Know Her Stories

Upon hearing her diagnosis, Deanna Ratzlaff began to argue with the radiologist. The idea that she had cancer was too far-fetched—it couldn’t be true. “I had a mammogram before and it was fine,” she said to the doctor, referring to the tests she’d undergone five years prior. Deanna had gone to the clinic that day for a routine appointment. She was 44. The mammogram was done out of responsibility as opposed to concern. “Yes, well…” said the doctor, showing her a set of pictures. “This is that mammogram, and this is this mammogram.” The images were completely different. One showed a healthy set of breasts. The other showed multiple lumps—breast cancer. They diagnosed her on the spot. “I always call that moment my hijacking,” says Deanna, now 48. “Because, at that point, life as you know it is totally changed.” Amplifying Deanna’s shock that day was the fact that she did not feel sick at all. “I was feeling amazing. I had been going to the gym five days a week, I had a trainer, and I was eating well.” Six weeks later she underwent a double mastectomy. “It seems like once you’re diagnosed with breast cancer, everything goes on high speed.” She adds that information overload and a barrage of unfamiliar medical terminology made it easy to slip into “yes mode”—agreeing to procedures and treatments without questioning them because you don’t know what other options exist. As a medical lab technician, Deanna was equipped to absorb and understand more information than the average patient, but she still found herself making life-changing decisions at a very fast pace. One such decision was to have her breasts reconstructed immediately after her mastectomy, an option she chose over prosthetics, “going flat,” or reconstruction at a later date. Her choice to have her breasts reconstructed wasn’t some profound gesture to reclaim an important part of herself. “I actually didn’t love my breasts,” she says, explaining that she chose immediate reconstruction for practical reasons: it would save her from the hassle of prosthetics as well as a potential future surgery. “And I never would have been comfortable with going flat,” she says. “I know lots of women are, but I always say I’m too vain.” In this case, “vanity” could just as easily be called self-awareness. Deanna didn’t want to live her life without breasts. She wanted to be able to fit into women’s clothes, the way she always had. She wanted to feel pretty. Vanity, under certain circumstances, can actually be empowering. As Deanna continued her post-surgery treatment—undergoing chemotherapy and navigating a circus of medical appointments—she began to look for a peer support group with whom she could discuss her experiences, exchange information, and share coping strategies. There was no such thing—at least not in Saskatoon. And so along with three women she’d met at a Skills For Healing cancer seminar, Deanna founded (and continues to facilitate) Breast Cancer Support Saskatoon, a peer led support group that provides people diagnosed with breast cancer an opportunity to meet and discuss what they’re going through. “It’s worked amazingly well to bring support and information to other women,” Deanna says. “It’s been a source of healing for me as well. Being able to share with people who get it.” That’s the thing about breast cancer: not everyone “gets it.” We may understand cancer as a horrible, life-altering disease, but only personal experience can bring a true understanding of how the illness uniquely terrorizes the mind and body. That’s in part why peer groups like BCSS are so important: they allow members to access community through shared experience, helping to relieve the sense of isolation brought on traumatic experiences—feeling like a foreigner in your own body, for example. “You look at pictures of yourself before you were diagnosed and you don’t even recognize that person anymore. But you also don’t recognize the person you are in the current moment. You wonder, who am I?” Losing pieces of yourself, both literally and figuratively, is an experience common to all breast cancer patients. “When you go through surgery, you lose your breasts and then you heal from that, and then you go through chemo and you lose even more.” Your hair. Your energy. Your ability to go to work. It can make a person feel utterly powerless, so much so that owning labels like “brave” or “strong” becomes difficult. “Everybody tells you have brave you are, saying things like, ‘oh you’re such a warrior.’ But you have no choice but to be brave. And you don’t really realize how strong you have to be until you’re thrown into that situation.” But what does strength actually look like when you’re sick? For Deanna, strength meant getting up everyday and applying her make-up. To look beautiful when she felt like crap was to take her power back, one brush stroke at a time. “I made myself look pretty just so I could actually feel pretty again,” she says. Tattooing her breasts was another way Deanna took back control amidst uncontrollable circumstances. “I just knew I didn’t want to look at my scars all the time,” she says. She began to browse different artists and their tattoos. She fell in love with florals. “I thought, wow, if I could have these tattoos and not see my scars anymore, it would be amazing.” And so now, instead of scars, Deanna sees beautiful flowers. “I always said I would never get breast implants and I never would get tattoos…and now I have both!” she laughs. Another thing she likely didn’t predict doing? Modelling topless. In 2016, Deanna helped bring an initiative of the Canadian Cancer Society called BRA Day (Breast Reconstruction Awareness Day) to Saskatoon. The event occurs every October in cities across Canada—now including Saskatoon, thanks to Deanna and her team—and provides breast cancer survivors and previvors with space and time to discuss reconstructive options with leading surgeons and plastic surgeons. One of the highlights of the event is the Show and Tell Lounge, where live volunteers display the results of their breast reconstructions. Deanna was one such model in 2016. The experience was a milestone. “I finally felt pretty again. It was like, this is me.” She adds that many BRA Day participants initially deemed her tattoos “pretty, but not for me.” But after these participants completed their walk through the showroom, they’d often come back and ask Deanna,“who did your tattoos?” In showcasing herself that day, Deanna was showcasing options, providing knowledge. Giving power back. Standing shirtless, she exemplified that beauty was still possible amidst illness. Although Deanna presently has what doctors call “no evidence of disease,” it turns out that “cancer free” is a bit of a fallacy. “Once you have gone through breast cancer, you’re looking over your shoulder every single day wondering when it’s going to come back. I’m essentially cancer free but how do you really know?” This sense of not-knowing has given Deanna a new appreciation for her everyday life. “I don’t ever wish that I’d had cancer, but I am a better person now that I have gone through it,” she says, adding that she’s a more compassionate person since becoming sick. “I feel a lot more love than I used to, especially for others who are struggling. It’s not up to me to judge anybody. It’s up to me to love and accept them exactly as they are.” But sometimes the toughest person to accept is yourself. “It’s a struggle. You fight to get back to [your level of fitness] but trying to accept yourself is a process.” She adds that having the motivation to do things she once loved—going to the gym, say—is especially tricky. “It’s so difficult because you still remember what your body was like before cancer, and what you were able to do before cancer, and so you kind of beat yourself up because you’re not at that spot.” Yoga and meditation have helped Deanna avoid a self-criticism spiral. “These practices have really helped centre me.” They’ve also led to an increased sense of gratitude: “I try to remember that when I’m having a bad day now, it’s just a bad day. I get to go home and start over tomorrow. I always say: a bad day of work is still better than a good day of chemo.” Perhaps the best advice of all? Talk to yourself like a friend. “I always say to people—give yourself the same advice you’d give to a best friend going through the same thing. Once you start talking to yourself in the same way, your perspective shifts. You’re kinder to yourself.” Writer: Mica LemiskiPhotos: Nancy Newby Photography and Tonya Wanner Photography

