I am me
I am First Nations. Aborginial. Indian. Native Canadian. Indigenous. I am all of these, but I prefer to use First Nations. Quick background, I was adopted at 2 months. My last name is a Ukrainian name. Both my parents are of European ancestry. These days this is not very common, due to the lingering effect of the Sixties scoop as well as identity issues that come up when a white couple adopts a First Nations baby. I love my parents very much, they are fantastic people, but from my experience I can understand why they don't let inter racial adoptions happen as often with First Nations babies. There is a disconnect, it took me a long time to know who I was. My parents taught on a reserve in the 70s, they are familiar with Cree culture. We had family friends who taught me about 'my' culture. I was given a medicine bag and sweet grass. By this time, I had already moved from interested in who I was to not wanting to be different from everyone else.
I learned about First Nations history briefly in school, there was nothing taught to us by Elders, only the curriculum about the history of First Nations tribes. In grade eight, we saw a video about Residential Schools. It was horrible learning about what the government and the churches did in regards to assimilation and general elimination of First Nations people. I couldn't understand how that could happen to children, and I still get emotional when I hear from people I meet that they don't ever remember feeling safe growing up.
There are moments that stand out for me in my mind as I grew up. I can remember vividlly hearing my friends and acquaintances talking about 'Native people' in such a negative way that I would never have spoken up and said 'Hey, I'm First Nations, you know. So, stop talking like that." My fear kept me quiet. What would they think of me if they knew I was 'Native'?
I didn't want to be different. I wanted to have light skin, to be like my friends and fit in without having to rely on my last name. I was just darker like my Dad, people commented on. To my recollection I rarely if ever heard someone talking about First Nations people in a positive manner. Who would want to identify with someone who is in a gang? Someone dangerous to be avoided in the city? I wasn't going to speak up and say hey, I'm Native. So have some respect. I was a sensitive kid who took everything to heart, and became more and more determined to fit in.
In 2004 I was 22 and attempting a return to University after a fairly public failing out. I decided to take Indigenous Studies. I took the introductory course. It was like someone was personally talking to me every class, explaining all the missing and dormant parts of me. I couldn't get enough, I wanted to learn more about myself and who I was. I remember one particular session where we learned about systemic racism, blatant racism and all the racisms. It was weird, being able to put a definition on all those past times I felt off or something was knotting up inside me. I wanted to learn more about myself, about my people and my race. My mother warned me that I should tread carefully, that some people would not accept me as one of them, seeing as how I grew up off reserve, my family was white. They call us Apples. I tried to pretend my mom was just being a jerk but sure enough in one of the last classes that term came up. I was more comfortable around white people becuase that's who I grew up around. I felt as though I was not First Nations enough for the people in that class, and worried that someone would notice and tell me, that I wasn't one of them. Who I was, I still didn't know.
Wow, was that only ten years ago? It feels like it was ages ago. I failed out of Indigenous studies the next summer and started a downward spiral. I remember my mother told me once not to be a stereotype. Now, that sounds harsh but that's what she told herself. They didn't have a lot of money growing up, and she didn't want to grow up what she'd been told she was by her father, 'white trash'. She set her goals and got to university and worked hard to change her circumstances. I went the other way. I didn't know how to deal with anything, I had no direction, I didn't know who I was supposed to be, who I wanted to be. I drank to escape a lot of things.
Two years ago I ended up in front of a psychiatrist at rehab. I was convinced there was something wrong with me. I told him I'm just to different. I don't belong anywhere. I'm a First Nations lesbian who was adopted by white parents. I have never met anyone like me, I don't know where I fit in. I don't know why but I thought he'd tell me I was right, I was so different from anyone else there had to be some big fixable issue here, I'd better start coming every week. But no, that wasn't what I heard. Dr. H called me out. He said why look at your differences as something limiting, why not look at how many places and different groups you are a part of? And the more I thought about it, the more I realized he was right. I was a part of a lot of different groups of people. I can have experiences that others can't. Rather than closing doors, the more I accept myself and who I am and move forward as an adult, the doors will actually start opening.
Trying to get back to some sort of point, today I am on a good path. I am starting to participate in First Nations ceremonies and learning all I can about my culture and that part of myself. I pray with tobacco and I smudge when I need to. It's so weird that there is this intangible sense of belonging and understanding I have for people who are the same race as me. Speaking with them and spending time with them helps me make more sense of myself. I talk to people who are adopted and see myself in them as well. Same with the lesbians I talk to, well the lesbians I mostly try to high five because being gay is pretty great! I work for a First Nations company, who is a bank, basically, lending to other First Nations start up companies and entrepreneurs. It's really great to be part of a positive company in the community, and really cool because I've never worked at a place where I'm one of many in that respect. I am proud of who I am today.
