Esquire Theme by Matthew Buchanan
Social icons by Tim van Damme

25

Feb

healthy.

I have been in a number of relationships. Most of them toxic, suffocating, and detrimental to my mental health, to my bank account, and to my overall well-being. Usually not all of those things at once, but at some point, whether they started off happy, or ended in plea, since the age of 16 I have engaged in these consistent webs of lovers that make me feel like shit. 

I have a number of girlfriends and male friends that admire my strength to break free from these binding relationships and start fresh. Sometimes I do that in different continents, completely alone, and sometimes I do that while writing ridiculous amounts of poetry.

I also have a number of friends that scold me for inevitably engaging in another impossibly romantic endevour with another man who seems perfect but once again, leaves me gutted. This is my achiiles heal-love and my inability to run away from it. I am a romantic. I am a lover. I am a poet. And I feel the strongest when when I have broken free from love, or when I am coddling it endlessly. My adult life has been a vicious cycle of loving, and hurting and that spell has been on repeat for the better part of seven years. Seven very long and arduous years. 

Finally, I feel that I have dipped my calloused feet into a healthy, loving, and beautiful relationship. I have thought this before mind you, but in the past, I was used, I was condescended, and I was suffocated. I was not Brittany Tiplady, writer, dancer, and dreamer. I was Brittany Tiplady who cares nauseatingly for her boyfriend, and all of his whims and fuck my own because being a girlfriend means being an obedient house pet. Right? 

And so, after ending a long distance pseudo marriage with a man I truly believed would be my husband someday, I had a lot of reflecting to do. And by reflecting I mean I needed to re-learn what it means to be a woman, what it means to be me, and what it means to be a partner in a healthy relationship that suits both my lifestyle and that of my partner. It was a long road that beat the shit out of my self-esteem, and after talking emphatically to all the right women and all the right men, and being encouraged by all the right friends, I rebuilt myself into the woman I want to be. The Brittany Tiplady that is a strong and confident 23 year old human being finishing her degree, hustling three jobs, struggling with a shopping addiction, planning a year long trip to Europe, writing impossible amounts of poetry, and loving a new partner that has fuelled all of those things, and more. Instead of taking them away from me. 

I did not know that being with a man, in a healthy way, was supposed to encourage all the things I dreamt of and then encouraged me to dream a little more. I did not know that my wants and dreams and wishes, were not supposed to be suppressed or entirely sacrificed. They were supposed to be encouraged. They were supposed to be the reason why someone loved me. I didn’t realize that I shouldn’t be loved because I gave up everything I wanted for that person. But that I should be loved, because having my own goals and ambitions, and keeping them, is all the more sexy, and all the more beneficial to my partner and to the beauty that is honing a personal life and personal goals and getting to stay up all night sharing them with your lover.

I still struggle everyday with keeping my identity and staying strong in myself, and most importantly with my self image, but I feel exceptionally lucky to have someone sleeping next to me, that helps me do that. Early in the year, I had beers with a very important male friend in my life who lives in New York and was visiting for the holidays. It was his first time seeing me post-pseudo marriage break-up and I was feeling mightier than ever. He told me, that without realizing it, I had really lost myself in that relationship. And I finally had my traveling, loving, writing, self back. I think it was that conversation that kept me on the hike back to my self discovery, self empowerment, and self worth.

And I feel really good to finally be getting there.

-b

30

Dec

Thing the about you is that you write me passages

from deep in the dungeons of your belly, that I can

never draw from your lips.

The truth about me is that this is not my first time at the rodeo.

I am the woman of all things about love.

 I am the woman of the world.

The woman of independence, and separate bills, and journals full of wanderlust and questions about sex and strength and if those are the things that weaken me.

But the truth is, there is nothing about you that isn’t poetry, and I could spend all day writing you into something beautiful,

but the truth is you already are.

-b

10

Feb

I touched your voice,

beneath the cage of a speaker.

And that became

all I knew.

-b

25

Nov

withering heights.

It’s funny how

A skeleton that was once so

so strong.

With chastity

and colour,

could wither into

a rack of 

desolate,

pervasive,

heartbreak.