Karen Sherbut was sixteen when she ran away from home. It was January, 1975, and the day had begun somewhat typically: she’d had a fight with her stepmom, one that would need to be “discussed” with her father when he arrived home. The problem? “Discussion” was often a physical event. Violent. “He would come home in his drunken stupors and I could tell from the way the door closed whether it was going to be a good night or a bad night,” she remembers. “I had my hiding spots, but he always found me.” Later that afternoon, pencil poised over a math test, Karen began to shake. She couldn’t take it anymore. “I realized I needed to do something if I wanted to start living instead of just existing,” she says. And so when she came home from school that evening to find her father standing in the doorway waiting for her, she turned and ran. “I knew that every step I took away from that house was one step closer to safety,” she recalls. “It sounds bizarre, but it’s a common feeling for so many homeless and runaway kids—that the streets and its unknowns are safer than what you’re running from.” Also propelling Karen to run was the knowledge that no one else was going to fight for her safety. Although neighbours had previously made calls the police due to violence they’d overheard, no action had ever been taken against the abuse in her home. “Times were different back then,” she says. “It was taboo to talk about domestic violence and child abuse. Everyone turned a blind eye because, if they had to look at it, they had to do something about it.” “I realized I needed to do something if I wanted to start living instead of just existing.” Doing something about it was exactly what Karen did on the day she ran. It’s also what she continues to do now as the Co-founder and President of the Safe Haven Foundation, a non-profit whose mission is to keep homeless and at-risk girls safe, in a stable home, and at school. One way they accomplish this mission is through housing at Haven’s Way™, the core project of the Safe Haven Foundation. A long term home that provides live-in support “parents” in the hopes of re-creating a loving home environment, Haven’s Way™ is about building a family out of strangers for Calgary girls aged 14-24. “It’s everything you can think of in terms of a healthy, functioning family. There are family dinners, homework, chores, recreational outings—all with a focus on goal setting and healing. We’re still pretty unique in the world in terms of what we do,” she says. That uniqueness hasn’t gone unnoticed: in 2002, Karen was awarded Global News’ Calgary Woman of Vision Award for her work with Safe Haven; and in 2019, Canadian Business Chicks nominated her for the Women of Inspiration Award. Yet she stresses that, at Haven’s Way™, the girls have the toughest job of all. “Once they’re here, they have to work hard to rise above their hardships. They have to build their own dreams instead of the nightmares they have lived.” Karen knowns a thing or two about nightmares. “But I don’t ever want to play the role of a victim,” she says. “I’ve had some bad things happen, but show me anyone who hasn’t had a tough life. I wouldn’t wish my childhood upon anyone, but I wouldn’t change it either. It has made me who I am. And I like me.” It’s a sticky summer day and I am video-chatting with Karen from what can only be called a dungeonesque setting. Although Karen’s side of the conversation began in a sun-filled, brick-accented, third-floor home office (a setting much more symbolic of the success she has cultivated over the years) the speed of the basement wifi is the best in the house, and so Karen has relocated to a seat beneath a labyrinth of vents and pipes downstairs. The fact that she has sacrificed good lighting for clarity of conversation strikes me as savvy, unpretentious. As she speaks, a trio of labradoodles vie for her attention. This is a make-it-work woman. Resourcefulness may just be what kept Karen alive as a sixteen-year-old with no home. After spending the first night alone in a bus shelter in downtown Winnipeg, she awoke to the chilly January daylight with an inner resolve to transcend her circumstances. “I knew by morning that I needed to figure things out on my own. I also knew I was going to be okay.” When I ask where that personal clarity came from, she shakes her head. “I wish I could pinpoint it. It was a strength I had within that I never knew I had until that night.” Voice cracking, she stops to take a breath. “I had grown up being invisible. To be very small was the safest way to be. You walk on eggshells constantly, worrying about what the next mistake is going to bring. I knew that morning that I didn’t ever have to do that again.” She was right. After that night, Karen neither returned home nor to the streets, opting to crash on the couches of supportive friends and family members—mainly her older brother, Mike, and a still-close friend named Linda. A particular dinner at Linda’s helped firm-up her resolve to stay away from her abusive childhood home: “There were seven of us, five kids and two adults, sitting around the table and laughing and talking and joking and loving,” she says, adding that, until that moment, love had been a pretty fraught concept, intrinsically linked with violence. “That dinner was one of the moments where I realized there was something out there other than what I knew.” “I wouldn’t wish my childhood upon anyone, but I wouldn’t change it either. It has made me who I am. And I like me.” Still, even with these new, positive examples of love, Karen was still part of a highly marginalized sect: the “invisible youth,” as in, young people who couch surf as a means to stay off the streets, who are homeless but do not typically present as destitute. Having a roof over your head does not necessarily mean solace, or even safety. “With couch surfers—the invisible youth—we don’t want to overstay our welcome. We don’t want to be an intrusion,” Karen says. And so come daily, nagging thoughts: where will I sleep tonight? Will I end up on the streets again? Is my situation my fault? Karen was able to keep these thoughts at bay through a combination of perseverance, tenacity, and self-belief. “I had this uncanny faith inside me that I knew I was better than what I had been told I was.” She also never allowed herself to coast. While in highschool, Karen held down multiple jobs in fast food and retail before transitioning to full-time government work—which she accepted with permission from her principal, since it required leaving school two weeks early. “I could only type twenty words a minute in a job demanded eighty,” she says. “But my bosses saw something in me.” That something was potential, promise. Also: heart. Karen earned four promotions in just six years while working for the government, often feeling in-over-her-head but undeterred. “I say I graduated with a Master’s from the School of Hard Knocks because that’s how I learned,” she laughs. “There’s that saying: life is our toughest teacher because she gives you the test before the lesson.” Ever-ambitious, Karen left the security of government work to explore the modelling industry, both behind-the-scenes and in front of the camera. Her interest in modelling lead her to discover a talent for marketing and retail, and she eventually became the National Director of Marketing for a shopping centre development company in 1988. Although Karen has largely stepped back from her career in marketing, she still provides advisory support within her husband’s company, Britgary Properties, where she is the Vice President. But a more apt title for Karen might be Full-Time Philanthropist, as she is constantly working to improve the Safe Haven Foundation and its initiatives, which, in addition to the Haven’s Way™ home, include a scholarship fund program, an alumni program for former residents, and a therapeutic recreation fund program. Karen’s work with Safe Haven has no personal monetary benefit—her role is completely volunteer—but when you’re talking about a charity that has provided a home to over eighty girls since its inception in 1996, assigning a dollar sign to the “benefits,” for Karen, doesn’t quite seem right. To Karen, “benefits” look more like last year’s Christmas: a group of 56 people—a combination of Haven’s Way™ residents, staff, and alumni—all gathered together at their community hall to celebrate the holidays. “A programming team member’s husband came up to me, put his arm around and said, ‘look at what you’ve created.’ And I said, ‘no, look at what we’ve created.’” Speaking of we. That’s precisely how Safe Haven got started: with we. During a lunch date with her now-husband—John, a man she calls her “everything”—a question came up: what did Karen wish she’d had, support-wise, growing up? A lightbulb went off. What followed was a period of frantic napkin-scribbling in which Karen and John laid the initial plans for Haven’s Way™. Afterwards, they took the napkins—tear-stained, wine-stained—to their lawyer’s office to get the process underway. “So really, all we need to do is raise three-quarters of a million dollars, buy some land, build a house, find a couple houseparents, and we’re done!,” John had said with naive, no-big-deal confidence. “I want to share my story. I want to give hope to others like me, because there are so many. The world doesn’t owe us—but we owe the world. I truly believe that.” Less than a year later, that seemingly-impossible to-do list had become a reality. The doors opened. The first girl walked in, ready to change her life. Along with her husband and the Haven’s Way™ community, Karen draws constant inspiration from her four children, three of whom are technically step-children, though Karen doesn’t distinguish them as such. “I feel it’s an honor to have four kids,” she says. “And because of how I grew up, that connotation of a step-mother just doesn’t sit well with me.” When I ask about her plans for the future, Karen says she’d like to write a book. “I want to share my story. I want to give hope to others like me, because there are so many. The world doesn’t owe us—but we owe the world. I truly believe that.” As for her immediate plans? A visit to her youngest son—Michael, 22, who is on Safe Haven’s Board of Directors—is on the horizon. Karen is giddy over the prospect of seeing her son. “The longest I’ve gone without seeing him is forty-two days!” she says with a laugh. “He’s been my greatest teacher in life, and my brightest light. I am so blessed.” Writing: Mica Lemiski

Over her twenty-year career as a professional ballet dancer, Tara Birtwhistle has seen many high-points. And while “high points” may be quite common in ballet—an art form marked by its fair share of tip-toes—Birtwhistle’s own peaks have placed her among royals. Literally. She has danced in front of Her Majesty the Queen, who awarded her with a Golden Jubilee Medal in 2002 and a Diamond Jubilee Medal in 2012. She has performed alongside Julie Andrews (also royalty, if you ask me), Christopher Plummer, and opera powerhouse Andrea Bocelli. She has even won a Gemini Award—Canada’s version of an Emmy—for her stand-out performance in the film adaptation of The Magic Flute (2005). “Dance was a calling to me, but I had kind of a love-hate relationship with it because I loved rehearsing but it was hard to go onstage.” Watching her dance, those accolades aren’t hard to believe. In the CBC film Dracula: Pages From A Virgin’s Diary, Birtwhistle sails across the set on pointed toe, cutting through fog, seemingly unaffected by gravity. She is strong, feminine, a goddess in chiffon. It’s no wonder Maclean’s once named her “One of 100 Young Canadians to Watch in the New Millennium.” Birtwhistle has since retired from the stage, but as the Associate Artistic Director of the Royal Winnipeg Ballet—a company she’s been with for over 30 years—her passion for dance and the RWB remains unwavering. “In the international ballet world, we’re considered one of the top-tier companies.” She adds that the RWB, which will celebrate its 80th anniversary next year, is the oldest continually running company in North America. “We’re compact, and we’ve built [our ballets] so that we can bring them on tour. We’re ambassadors of Canada.” The RWB is also a leader in women’s empowerment. “We have many women directors within our organization. Everyone communicates. Because of the atmosphere we create here, everyone moves together, in the same direction.” In other words, smooth choreography is a must. They’re dancers, after all. “In the dance world, you get to work with so many great people! Choreographers, musicians, costume designers—all of these people are part of the tapestry of who I am.” In terms of her origin story, Birtwhistle says she was “born and bred” in the Royal Winnipeg Ballet. “I moved here when I was 14 years old to train with the Professional School. Then I went right into the company when I was 19.” She was promoted to soloist in 1995 and became a principal dancer in 2000. “I’ve had a huge career. I’ve travelled all over the world. [Professional dancing] is a very fulfilling career, but it’s very challenging. It’s competitive. You tackle a lot.” Helping her tackle those high barres—literal and figurative—was prima ballerina Evelyn Hart. Birtwhistle went from looking up to Hart as a student, to working directly with her as a dancer. “She really mentored me throughout my career. I was very lucky.” Birtwhistle is also very grateful to André Lewis, Artistic Director and CEO of the Royal Winnipeg Ballet. “I’ve been working with him for 30 years. He has really supported me in all of my endeavors.” Birtwhistle acknowledges the difference it made, having people around who lifted her up. “I never felt like I was ‘destined’ to do things; the pathways just opened.” She adds that her daily “lifts”—those boosts of confidence from her surrounding community—enabled her to take those pathways. “In the dance world, you get to work with so many great people! Choreographers, musicians, costume designers—all of these people are part of the tapestry of who I am.” Birtwhistle’s career didn’t come without significant challenges, including a struggle with stage fright. “Dance was a calling to me, but I had kind of a love-hate relationship with it because I loved rehearsing but it was hard to go onstage.” Her simultaneous love and fear of performance led to a cognitive spiral: knowing the audience had come specifically to see her only ramped up her fear of failure, making it harder and harder to take those first, featherlike steps in front of the crowd. She became depressed. “It was a few years of not feeling good about myself.” Ever proactive, she gathered a support system of people close to her and worked with a sports psychologist. “We did a lot of meditation, and mantra meditation,” she says, and although Birtwhistle never outright conquered her stage fright (like most afflictions, stage fright is managed, not mastered) she was able to make peace with it. “Almost like once I saw the stage fright as not the enemy any more, I was able to handle it better.” “If you’re trying to be someone you’re not, that is disempowering. I feel most empowered when I am myself.” Motherhood brought challenges, too. After having her first child, Birtwhistle realized she could no longer dance at a level she found satisfying. “By this time, I was closer to 40. My body wasn’t repairing as fast.” There were mental hurdles, too. Parenting drained her energy to the point where life on stage just wasn’t an option. She decided to retire. “The saying goes that ‘a dancer dies twice’ because when you step off the stage, you lose your identity. Oftentimes, people grieve about it.” But Birtwhistle found a new way to incorporate dance into her identity: “I told my director that I was going to retire, and that I wanted to take on more artistic coaching.” Her proactive approach allowed her to plan her final performances, something that few professional dancers get to do. “Because of my choice, I felt really good about stepping off the stage. I was ready, and I felt very fulfilled.” “I want [my children] to know that they can pursue what they love to do, and you don’t have to give up everything to do that.” Birtwhistle chose the ballet The Ecstasy of Rita Joe for her farewell performance. From Alison Mayes, of the Winnipeg Free Press: “By choosing to bow out with Rita Joe, Birtwhistle is paying tribute to RWB’s long history of cultural significance. She has also chosen not to pirouette through a fairy tale, but to play a human being whose tragedy is universal. In that sense, she is leaving the stage by reminding us of ballet’s potential.” Ballet’s potential, of course, is not limited to its artistic value. As a pursuit, dancing demands tremendous work ethic, and Birtwhistle draws parallels between training as a dancer and becoming a leader. “For our Professional School, a lot of students leave home to start training. They have to be in charge of whatever they’re doing, so they can perform at their best,” she says. This early independence means that, even if dancers don’t make it professionally, they will still develop skills that other kids may not, such as self-care and ownership of their education and career. “If you can hire a ballet dancer, you should! Their work ethic is leaps and bounds ahead of everyone. Even if you’re at the top of your game, you’re constantly working at your craft.” As for Birtwhistle, her stand-out qualities aren’t limited to a fierce work ethic. She is wonderfully self-assured, curating her life according to what she likes as