Sometimes being a queer person means I must persevere. 💪🏼🏳️🌈
Sometimes it means being stubbornly brave, radically open and audaciously hopeful. It’s not always easy, but I feel called to be in this space, doing this work. ✨
Having events like this is when I remember why.
“Embrace Your Rainbow: Queer Storytime Adventures” was canceled last May due to protests, and my eyes were opened to the controversy that is being a queer kids book author and artist.
Without my partner (in queer events) Teri, I don’t think this event would have happened. But we would not give up on this one!! We both deeply believe in creating safe & joyful spaces for queer people and their families in this community, and that’s what this event was all about.
I want to sincerely thank Teri, Elizabeth (look at that rainbow balloon wall! 👏), the team at United Way, Julie and the Sardis Library staff and Kenny at the Owl and Cat Bookery. This wouldn’t have happened without you all! Thank you to my friends and everyone who came out to show support! 🙏🏳️🌈🥰
I truly felt like our community came together to ensure this was a space filled with queer joy, safety, art and of course rainbows!
Gosh I feel deeply grateful to do what I do. To show up and be present and share my heart. I know how important (and challenging) it is to be a visibly queer artist in the world today, doing advocacy work.
This is just the beginning for me.
I will keep writing, speaking and sharing because I know it matters, and it makes a difference. I’m so glad I had the chance to do it in my own community too! 🥳❤️🩹🏳️🌈🙏💪🏼
2024 brought me into myself in new and beautiful ways. I moved into my own place, I learned more about single parenting, I fell fiercely in love. I felt more embodied & present in my own life than I ever have been before. I will never regret putting all of myself out there, whatever the result. I want to look back when I’m 90, and know that I never held anything back. I fully lived.
2025 is going to require endless amounts of trust. Mostly, trust in myself, trust in the process of things unfolding. I’m taking some massive risks to pursue a professional dream this year, and while I feel ready, it’s still going to feel scary and overwhelming at times. But this is my one wild and precious life, and it’s up to me to pursue my Big Dreams.
My friends, I wish for you on this New Years,
Peace
Joy
Courage
And a newfound seed of excitement, of What Could Be.
I wish this pic was of me tonight, (instead of 2 weeks ago) off to celebrate with who and how I want… instead, I am in bed with the tail end of this flu.
Damn it’s frustrating when life doesn’t work out the way you plan!!
Phew, 2023 was a tough year for humanity. So much heartbreak. It was a tough year for me personally as well.
But. For all the shadows this year brought me, I saw some really bright lights too. I feel like 2023 brought me more fully into myself. I stretched and I grew. Sometimes growth can be painful, but gosh, it can also be beautiful.
I am stronger, more confident and more brave than I thought. I listened to my body, and let Her be my compass, and that has been revolutionary for me. I think it’s quite incredible what can unfold when we truly learn to trust ourselves.
My word for 2024 is EXPANSION.
Much change is on the horizon for me, and I am ready. Am I nervous? Yes. Am I hopeful? More than anything, yes. So much of what is ahead has been a very long time coming.
I am believing for expansion in 2024. Expansion of love, expansion of healing, expansion of possibilities. I am rebuilding my life in new ways, and I want to expand the space I take up within it. I want to take risks, I want to lean into relationships and projects that are life-giving. I want to expand my capacity for self-compassion so I can work for healing, and try again. Always my friends, try again.
Our lives are fleeting. So. Incredibly. Fleeting. I invite you to expand within yourself, within your family, within your relationships, within your dreams. There’s so much more you have yet to experience.
Let’s take a deep breath together, and invite all the expansion we can muster as we walk gently into 2024.
Sending love, courage and healing to you on this New Year’s Eve 2023!
Do you ever have a day, or a week, or a season in your life where despair is all you feel?
The last few days, I have to admit, that’s the only word that floats to the surface. I’ve been riding some various-sized waves since my separation began last summer. I know for certain that this is the right direction for me. But it doesn’t make it easy.
Now I’m facing what feel like insurmountable challenges just around the corner. So I retreated to my mountain path for some silent solace.
As soon as my feet began to crunch on the gravel path, I felt my mountains say, “You can let it out here, friend. We’ll carry it, we’re strong.”
I haven’t let myself sob like that in so long. You know the kind? Those deep sobs when your body shakes and it feels like your soul is coming up for air. This is so hard. But this too, is good. Let it out.
In between texting close friends for support, I took this photo because I loved how the shadows fell. Now that I look at it, I appear to be standing in a valley of shadows.
Gosh. How true this feels. I’m in a valley and there are walls on all sides. But I am standing strong, and I will get to the other side, inch by inch.
On days like today when I feel Iike I can’t stand, I’m endlessly grateful for my closest friends holding me up. Reminding me of my value and my dreams and my future. I know it’s hard to reach out when you feel so low, but do yourself the biggest kindness, and reach out to someone.
Let me pass their love and wisdom on to you:
All this pain you are in – it will not last forever.