And all I can

do is

watch. 

-b

07

Aug

sacred.

I carry with me all of our yesterday.

And I spill out all of the tomorrow that’s

clawing from the anticipation in my collar bones.

Leaping from the sweat tucked in the backs of my knees.

Sitting fragrantly where I keep our love.

Your love that sits with the delicate

weight around my finger.

Your love that found a home in the

ridges and roads of my skeleton.

In the calcium of white on my nailbed.

Your love that filters through my type O negative

stream of vitality.

Rare and sacred.

-b

04

Aug

I would do anything to be 
in this photo again.
A magnet to your side. 
I would do anything to have your voice
be not in a speaker.
I would do anything, to drown
in this distance, and be
falling once again with you. 
I would do anything to have your flesh
become my flesh, and your eyes mold into my eyes,
and your palms sink into my palms. 
And your plans, become my plans. 
My future, becoming your future. 
I’m drowning in this distance. 
Come drink up this distance. 
I am aching in this distance. 
-b

I would do anything to be 

in this photo again.

A magnet to your side. 

I would do anything to have your voice

be not in a speaker.

I would do anything, to drown

in this distance, and be

falling once again with you. 

I would do anything to have your flesh

become my flesh, and your eyes mold into my eyes,

and your palms sink into my palms. 

And your plans, become my plans. 

My future, becoming your future. 

I’m drowning in this distance. 

Come drink up this distance. 

I am aching in this distance. 

-b

02

Aug

scraps of long distance

In missing him, I felt the continuation of hollowing. I lived in memory. Flipping to each page of our three month tale to find a jump start in inspiration. At times I was surrounded by people and chatter, and I would hit my auto-pilot button, while zooming off into the piece of the past I had collected. 

I wanted crawl back into the tapestry of his cotton skin. When I found myself buzzing in the face of anxiety, I flew to the sound of his voice that lived in the center of calm. When the prickle of loneliness crept up and nestled behind my neck, I dove back into the crook of his arms. When I wanted to run to him I did; letting my lids fall, and our chapters race over me as they came. 

-b

26

Mar

Your lips burn

holes to release

the water in my lungs. 

I am hugged

by the waves of my own purged

silence. 

-b

21

Mar

"Happiness is the consequence of personal effort. You fight for it, insist upon it, and sometimes even travel the world looking for it. You have to participate relentlessly in the manifestations of your own blessings. And once you have achieved a state of happiness, you must never become lax about maintaining it, you must take mighty effort to keep swimming upward into that happiness forever, to stay afloat on top of it." - Eat Pray Love.

Eat Pray Love

Elizabeth Gilbert

03

Sep

Pretty girls are smart too.

Multiple strings of events have led me to write a post that may get me in a bit of trouble..or more so lead to a debate or two, but I think it’s time I said it. In the simplest plain english this is how I feel: in any industry that requires intelligence and a magnitude of professionalism, young attractive and usually vocal women, are not taken seriously. And to be perfectly honest I am very sick of it. I have not so much felt this in a room full of women, but more so a room full of men- where my credentials whether they are big or small are belittled and brushed off as the next blabbering female. No, I don’t consider myself a feminist, and I am hardly trying to accuse every male of being a misogynist but it is simply the lack of respect I have received lately, largely from a male demographic, that has set me off into a rant. Being a 20 year -old, female aspiring writer, 3rd year journalism student, with a lot to say and a loud way of saying it, I have had to keep my opinions under a respectable lock and key for the sake of my professionalism. But whether it is in a community newsroom, or a small Vancouver freelance conference in the back room of a bar, how is any young student, writer, female, whatever, supposed to be taken seriously if there is no credibility given to us? Aren’t students, and more specifically youth supposed to be the “future?” We are the ones bringing our new vital education to the table, and I am still confused as to why I am made to feel inferior; I should be inspired by those with experience in the business-not patronized. 

So I am shamelessly going to say as a young 20 year-old aspiring writer, and a vocal female, I hope when I kick ass in my career, it’s the ones who snickered at me in the newsroom that have to read my piece in the paper every morning.

-b