opposed to what’s popular. “I was always an individual. I always had short hair. I had tattoos before tattoos were a thing,” she says. Birtwhistle also hasn’t let the competitive nature of ballet mold her into an aggressive or conflict-driven person. “I don’t like competition at all! I hate it!” she says, adding that “you be you” is a mantra she’d like young dancers to internalize. “Be generous in your spirit, your physicality, your character, but remember that it’s you onstage. Every single dancer in this company has something special to add to the Royal Winnipeg Ballet,” she says, emphasizing that good things can happen when dancers choose to focus on developing their artistry as opposed to blindly chasing lead roles. “In Cinderella, for instance, I played the Wicked Stepmother. It was a 50’s theme and we kept my short hair!” Her trademark cropped ‘do set a new trend: when the Royal Winnipeg Ballet performs Cinderella these days, a short, pixie-cut wig is standard for the role—proof that individuality inspires. “I was always an individual. I always had short hair. I had tattoos before tattoos were a thing.” Since retiring from the stage, Birtwhistle has discovered a love of running. Marathons, even. Along with the community benefits and meditative aspects of the sport, Birtwhistle also loves that, unlike ballet, completing a marathon is an accomplishment that belongs solely to her and not the public. “As a dancer you always leave a bit of yourself on the stage for the audience. With running, it’s just me and the pavement.” In terms of how she “does it all”—as in, how she allocates time between work, family, and running literally hundreds of kilometres—Birtwhistle doesn’t exactly believe in “balance,” and she’s wary of falling into the mom-guilt trap. “My husband is a principal dancer with the Royal Winnipeg Ballet, so we travel away from our children. For me, I don’t call it balance. I can’t give equal time to my children, and to work. It’s never quite balanced. What works for me is being ok with the imbalance.” She recognizes a give and take: sometimes she can spend more time with her children and less at work, and vice versa. “I want [my children] to know that they can pursue what they love to do, and you don’t have to give up everything to do that.” “Be generous in your spirit, your physicality, your character, but remember that it’s you onstage.” Through her life and career, Birtwhistle has gleaned empowerment through kindness, good listenership, and resistance to conformity. “If you’re trying to be someone you’re not, that is disempowering. I feel most empowered when I am myself.” Writing: Stacy McIntosh Editing: Mica Lemiski Images: Supplied

Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. September 2016. Katarina Roxon emerges and walks towards the edge of the pool at the Rio Olympic Aquatics Stadium. You can barely see her face – her hood is up, swim goggles securely over her eyes – but she radiates cool and calm as she gives the crowd a wave. She unzips her long jacket and sheds the layers of clothing keeping her muscles warm, flashing the camera a big smile. A moment of total silence, and then the horn – eight women surge into the pool, impossibly fast and graceful, driven by strength, preparation, and hunger for the podium. The women’s SB8 100-metre breaststroke at the 2016 Summer Paralympics is underway. The road to Rio started in Kippens-Stephenville, a small community on the west coast of Newfoundland. “My parents thought swimming was a good life skill for me and my sister to have,” says Roxon. “At first, I absolutely hated the water. Not a fan. But over time it got to a point where they couldn’t get me out.” Roxon and her sister later joined the swim team: “It wasn’t just a team, it was a family. Everything started from there.” Her connection to Newfoundland and Labrador runs deep. She speaks proudly of her hometown as the place that accepted her wholly and pushed her past her limits to great success. “It’s a small town, so everyone grew up with me and knew who I was. They didn’t see me as the girl with one arm, they just saw me as me.” Roxon was born with her left arm missing below her elbow. “People often ask me how it feels to have one arm – well, how does it feel to have two arms?!” she says laughing. “It’s normal, just the way it is.” Although she felt comfortable in her community, “I was shy with my arm growing up,” she remembers. “I did get bullied a little bit. If I wasn’t wearing my prosthetic, I’d cover my arm up. But I always had an amazing family and great friends by my side, so I got out of that habit.” Early in her swimming career, leaving her home and support system to travel for tournaments was difficult, but her love of competing kept her motivated. “I’ve always been very determined. My mom called me pretty stubborn,” she laughs. “I sat on our porch for hours until I learned how to tie my shoelaces. I like to do things by myself – for Para athletes, we’re often dependent on someone or something, so we like that feeling of independence. And I like to prove people wrong. I think I get that from my dad. When someone says he can’t do something it’s like, ‘OK, just watch me.’” Roxon’s father eventually became her swim coach. “He’s the kind of person that likes to push people to be the best that they are,” she says. Roxon appreciates having someone to keep her on target: “There are days I don’t want to swim, like everybody else. But he sees the bigger picture, he knows where we’re going and what I need to achieve in order to get to the next step. He and my mom always told me I could do anything I wanted to do.” At 15 years old, Roxon competed in her first Paralympics in Beijing as the youngest Canadian swimmer on the team. She loved the atmosphere, the people, the pool, and her first experience in the athletes’ village: “Everyone was from different countries for different sports, but they were all there to win a medal at the games and be the best that they could be. It was inspiring to see all these Para athletes get in the water and swim their hearts out.” After placing 12th at the games, she revamped her training, making it more challenging to prepare for London 2012. “I definitely put more pressure on myself to perform well. I wanted to get on the podium so bad.” In London, she placed 5th: “For me, it was a disappointment. I knew that I had a lot more in me.” Back to the drawing board. It was a shift both physically and mentally – reflecting on London, Roxon recognizes the amount of pressure she put on herself didn’t serve her well. She learned to let go a little and enjoy herself more: “Everything started falling into place,” she says. “How I was feeling, how I was moving through the water.” In 2015, she collected six medals at the Parapan American Games in Toronto. “Having the home crowd and my family there was so exciting. I knew that I was on the right track.” Which brings us to Rio. Before the 100-metre breaststroke, she remembers feeling unusually calm. As she climbed up onto her block, “I looked over the pool and said to myself, ‘God, take care of my giants for me.’ For me, my giants weren’t my competitors, my giant was the pool. I had to conquer this 100 metres. That set the tone for me.” Diving in, she only thought of swimming – what her arms were going to do, what her legs were going to do, the position of her head. She kept her eyes closed, so she wasn’t aware of where her competitors were in relation to her. “I went for it and I knew I had to leave everything in the pool,” she says. In the final stretch of the race, Roxon jets forward. “As I was coming in, I opened my eyes, took 2 strokes, and touched the wall. It was the perfect, perfect finish. I thought, ‘I’ll take whatever the result is and I’ll be happy with that.’” She takes a beat to catch her breath and search for her time on the board, at first not quite registering the “1” next to her name. Then, suddenly, her face crumples into tears. She clinched the gold medal. “It was very emotional for me, it felt like a weight off my shoulders. I’ve never swum any race as close to perfect as that. And I was so happy for the other girls who medaled and how well they did.” Like Ellen Keane of Ireland, who received the bronze and met Roxon at the rope between their lanes for a long hug and happy-cry, the two women realizing they achieved their dream. “When I watch the race back, I can feel every single stroke,” she says. “I still have to hold my breath a little.” When Roxon finally got to the podium, she told herself she wouldn’t cry – but as soon as the national anthem began to play, she broke down. “This medal wasn’t just for me, it was for all the people who helped me get there,” she says. “My family, my