When I hear or read something negative about First Nations people in the media or out of someone's mouth, I still keep quiet for the most part. I'm a quiet person, and I still turn into young Sarah worried that if I speak up this person won't like me anymore, they'll think all those things about me. But I am grateful to those who do speak up and call attention to discrimination and inequality. Lacey and I had this discussion the other day when it came to some liberal saying something inappropriate. I explained that I always appreciate when someone calls something out as unacceptable even if it's just a 1 on the scale of 1 to 10. Because it's those little things that are really very dangerous, I think. When you can't put your finger on something that makes you feel uncomfortable but you don't bring it up. It's letting that go and influence your inaction that I always regret. But I'm doing my best and I'll get there. I believe I am on the right path now.
I learned about First Nations history briefly in school, there was nothing taught to us by Elders, only the curriculum about the history of First Nations tribes. In grade eight, we saw a video about Residential Schools. It was horrible learning about what the government and the churches did in regards to assimilation and general elimination of First Nations people. I couldn't understand how that could happen to children, and I still get emotional when I hear from people I meet that they don't ever remember feeling safe growing up.
There are moments that stand out for me in my mind as I grew up. I can remember vividlly hearing my friends and acquaintances talking about 'Native people' in such a negative way that I would never have spoken up and said 'Hey, I'm First Nations, you know. So, stop talking like that." My fear kept me quiet. What would they think of me if they knew I was 'Native'?
I didn't want to be different. I wanted to have light skin, to be like my friends and fit in without having to rely on my last name. I was just darker like my Dad, people commented on. To my recollection I rarely if ever heard someone talking about First Nations people in a positive manner. Who would want to identify with someone who is in a gang? Someone dangerous to be avoided in the city? I wasn't going to speak up and say hey, I'm Native. So have some respect. I was a sensitive kid who took everything to heart, and became more and more determined to fit in.
In 2004 I was 22 and attempting a return to University after a fairly public failing out. I decided to take Indigenous Studies. I took the introductory course. It was like someone was personally talking to me every class, explaining all the missing and dormant parts of me. I couldn't get enough, I wanted to learn more about myself and who I was. I remember one particular session where we learned about systemic racism, blatant racism and all the racisms. It was weird, being able to put a definition on all those past times I felt off or something was knotting up inside me. I wanted to learn more about myself, about my people and my race. My mother warned me that I should tread carefully, that some people would not accept me as one of them, seeing as how I grew up off reserve, my family was white. They call us Apples. I tried to pretend my mom was just being a jerk but sure enough in one of the last classes that term came up. I was more comfortable around white people becuase that's who I grew up around. I felt as though I was not First Nations enough for the people in that class, and worried that someone would notice and tell me, that I wasn't one of them. Who I was, I still didn't know.
Wow, was that only ten years ago? It feels like it was ages ago. I failed out of Indigenous studies the next summer and started a downward spiral. I remember my mother told me once not to be a stereotype. Now, that sounds harsh but that's what she told herself. They didn't have a lot of money growing up, and she didn't want to grow up what she'd been told she was by her father, 'white trash'. She set her goals and got to university and worked hard to change her circumstances. I went the other way. I didn't know how to deal with anything, I had no direction, I didn't know who I was supposed to be, who I wanted to be. I drank to escape a lot of things.
Two years ago I ended up in front of a psychiatrist at rehab. I was convinced there was something wrong with me. I told him I'm just to different. I don't belong anywhere. I'm a First Nations lesbian who was adopted by white parents. I have never met anyone like me, I don't know where I fit in. I don't know why but I thought he'd tell me I was right, I was so different from anyone else there had to be some big fixable issue here, I'd better start coming every week. But no, that wasn't what I heard. Dr. H called me out. He said why look at your differences as something limiting, why not look at how many places and different groups you are a part of? And the more I thought about it, the more I realized he was right. I was a part of a lot of different groups of people. I can have experiences that others can't. Rather than closing doors, the more I accept myself and who I am and move forward as an adult, the doors will actually start opening.
Trying to get back to some sort of point, today I am on a good path. I am starting to participate in First Nations ceremonies and learning all I can about my culture and that part of myself. I pray with tobacco and I smudge when I need to. It's so weird that there is this intangible sense of belonging and understanding I have for people who are the same race as me. Speaking with them and spending time with them helps me make more sense of myself. I talk to people who are adopted and see myself in them as well. Same with the lesbians I talk to, well the lesbians I mostly try to high five because being gay is pretty great! I work for a First Nations company, who is a bank, basically, lending to other First Nations start up companies and entrepreneurs. It's really great to be part of a positive company in the community, and really cool because I've never worked at a place where I'm one of many in that respect. I am proud of who I am today.
When I hear or read something negative about First Nations people in the media or out of someone's mouth, I still keep quiet for the most part. I'm a quiet person, and I still turn into young Sarah worried that if I speak up this person won't like me anymore, they'll think all those things about me. But I am grateful to those who do speak up and call attention to discrimination and inequality. Lacey and I had this discussion the other day when it came to some liberal saying something inappropriate. I explained that I always appreciate when someone calls something out as unacceptable even if it's just a 1 on the scale of 1 to 10. Because it's those little things that are really very dangerous, I think. When you can't put your finger on something that makes you feel uncomfortable but you don't bring it up. It's letting that go and influence your inaction that I always regret. But I'm doing my best and I'll get there. I believe I am on the right path now.