panic—when waste is misplaced, when someone denies me access to a restroom out of bias, or when chaos reigns. These moments can trigger that ingrained fear.


I’ve come to understand that PTSD is a common reality for many Indigenous individuals. When I witness someone screaming or losing control, I empathize. I think, “She must be feeling triggered and frightened.”


So, I take a deep breath and remind myself, “I’m safe… we’re here… what day is it? What colors surround me? We are safe…” I focus on my EMDR follow-up exercises, anchoring myself in the present.


Yet, as I awaken from the dream, I know those memories still linger like shadows that refuse to vanish. The road to healing is long, but I’m learning to navigate it, one breath at a time.


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