friends, my teammates, my community. This one was coming back to Newfoundland and Labrador.” Roxon was met with the love and support of the entire country coming home to Canada. “It’s such a high, a roller coaster year,” says Roxon. She admits settling back into everyday life after Rio was “a little tough, mentally, physically,” but her eye is always on the prize. “Tokyo is my goal – to get there, to podium again,” she says, speaking of the 2020 Summer Paralympics in Tokyo. “I’m going to give it my all. The training will be intense for the next year and a half, but it’ll definitely be worth it.” She’s on the right track – last year, she won a gold, a silver, and a bronze medal at the 2018 Pan Pacific Para Swimming Championships in Cairns, Australia. Throughout her life, Roxon has learned that true empowerment comes from within. “You need to love and accept yourself first if you want other people to be accepting of you,” she says. She uses her platform to motivate and inspire others, serving on the Provincial Council for Persons with Disabilities and as a representative for The War Amps of Canada, advocating for the power of sport, perseverance, and having big goals. Roxon’s mantra: “There’s always a way.” She conquers giants by owning and learning from her past and never giving up or settling for anything less than her full potential. “I’m living proof that it doesn’t matter where you grew up and what you do or don’t have,” says Roxon. “Anything is possible if you have determination, a support system, and dream really big.” Writing: Stephanie Chipperfield

In today’s modern society, we’re exposed to more misconceptions about health, fitness, and body image than ever before. Our increased reliance on the media has further perpetuated these unrealistic and often artificial standards, creating an enormous level of pressure. It seems as though every time we check our phones, turn on the TV, open a magazine, or even walk down the street, we’re ambushed by one consistent message: You’re not good enough. Marci Warhaft is fed up with the damaging effects of this negative messaging. After spending decades of her life battling an eating disorder, she decided it was time to take her power back. Now she’s on a mission to pull back the curtain on society’s biggest ruse and empower others to feel confident in their own skin. “It’s become so normal for us to speak negatively about ourselves that we don’t see it as a serious problem. Eating disorders are a HUGE problem. I lived with mine for 20 years, and it almost killed me several times.” Speaking to a group of grade 10 and 11 boys, Warhaft displayed seven photos of male bodybuilders. She asked the boys what they thought the men in the photos had in common. They suggested characteristics such as being tanned and muscular. Warhaft explained to the group, “All of these men won professional bodybuilding tournaments. And all of them are dead. They all died from what it took to look like this because what they were doing was detrimental to their health.” Body positivity is an important issue to me, so I thought I was well-versed on the subject. However, after five minutes of speaking with Warhaft, I was startled by my own ignorance. I had no idea that eating disorders have the highest mortality rate of all mental illnesses. What’s more, eating disorders do not discriminate—they affect individuals regardless of age, gender, race, or social circumstance. “It’s become so normal for us to speak negatively about ourselves that we don’t see it as a serious problem. Eating disorders are a HUGE problem. I lived with mine for 20 years, and it almost killed me several times. It killed my soul several times. And it’s insidious because it gets masked by all the diet mentality out there.” Growing up, Warhaft was very close to her older brother. When she was 17 years old, he became ill and passed away. While she was still grieving the life-changing loss, an irresponsible doctor harshly berated her about her weight. As a healthy teenager, she was told that she needed to lose 10 pounds to fit into society. Paired with the pain of losing her brother, the experience initiated a downward spiral that ultimately led to the development of her eating disorder. “I looked exactly how I thought I was supposed to. I was a mom of two, I didn’t have an ounce of fat on me, and I had all the muscle that I wanted. But physically, emotionally, spiritually – I was sicker than ever.” In articles she’s published, Warhaft has shared fitness photos from her 30s. Seeing the photos for the first time, I thought, “Wow, she looks great.” The pictures look just like what you would see if you searched ‘Fitspo’ or ‘Fitspiration’ on any social media platform. However, when Warhaft sees the photos now, they just make her sad. “[At the time], my kids were 6 and 3. We would go out to a restaurant and they would ask, ‘Mommy, are you eating today, or just watching?” At restaurants, Warhaft would either pack a container with some chicken and a baked potato or choose not to eat entirely. She nearly fainted while attending an event at her kids’ school. Seeing images of people eating or drinking on TV would make her salivate. She would wake up at 3 am to fit in time for the gym. She stopped menstruating for over a year. “I looked exactly how I thought I was supposed to. I was a mom of two, I didn’t have an ounce of fat on me, and I had all the muscle that I wanted. But physically, emotionally, spiritually – I was sicker than ever.” “[At the time], my kids were 6 and 3. We would go out to a restaurant and they would ask, ‘Mommy, are you eating today, or just watching?” Eventually, Warhaft went into recovery for her eating disorder. After she came out of recovery, she stepped back from the fitness industry to take a hard look at what she wanted, and what would be healthy for her in the long run. Now, she exercises because she loves it, and she approaches nutrition with a perspective of healthy, balanced moderation. She loves chocolate truffles and enjoys them on a regular basis. Concerned about the dangerous messages and myths around health and fitness, Warhaft started Fit vs Fiction. She speaks in schools, has done several TV appearances, and even wrote a book for parents with advice on how to help children develop healthy self-confidence. She hopes these positive, empowering messages will enable young individuals to develop into who they want to be, rather than who they think they’re supposed to be.  When I ask about ways to overcome all the negative conditioning out there, Warhaft has some powerful advice. “Social media can be very damaging, constantly bombarding us to ‘be better’. And it’s hidden—packaged in this ‘I want you to feel better, so I can give you what you need to lose weight, to have better skin, to look younger, because I care.’ It’s still saying, ‘you’re not good enough’, but the message seems so nice and it sneaks past our defences.” She advises unfollowing accounts that bring on these negative feelings of inadequacy and instead seek out accounts that celebrate things that make you feel good. She also advocates for being aware of self-talk, keeping it positive. “Focus on what makes you feel good. I dance every morning. It’s something I love and makes me feel great!” She recently moved, and having space to dance was a key factor in deciding on a new place. “It took me so long to feel comfortable just being myself. I want everyone to be able to live in the freedom of being who they are. It would be amazing to see the advancement that the world could take in every aspect – arts, science, everything! If we can live in the freedom of empowerment, the possibilities are endless.” Warhaft uses her sassy, to-the-point demeanour to correct dangerous misconceptions of health, fitness, and society’s standards of beauty. Though her life has had its ups and downs, she credits her challenges with making her the woman she is today. “Everything I’ve gone through makes me stronger. I’ve fallen a lot in my life. There have been times when I had to crawl for a while before I could get up. Now, I see it as a hole in the ground, but there’s a trampoline at the bottom. When I fall, I bounce back! I still have my spark, I still have me.” Being genuine is very important to Warhaft. She knows that no one is happy and confident every single day, and she understands that that’s okay. “Having been hurt, having struggled, I think the more real you are about it makes it easier to connect with people.” What does empowerment mean to her? “For me, it’s freedom. It took me so long to feel comfortable just being myself. I want everyone to be able to live in the freedom of being who they are. It would be amazing to see the advancement that the world could take in every aspect – arts, science, everything! If we can live in the freedom of empowerment, the possibilities are endless.” For a long time, the pressure of society’s unrealistic standards of beauty trapped Warhaft in a vicious cycle. Thankfully, she received the help she needed and realized her own courage to stand up and say, “No more.” Today, she continues to reach as many people as she can – men, women, teens, and children – using her vibrant spark to light the way to a healthier life. Writing: Stacy McIntosh Images: Supplied

