Danielle Boonstra's Blog

January 2025

Dear M,

Today, I am learning to eat my words and to let go—two things I don’t particularly enjoy, though both come calling for me on the regular. I am still looking for a full-time job. And while this by no means sets me apart from a good chunk of humans between 18 and 60, it does, at this point, feel like something at which I am failing.

When I had my son, Ivan, I had every intention of going back to work after completing the 12-month parental leave we Canadians enjoy. Ivan, howev...

Perhaps a mother is blessed both with blindness and hypervigilance when it comes to her children,

but I know whom I birthed.

You are a descendant of Viking women—warriors angry and proud, steadfast and true.

You are blessed with the easy, good humour of your father’s family and the keen intelligence of mine.

Your heart, unable to bear injustice of any kind, is your best bet for an inner guide.

Never quell your voice, baby girl.

Let it love and rage and call out the liars.

You are a truth-teller...

When Claire Hart’s husband dies in a tragic accident, she thinks the worst has already happened. For five years, they shared a quiet, seemingly perfect life—until a single phone call shattered everything she thought she knew. Her husband wasn’t the man he claimed to be. He was working undercover for an illegal drug ring, a dangerous double life that ultimately cost him everything.

Reeling from betrayal and grief, Claire becomes the target of unseen forces determined to keep her husband’s secret...

Don’t go on vibes alone, my friend. We all need a helping hand.

Trust me, I know that writing a memoir is an intensely personal journey. It’s translating your life’s experiences into something meaningful, relatable, and transcendent. Your memoir is more than just recounting events—it’s about finding the emotional truth, organizing chaotic memories into a compelling narrative, and crafting a story that pulls a reader in. While it can be tempting to tackle this endeavor solo, the guidance of a wr...

Helplessness is an awful feeling, as if we are at the mercy of something big and scary, with nowhere to turn.For today, may I humbly suggest writing out that anger, sadness, rage and helplessness.Here’s why:Setting your mind to express the exact feelings you’re feeling can begin the act of processing. You can give a meaningful voice to what seems like a destructive energy.Uncensored writing can turn into a process of recognizing the feeling, naming it, acknowledging it, and letting it g...

Photo by Carolina Basi

From about 2011 until 2022, I blogged regularly—often twice weekly—to unearth difficult feelings and begin to process them. I cannot stress enough how necessary this process was for me. I had spent the first 30 years of my life as most of us do: fairly unconscious, trying to figure out who I was through the lens of how other people saw me, in a kind of survival mode, and unaware of what made me happy.

It wasn’t good for me.

But I didn’t know this in the beginning. All I kn...

I have this innate desire to heal so that others can heal. Now, does it get muddled with ego concerns and intentions? Yes. I try my best to be aware of this as much as possible and make mental health, healing, and remembering who I really am a priority.

The other day, I found myself trying to explain to someone how to feel their feelings. It sounds a bit silly. And Lord knows, until a few years ago, I thought I was an expert at feeling. I mean, I cried all the time. I would constantly re...

The snow blew gently sideways, the first of the season, and I considered, for a moment, turning my head and sticking out my tongue to catch a few flakes but decided against it. The air was cold but not bitingly so. My knit wool hat covered my ears and mildly itched my scalp as my matching mittens made my palms just a little bit sweaty. I was in tune with my discomfort. Moments earlier, grief gripped me in the middle of my walk with one of my dearest friends in the world. I turned to look at her...

“Come with me,” I say. “I’ve got enough love for the both of us.” She looks up at me, blinks, and then nods. It’s a start.

Sometimes, I have to go back to her. Sometimes, she needs my embrace. It’s been a while since I’ve embodied her fully, but I remember. I remember the basketweave of anxiety that went on inside our heads. I remember the lies we told ourselves, and how the bad stuff was just easier to believe.

So I reach out to her because she is me. They’re all me. And we need each ot...

*This post was originally written in 2014.

A few years ago there was a weekend where I faced some fears. It wasn’t my intention to face these specific situations, but it is my intention every morning to surrender and remember what my purpose is-—that being to choose love over fear.

It began as I packed my two children (then six and three) into my car to head up to the family cottage for the weekend. My husband would be meeting us there the following day. When we left the weather was fairly mild...