You are strong, you are good, and you will use this pain as beautiful fuel in the next season.
We need each other to get through this life, we just do. You aren’t alone, and you can do this. So can I.
I’ve gotten some criticism recently, that I’m grieving improperly. That I may be sharing (or exploiting) my separation & divorce to gain some social media momentum.
This criticism also said that grief is a quiet journey, not to be made public.
I would like to publicly respond to this, as I have *SOME THOUGHTS*.
First, I would like to gently but firmly push back on *all* of that criticism.
Gosh, friends. Grief is such a personal journey, walked out step by step. I think it can be as loud, quiet, public or private as YOU choose it to be. But YOU get to choose. No one should tell you how to grieve. And absolutely no one should shame you for the way you are grieving. Shame & grief are a lethal combo.
If it’s not clear on my social media (& my book), let me be clear: I feel called to share my heart. I have felt this since I was little, but I never had the tools, awareness or resources to do so then.
I share my heart for one reason alone: to connect with others. To remind others they are not alone on this journey of life. I believe when we connect with each other in the pain, there can be healing. Feeling less alone, feeling heard, feeling *seen* – these can be life saving things.
I think sometimes we talk about hard things when they are over. And there is value and wisdom in that. But I also think there’s immense value in talking about hard things *as* we go through them.
Walking towards (queer) divorce has taught me many things: about myself, about grief, about parenting, about friendships, about my faith, about rebuilding my life. I’m committed to talking about it all respectfully, with kindness and honesty. I think there’s a way to talk about it without exploitation.
There will always be criticisms when you put your heart out there. There will always be people who don’t like what you choose to say, or do. Oof, and that’s hard. It hurts.
But listen: put your hand on your heart, and take a deep breath. Remind yourself of your goodness. If what you’re doing feels authentic and true, then keep on walking. That’s what I’m going to do.
Choosing to end my marriage and move towards divorce was an excruciating decision. The pain that followed was deep and vast. There were days I laid on my office floor and cried. Days where the pain & grief felt almost too much to bear.
But I have intense gratefulness for 2022, because it was also one of profound personal growth. I fully listened to my Voice and to my Body, and She’s leading the way now.
Together, Her and I landed on my word for 2023: LIBERATION.
I don’t exactly know how to explain or express it, but my Voice, my Knowing – they are feeling more liberated each day. Not that there isn’t still pain and grief – but liberation is there, growing up through the cracks.
At first, even thinking of taking a step was paralyzing. But then I did… I took a step. And then another, and another. I’m so proud of each step I have taken so far. In 2023, I believe we’re going to learn to run.
I’m excited to see where my Knowing and I will go. What we will experience. In what new ways will we grow & grieve & feel.
Are there ways you can liberate yourself from anything in your own life, big or small? I encourage you to sit with that.
Have you thought of a word that might encapsulate and motivate you through 2023? I’d love to hear yours!
I’m believing for beautiful, bold & joyful things to come in 2023 – for you and for me. Sending love to you, my friends.
I’ve been taking lots of social media breaks for my self care lately. I think we all crave genuine connection, and sometimes social media only makes us feel isolated, especially during difficult times.
This blessing has been on my heart to share for a little while. I know Christmas is hard for so many people, for so many reasons. It’s been hard for me too, this year.
Please, know you are loved and you are not alone. If you need someone to talk to, reach out to someone who cares. Or send me an email, I’ll gladly chat with you.
Sending love, hope and peace to you in this holiday season, my friends.
A blessing for when everything hurts at Christmas.
Oh, the fresh grief that comes with unwrapping old ornaments that mark now painful memories. I hope you can be tender with it.
May you find the soft shelter of friendship, as you feel the powerful sting of holiday traditions changing, evolving… ending.
I hope you have the strength to hold both the sadness & the joy of hearing your favorite Christmas songs. May your heart find new ways to dance to them.
May you see a glimmer of hope in a new tradition, like the flickering of a flame before it’s extinguished. I hope the warmth of that light stays and glows inside of you.
When things are too hard, or too much, may you sink deep within yourself and remember that you are your own solid base. You can return to yourself at any time.
When you least expect grief to hit you – in the mall, watching your favourite holiday movie, not getting that invite this year… May you validate the pain & breathe through it.
I hope you pay attention to all the small things, for you might find new surprises or new smiles where you least expect them. When that happens, pause, and breathe in the warmth.
I hope you take a minute to sit in the darkness with the Christmas tree lights softly dancing around the room. Even in the presence of loss or loneliness, may you feel a gentleness that says: repeat the sounding joy.
My friends, may you remember most of all: this season is about belief. I hope you always make the choice amid the hard, amid the change, amid the pain – to believe. Believe in hope. Believe in healing. Believe in you.
There’s no one way to walk through a separation or divorce.
I’ve had to feel my way through this fog as best I can, not really knowing what I’m doing. But I’m trying to listen… listen hard. Because there are deep soul things to learn, buried in this fog of grief.