Carla Mann had given up before her love, Chris, entered her life. In her words, this is her story of loss, love and life. Where does one begin? My life has been a bit of a “sorted affair.” A lot of loss, turmoil and just bad luck. At the age of 40, I had moved from my beloved home in High River after losing everything due to the flood in 2013. I returned to my hometown to kind of seek refuge. I’m not going to lie I had given up. I was 40, my young son 9. I had never been married, never been financially secure and I truly thought my life was over. Moving “home” was a really bad decision. There is a saying, “you can never go home again”. This in my experience is so very true. In September 2014 I reconnected with an old high school acquaintance through FaceBook. He joined because he had just become a grandfather and he wanted to follow his daughter and new grandson on social media. We became online friends and in a very short period of time, we both realized something magical was happening. By January 2015 we decided to re-introduce ourselves to one another. We hadn’t seen each other since our graduation in 1991. He arrived at my door in our hometown on January 18th, with roses in hand. He kissed me and my life changed forever. Our love grew so fast. We lived five hours apart and Chris working in coil tubing in the oilfield, spent many days away at a time. It became all part of our story. Before our second date, Chris professed his love for me and I for him. On that second date, Chris bought me a beautiful limited edition H&B necklace that I cherish. Our third date was Vegas and from there our love and devotion to each other became undeniable. We both had never been so happy. Chris had lived a sorted past as well. Struggling through life with loss, career choices, staying in a toxic relationship for nearly a decade and struggling with life’s demons. He had turned his life around a few years before we met again but told me I was all he needed. I was his drug and that what we had found and were building was better than any drug on the planet. Chris and I spent all our downtime together whether I drove to him or he came to me. He stayed the entire month of breakup with us. During that month he gifted me with many beautiful H&B pieces. Little tokens of love that I will treasure for my lifetime. My son and I moved to be with Chris before summer arrived and it remains the “first” best decision I ever made because there were many to come! “We found this magical, beautiful love.” Fast forwarding through our beautiful big love Chris and I got engaged June 3, 2017. It was an unorthodox engagement but it was perfect and we both believed all our dreams were coming true. We found this magical beautiful love where we were crazy about each other and one that was reciprocated to each other in every way. We were building a life and we were happy. Insanely truly 100% happy. Our wedding date was set February 17, 2018. Zota Beach Resort, Longboat Key Florida. We were thrilled!! Planning our big day was a labour of love. Every moment was planned right down to the tiniest detail. It was a blush and rose gold affair. My bridesmaids wearing sequined dresses and matching H&B Sparkle Balls™ that were perfect. Right down to the most insignificant flower or the colour of the napkins we were ready. We were so ready that we even discussed popping down to City Hall and getting hitched before we left for Florida. Chris saying “no one ever has to know, I just want to be married”. We should have done that, just Chris and I. Saying our vows to each other. No guests no onlookers, just us promising ourselves to each other until death do us part. But we only had one hitch to go and then we were off to Florida so we decided to wait. “We should have done that, just Chris and I. Saying our vows to each other.” Chris left for his last hitch before our wedding January 26th at 5 am, we had said our goodbyes the night before and talked about our excitement. That time home was a little stressful for both of us. Just with planning the wedding, getting payments to the vendors. It wasn’t our typical “love fest” while he was back. That Friday that he left I was driving to work and I said out loud to myself “did I love him enough these days off?” “Did I show him how in love I am with him?” I vowed right there I’d never let stress get in the way of our affection for each other again. I convinced myself that it was just what happens when you plan a wedding. I promised that moment was going to be the last time I ever had to ask myself those questions. We spoke on the phone later that night. Chris was exhausted after a long day. We ended our short conversation with our I love you’s and our excitement for his next days off and our wedding. We felt we had put everything back in our order of just loving each other with no boundaries. We were just so excited. Saturday morning, January 27th, 2018, I spent cleaning, doing laundry and packing our suitcases. When I looked at my phone when I finally sat to have a coffee it was shortly after 2pm, or 3pm in Saskatchewan where Chris was working. I felt a pang of guilt because I always messaged him as soon as I woke up. I quickly messaged him with our pet name for each other followed with hearts and kisses. Chris and I were always in constant contact. Whether it was through texting or phoning we were always in conversation. But he didn’t message back. I sent a second text saying all I had done that morning and the calls made that were finalizing the wedding details. But still nothing. “Chris and I were always in constant contact. Whether it was through texting or phoning we were always in conversation. But he didn’t message back.” Shortly after 4pm my doorbell rang. An officer stood at my door. It took him a while to tell me why he was there. I was very confused. He explained that there had been an incident, cardiac arrest and that Chris was not revived. He had passed away at approximately 3:15 pm Saskatchewan time almost exactly when I sent my messages. My entire world was shattered my heart broken into a million pieces. I never felt such complete loneliness and devastation in my life. My beautiful precious Chris was gone and I never even spoke to him that day. The days that came are a blur. I went from planning the perfect wedding to my beloved’s funeral in a matter of hours. I was so scared, so filled with fear and sadness. I spent all the time could with Chris when he arrived home. Just holding him, talking to him, playing our music and kissing him. It was the hardest thing I ever had to do, walking into a room where the man I love was so lifeless. I fell to my knees and screamed because a small part of me thought they were wrong and when the doors opened it wouldn’t be him. But it was Chris, my love, and I didn’t want him to be alone or scared so I just stayed. I found a way to get my hands under his so it felt like he was holding on so tight. I pulled up a chair and laid my head beside his. I touch every smile line and freckle. I laid as close as I could for as long as I could and no one questioned me or asked me to leave, they just let me be. I did that for days. The celebration for Chris was planned in the evening with my closest friends and family. They pulled everything together for us during the day. Chris’s daughter arrived which gave me strength and together we decided we would both offer separate eulogies. As Havyn said, we together were the two halves to his heart. She the first, I his last… “Almost five hundred people showed up on February 3, 2018 to pay their respects to my precious fiancé. Exactly two weeks to the day that we had planned our wedding.” Almost five hundred people showed up on February 3, 2018 to pay their respects to my precious fiancé. Exactly two weeks to the day that we had planned our wedding. I wanted this day to show people how I love Chris, how Havyn loves her daddy. I wanted them to feel the kind of connection we shared. This day was planned at an events Centre instead of a church. Something that really meant something to Chris. It was grand and it was beautiful. From the music to the flowers I truly believe we planned a moment in time