Oh, boy. New year, new reflections.
2025 was a year that cracked me open and poured me into a new life — messy, beautiful, raw. And somewhere in that chaos… radio saved me.
June 2025: My long-term, common-law relationship ended.
August 2025: After three intense months of trying to get him out, my ex finally left. I was exhausted, heart-tired, and holding it all together by a thread.
That’s when I started calling the radio.
It began with little things — texting in answers to trivia, laughing with Darren during the morning brain buster, or hearing my name mentioned on air. Then it became a ritual. A tether. A strange and beautiful way to remind myself:
“Hey. You’re still here. You still exist.”
Some people go to therapy. Some people turn to meditation. Me? I called into the radio.
August to October: I became a regular on Mountain FM. Darren’s show felt like somewhere I was always welcome.
Afternoons: Tyler would read my texts on-air — it was fun, silly, harmless.
Mornings: If I was up by 7:40 a.m., I’d try to call in for the brain buster.
But it wasn’t just pop radio keeping me sane.
From 9 a.m. to 3 p.m., seven days a week, CBC Radio’s classical music programming became my background score.
String quartets while I cleaned. Vivaldi while I packed boxes. Bach while I sat in silence on the couch wondering what the hell I was doing with my life.
I always joke:
“Listening to classical music makes me feel both psycho and genius.”
But somehow, it centered me. It made me feel like I was in a movie montage of my own healing arc. Like something beautiful was being rebuilt… even if I couldn’t see it yet.
In the fall:
I took on temp dental work to stay afloat.
Closed my business.
Moved to a whole new town: Powell River.
It was scary, but also... a reset.
Radio followed me there, too. Darren in the mornings. CBC R&B late at night. (Shout out to Angeline Tetteh-Wayoe — your voice, your vibe, your music. 💜)
Even now in 2026, I still call in sometimes. Not as often. But enough to feel that old thread still humming.
Because I almost forgot.
I almost forgot that I’m a writer. That writing was my first home. That when I feel lost, all I have to do is start.
And so I’m writing this — as a love letter to radio, but also to myself. To the woman who kept showing up, one call, one text, one breath at a time.
To anyone out there who's feeling untethered — maybe try tuning in. To real voices. Real laughter. Real people.
Turns out, the video star didn’t kill the radio host. Not in my world.