Part One: Reconciliation Begins Within
Images of hundreds of women who came before me scrolled through my mind’s eye as I sat cradled in the limbs of a Grandmother Cedar Tree. Water streamed from my eyes, my body sensing their pain, and my spirit reminding me of my connection to every one of them. Her trunk, concealed in the earth, stood as a reminder of roots and lineage. Her limbs reached out like a reawakening, inviting me to receive her medicine. Surrendering in her heart centre, I absorbed the instructions that would shape my life. In that moment, I began to understand who I was meant to be in this world.
I grew up knowing I had Indigenous roots. My father would say, “You are Indian, and don’t ever let anyone tell you that you are not.” Yet as a child I could not comprehend his words. I held onto them as truth, but I had little understanding of what it meant. For years I lived with that knowing but without connection — identifying as Indian and Iroquois but without the teachings, the community, or the ceremonies to ground me.
It was not until 2005, when my son was four years old, that Grandmother Cedar extended her invitation to healing. At that time in my life, I felt an absence of nurturing. Quietly, I pleaded for help. I longed for reconnection but could not afford the cost of attending a retreat. By grace, I was offered the chance to serve in the kitchen, and so I arrived — a helper searching for healing.
From the moment I stepped onto the land, I felt the call. The drumming wings of the Grouse echoed in my chest, its slow tempo spiraling into a rapid beat. I surrendered to the land, honoured the sun, and became the water. For the first time in my life, I felt surrounded by love and immersed in belonging. That retreat was my first sweat lodge, my first teachings, my first step into the Indigenous world I had always carried inside but had never been able to access.
I returned home transformed. I spoke of that retreat as often as I could, just to keep the sensation alive within me. Living from that place of magic and belonging ignited a fire that had been waiting for me. It prepared me for what would come next.
At the very same time, across the country, Survivors of residential schools were beginning to tell their stories to the Truth and Reconciliation Commission. Their testimonies were creating a record of harms endured — the separation from family, the suppression of language, the abuse and neglect, the loss of culture. From their courage came the 94 Calls to Action, offering Canada a path forward.
But reconciliation, I came to learn, was not only a matter of government policies and public apologies. For me, it began with the restoration of my own sense of self. My Indigenous lineage is carried through my father’s side: his grandmother, the last to live in her home community, who died at only 29; his mother, gone by 42; and my father himself, taken at 52. None of them had the chance to tell their stories. They did not find a place of belonging in the society around them. But through Grandmother Cedar, I received the message that this responsibility was now mine. Grandmother’s Voice is the voice of my ancestors.
To reconcile is to remember who you are. Once you find out who you are, you cannot un-know. It is a gift and a responsibility. Knowing who I am, where I come from, and why I am here has given me a profound sense of belonging and purpose. For me, reconciliation is this process of reconciling with myself, before I can be in relationship with anyone else. And in truth, this is not just my purpose — it is everyone’s.
There is an Indigenous teaching that says we choose our parents before we enter the mother’s womb. We arrive on this earth already carrying our purpose. Even before our first breath, we inherit energies and experiences passed down through generations, imprinted in our DNA. Western science now affirms what Indigenous wisdom has known forever: intergenerational experiences shape us. It is our responsibility to uncover and release the burdens that prevent us from living Mino-Bimaadiziwin (the Good Life). When we reconcile with ourselves, we return to pure love.
Reconciliation, in its truest sense, is not about statistics, status cards, or bureaucratic definitions. It is about love — especially self-love born from self-understanding. When we learn who we are and embrace it fully, we can no longer deny our responsibilities to one another or to this land. That is the beginning of reconciliation.
The cedar bent to hold me close,
her roots remembered what I’d forgotten.
Water fell from my eyes,
and the earth drank my sorrow as medicine.
The Grouse drummed my heartbeat awake,
reminding me that I belong.
I stepped into myself with trembling feet,
guided by voices I could not yet name.
The first moccasins were small,
but they carried me home.