that Chris would have been blown away by. I said my eulogy, and in it I said my vows in hopes that Chris heard me devoting my life to him. It was the hardest thing I ever had to do but I did it. Ending with words we said endlessly to each other “I Love You More Chris.” I flew to Florida a few days later. I went to our beach and I married him officially. I carried a small urn heart in my hand, filled with his ashes. I never invited anyone but when I arrived at the bridge that took me to our spot, family members were waiting for me. I had given my bridesmaids the Sparkle Balls™ Chris had picked out for them all. They sparkled in the setting sun. I walked to the water. I said my personal vows and then adding our wedding I Do’s. Then I went into the ocean and held Chris’s small urn in the water. God he talked about going in the ocean every day… I never let go. Then like magic the sunset turned blue and orange and there’s was one little star that stood out under a crooked moon smile. It was undeniable, my Husband was there. My days now are quiet. The silence somedays deafening. I am very busy honoring my love. I am starting a foundation in his name to help kids through hockey. This year in April I will be handing out 5 awards for the Chris Mann Memorial, this will take place in our hometown. I have gone back to work where by no surprise or accident I sell H&B. I am passionate about his brand and the empowerment of women behind it. I wear the numerous pieces that Chris bought me everyday. I am thankful for every single one as I truly feel close to him when I remember the excitement when they were received and the love that came with every piece. I am so so thankful for that. “I have legally changed my last name to Mann and I will carry forward being Chris’s wife. I plan on being the best of the best.” I have legally changed my last name to Mann and I will carry forward being Chris’s wife. I plan on being the best of the best. Life is very scary right now, the hurt is still so fresh and my heart is so broken. But I am empowered by the strong support of people around me and I have to be strong to do all the things I’ve planned for the man of my dreams. Chris is my sparkle. The love of my life, my husband.

In Canada, and particularly in Saskatchewan, agriculture is an important industry and a way of life for many. And although most farms involve the entire family, farming is a male-dominated career with fewer female farmers running equipment, working day-to-day in the field on the farm operations. For Lexie Adamson, however, becoming a farmer was always a certainty. Since early childhood, Adamson wanted a life in Agriculture. “My whole life, I was going to farm. That’s never changed, not once.” Growing up on her family farm near Harris, SK, cemented her resolve. Her Dad and Uncle, both very progressive farmers, were early adopters of new crops, farm technology and techniques and made sure to immerse Adamson in every aspect of the farm from a young age—she ran equipment, went to board meetings for local Ag Organizations and tagged along to farm trade shows. Adamson met her husband, Kyle, while attending Lakeland College in Vermillion. After graduating, Adamson moved to Kindersley, SK where his business was located, but stuck to her commitment to a future as a farmer. While her husband ran a business in Kindersley, Adamson worked with determination to move forward in her farming career, commuting over an hour to the farm in addition to taking an off-farm job. These days, Adamson runs the farm with her brother and her dad still helps out. This year, they seeded 6500 acres. Adamson had to let go of her off-farm job to devote as much time as she could to her own farming operation. “I was starting to have breakdowns. I don’t regret it— it was a great run and the value that it’s brought to our farm [through knowledge gained] is unreal. Farming is a business; it has to be treated [as such]. And it’s so stressful trying to pick the right markets, making sure everything’s out for loans, making sure everything’s balanced. Your bills are endless.” “There are definitely perks to farming—running your own business, being self-employed—but I wish people understood what actually happens and how that food gets to your plate.” I ask if there are things she wishes people knew about farming and she is quick to dispel the social media myth of farmers sitting in an air-conditioned cab all day using GPS with their feet up. “Number one, there is no paycheque. Number two, what it actually costs to run a farm. People think, ‘oh, they have million-dollar equipment, they must be loaded’… what?! Do you think we walk in there with a wad of cash, and say, ‘here you go’? It’s a spreadsheet, a cost per acre of what you’re going to have to make to cover this stuff. And what a bag of canola costs, to what we can sell it for. There are definitely perks to farming, running your own business, being self-employed, but I wish people understood what actually happens and how that food gets to your plate, not just the pictures on social media. We’re never going to post on social media that we’re having a meltdown because we just opened a bin and it’s all rotten.”  The Adamsons have two children, a five-year-old daughter and a three-year-old son. Running two businesses while raising two kids comes with its fair share of challenges. During the growing season, she’s away from the kids for extended periods. “Harvest was really hard last year. Those six weeks, I barely saw the kids.” She also feels guilty when she has to leave the farm while her brother and dad are still working. “I’m a mom first, and I always will be. I never knew that kids would touch me this much, but they have to be happy. Can I hop off the combine to go watch something at school? No, but I can make that up to them in a different capacity. My kids and my marriage have to be happy.” “I’m a mom first, and I always will be. I never knew that kids would touch me this much, but they have to be happy.” When I ask Adamson about attitudes toward women working in Agriculture, her outlook is positive. “It’s come a long way. I have some awesome mentors, my mom being one of them.” That said, she has experienced pushback as a woman working in Agriculture. “My first job, [as an Agronomist] I was pregnant, and men were not very nice or understanding of that.” Working as a grain buyer, she had to work very hard to earn respect from farmers. Now that she’s farming full time, she finds it frustrating that sales reps automatically assume that she isn’t the decision-maker on the farm and head straight for her brother or dad when they arrive for sales calls. And when Adamson is asked what she does for a living and responds that she’s a farmer, she gets some sceptical looks and has received comments on her marriage that she and Kyle are a ‘backwards couple’. “It used to bother the heck out of me, but then I realized, what am I trying to prove? I’m using so much stress against that, and who cares? My kids are happy, we’re happy, we’re where we want to be. I sit on some awesome boards, I have a huge group of people who I look up to, and they’re [the ones] who matter.” “It used to bother the heck out of me, but then I realized, what am I trying to prove? I’m using so much stress against that, and who cares?” Along the way, Adamson has experienced moments of empowerment. During her off-farm work, she put the time and effort in to achieve a high quality of work. “When you start noticing that the farmers respect you, there’s nothing better.” One day on her own farm, a group of male sales reps stopped by with a meal in the field. Adamson, the last to arrive, had been driving a semi, hauling grain. She smiled at the surprised expressions as she climbed down from the cab to join them. “If more women can be empowered to do what I’m doing, things will be a lot more equal. It won’t be weird to see a female in the field running an air drill. Going to farm shows, there will be just as many women there as men—and not just running the booths, but walking the floor as farmers!” “It won’t be weird to see a female in the field running an air drill. Going to farm shows, there will be just as many women there as men—and not just running the booths, but walking the floor as farmers!” Adamson refuses to let judgement or cultural pressure to get in the way of building a life that fulfils her heart and soul. Sticking to her strong values of family, equality, and community, she leads the way as a fourth-generation farmer while remaining a devoted mom and wife. Writing: Stacy McIntosh Images: Supplied