A little while ago, I took off my wedding ring. My body and heart gently told me, it was time.
I stood alone in my bathroom and slipped it off. I stared at my bare finger almost incredulously, the indent of the ring still there. I was painfully aware I hadn’t removed it since my wedding day in 2011.
Isn’t it strange how the same object can represent extreme joy, and then with time, intense heartache?
Much of me wanted to hide the ring in a drawer, distract myself, and run from the tsunami of grief headed my way.
But I didn’t.
I stood my ground.
I clutched the ring tightly in the palm of my hand, I closed my eyes, and I felt. I let the wave of grief crash over me. A flood of memories cascaded from the feeling of this little circle in my hand. Years of love and joy and life and…well, all of it.
Many of those beautiful memories had been coated in a layer of sadness. Which part do I grieve first? Where do I even begin?
I clutched the ring tighter, and put my other hand on my heart. “It’s okay, I’m here,” I reminded myself. I let the tears flow, and I didn’t ask for explanation or specifics. I gave myself permission and space to feel, without question. (A practice I am learning, thanks Therapy!)
I thanked the ring in my best Marie Kondo way, because the truth is – so much of what it represented to me was joy and growth and beauty. That matters. That will always matter.
I think that’s what makes the grief so much bigger and complex. It’s a reflection of love and life. As I stood there crying over this inanimate object, I realized something.
We often put large parts of our identities in these small objects, and when they’re gone, we find ourselves disoriented. My heart and mind were scrambling for direction, like when you unexpectedly tip your canoe.
The ring is off, and I’m no longer a wife. Massive life changes like this are uncomfortable and heartbreaking and just so… raw. Even though this is the right decision for me…it hurts deeply. It makes sense wanting to avoid feeling it.
My friends, if I have learned anything it’s that we must feel. We must grieve.
We must grieve forward.
This term came to me the other day. For me, grieving forward has meant honouring whatever comes up, whenever it comes up. A memory, an emotion, a question… Holding it gently and with care, feeling it, and letting it go. Without judgement.
And then maybe… grieving forward can translate into healing forward.
Saying goodbye to a relationship, an old version of yourself, the stability your previous life offered….it’s a lot. It’s just a LOT. But in this life sometimes it’s necessary for growth. We have to acknowledge and feel the ending of something, in order to move into new things.
“You cannot hold onto the old, while declaring you want something new.
The old will always defy the new.
The old will always deny the new.
The old will always decry the new.
There is only ONE way to bring in the new: YOU MUST MAKE ROOM FOR IT.”
Richard Rohr
Grieve forward what you need to, even in the smallest of ways. Together I believe we will feel our way through.
If ever there was a “right” season to grieve and feel immense change in your life – Fall is the perfect one.
Whether I’m out on my bike, or walking with a friend, the profound beauty of this season speaks to me.
“Look at our colours!” The leaves exclaim.
”Change can be beautiful. And it’s never forever, dear One. So hold on. Absorb the beauty, breathe out Hard. Notice and learn about what is in each day, each emotion, each decision…”
As I watch leaves flutter to the ground, they remind me:
“Be gentle with yourself, and let what needs to fall to the ground, fall. Let it disintegrate and break down into new soil. This will fertilize your dreams in the next season.”
Yeah, sometimes leaves talk to me. Nature speaks so much truth when we’re open to listening.
“Still Stace” published one year ago today, Oct 19th, 2021.
Happy Book Birthday, to you!
What a year.
I have to say, the biggest surprise for me this year has been what many Beloved Queer Folx want to talk about. After reading my book, we’ve chatted on Zoom, on walks, on emails about this newfound hope they have to revisit their faith.
Many begin the conversation quietly and cautiously, as if the words themselves will bite. I don’t think a lot of people realize – SO MANY Queer Folx want to engage with their faith, but it’s often so hard to find a Safe Space to do it.
What a distinct honour for me, to walk alongside them, and gently fan the flames of their curiosity. I don’t have answers, but OH how I love to talk about the Wonder and Expansiveness of life.
I’ve loved and cherished getting all your messages. Please know I will never take for granted being a Protector of Your Story.
My hope and prayer was that my book would help one person. I have an ongoing note with saved messages, reminding me it’s helped so many more than one. I’m tremendously grateful.
While it feels like yesterday, one year also feels like a lifetime ago. So much for me has changed, on the inside and the outside. My story is so different today than how my book ended in 2011. But then, that makes sense. We’re all endlessly changing, aren’t we? If we’re breathing, we’re changing.
Dear Younger Gay Stace,
I’m proud we told the truth then, and I’m proud we’re telling the truth now. I’m proud of our courage, and the way we have fought to be true to our Voice, no matter what. Keep going, Dear Queer One.
If you read and liked my book, I’d love you to leave a review somewhere, so others can find it. (Amazon, Goodreads, and the like!)
My friends, keep telling your stories. I promise I’ll keep telling mine.
Nature speaks so much truth when we’re open to listening. 
STACEY CHOMIAK 