The executive director and co-founder of Regina's North Central Family Centre improves lives with hard work, compassion, and love of her community. As you walk into the North Central Family Centre in Regina, the sense of community pride is striking. The well-manicured yard, colourful play structure and bright front façade make the building shine like a precious gemstone; however, upon entering the doors, it’s soon apparent that it’s the individuals and volunteers inside who make the organization truly shine. And one individual in particular is the true crown jewel of the centre—Sandy Wankel. Wankel, the executive director and co-founder of the North Central Family Centre, selflessly and humbly attributes the success of the community organization to everyone involved—including volunteers, parents, sponsors, staff and others. It’s abundantly clear though, when talking to Wankel, that this sanctuary exists because of her hard work, compassion, kindness and love of the community. The North Central Family Centre focuses on the children of the community, but works with entire families. It offers wrap-around programs—such as employment classes, cooking seminars, community outreach, and cultural programs—that engage everyone ages six through 80. The community of North Central Regina has faced many struggles, so the North Central Family Centre’s goal is to create and maintain positivity, empowerment and purpose throughout the entire community, and particularly for those most vulnerable—the youth. “One thing that makes us unique is that we’ve created an environment and brought in the community, so we’re a part of the community. I’ve always wondered about people when it’s top down—you can’t really tell people how to act, but you can show them. You have to help, you have to empower people, but the bottom-line is you just have to accept them, and work from there. And I think that’s what we’ve created here.” Wankel’s primary focus throughout her work is giving all of the members of the North Central Family Centre—and particularly the young women—a feeling of ownership in their lives, their homes, their communities and even in the world. “Our kids have had barriers and hardships in life, and we’re trying to get them to overcome. But you do that also by giving them a sense of [empowerment],” she says with a warm smile. “We always say to our kids here: ‘We want you in the parade. We don’t want you watching the parade. We’re part of a global world—you’re part of Regina, you’re part of Saskatchewan, you’re part of a world, and you have a voice to make a difference.’” Wankel’s encouragement and positive messaging to the youth of the North Central Family Centre has shifted how these beautiful people speak and think of themselves, and has nurtured the organization for 10 years. With Wankel’s leadership, this organization will continue to flourish. Sitting in Wankel’s cozy office with inspirational messages, handmade art, and photos brightening the walls, it’s easy to tell that this woman is well loved and has loved well. Being a co-founder of such a pivotal community organization, seeking funding, asking for support and for people to care, are not easy tasks, and to do so with charisma and constant positive energy is even more difficult. Her courageous work and inspiring words paint a beautiful picture of a strong, empowered woman who celebrates vulnerability and embraces challenge: “I’m hearing impaired—I read lips. It’s been very challenging for me over the years. I do a lot of things scared. When I have to go talk, and I’m not sure if I’m going to hear the questions correctly, and I [still] do it. I do it because I had someone who gave me the strength to do that, and I want our youth to see that being scared is OK because it pushes them to be stronger. I want to be that person for them. We can give girls the strength to [work through challenges that] come in their way, and that’s why agencies like ours are here.” What stands out the most while speaking with Wankel is that no matter the hardships she faces with running a not-for-profit organization, she is constantly inspiring and building up others. “[The most rewarding thing we can do in life] is to watch a young girl that couldn’t even look at herself in the mirror, see herself in a different light, and start growing and evolving,” she says. Her biggest piece of advice for the young women she works with: “Don’t let anyone else define you. You define yourself and what you want in life. It doesn’t matter what’s behind you or what circumstances you come from, it’s all where you’re going. I want our girls to see themselves how they want to be. And to realize that, all these little things, it’ll pass someday. All these little insurmountable hurts, like any bullying or anything, this is a little part of their life right now. It will get better. And they will excel. And they will do well.” Wankel’s inspiring and challenging messages are for not only the youth of the North Central Family Centre, but for every woman—sage advice we can all incorporate into our lives. As we wrapped up our conversation, we chatted about purpose in life. Years ago, as a young mom living in a small town searching for her purpose, Wankel asked herself what would be put on her tombstone. “That I was nice?” She laughs. “You know I really hope I make a difference in life. And I’ve been given this opportunity to do it. It’s been an incredible journey, and it’s never me alone.” It is clear that Wankel is very much making a difference in many lives, and will continue to attribute her success to all of the other individuals involved. Wankel is truly extraordinary—she knows it takes a village to raise a child and she has created that healing, empowering village in North Central Family Centre. Moved by Wankel and the community she has brought together in the heart of Regina, we hosted a pancake breakfast for girls from the North Central Family Centre. The girls made two bracelets each—one to keep and one to be sold by Hillberg & Berk, with 100% of the proceeds going to the North Central Family Centre. In the end, the girls raised a total of $4,000 for the North Central Family Centre with the Sandy Bracelet; named, of course, after its inspirational namesake.

Life as a Canadian Model Abroad Hi! I’m Melissa   As the face of the Hillberg & Berk Valentine’s Day campaign and international model living in China, I often have conversations about how glamorous it is to have a career as a model. It’s funny—it seems those outside the industry associate modeling with luxurious travel, designer wardrobes and fashionable parties. Don’t get me wrong—I love my job; however, the truth about modeling is that it often entails long hours, demanding working conditions and major commitment. Here are a few of my favourite modeling myths to remind you that models are normal women, with flaws, challenges and ambition! Myth #1: Penthouse suite, anyone? Unless you are Kendall or Gigi, the accommodation arrangement for many models (like me) means shared space. Imagine sharing one bathroom and kitchen with 9 other people! The upside to shared living is that women who start out as strangers become like your family. You celebrate special days, like Christmas and birthdays, together because we are all away from our homes and families. I have had so many wonderful people come in and out of my life throughout my career, but this is what models do. We are constantly on the move. Myth #2: Private jets and first class More like last minute plane rides, public transportation and even scooters. From castings, to fittings, to shoots, models often need to travel all the time. I have become very good at getting around foreign places because my career depends on it. Myth #3: Everyday's like Sunday Sleeping in, lounging in PJs, slow-moving mornings. Sounds nice, right? Well, my days are nothing like that. Think: 200+ outfit changes in one day, 30-40 poses in 60 seconds or less, high heels for hours and no personal space.Or, think of being in a room with 150 beautiful women and feeling vulnerable and exposed at a casting. In this industry you need thick skin, perseverance and a little grit to get by. Now that I have painted a more accurate image of my life as a model, you must be wondering, is it worth it? Even though at times all I want is the comfort of home (or just a baked potato), I wouldn’t change anything. This industry is not for everyone, but it has broadened my perspective and taken me to places some people only dream about. I have discovered new cultures, new fashion styles and learned Mandarin and even some Portuguese.I am so lucky to have the opportunity to meet so many nice people along the way and I have friends now from all over the world. If you chase a dream that ignites your passion, you will discover your very own pot of gold (with or without the private jet).