Written By Brennan and Julie
Three members of our team traveled to Canada to support the Keewatin Tribal Council and Grand Chief Walter with a trauma intensive program. Keep reading to learn more about our experience.
— A Journey of Anxiety, Atomic Furniture, and the Relentless Pursuit of Hope
When we first heard there might be a trip to Canada — me, Julie, and Sabyn — to support the Keewatin Tribal Council and Grand Chief Walter in running a trauma intensive, my initial thought was: “Perfect! That sounds beautiful and far away — like six months away. We’ll have time. There’ll be prep. There’ll be binders. Maybe even a PowerPoint.”
Well.
Life, as it so often does, whispered back, “Surprise, Brennan and Julie — you leave in six weeks.”
Cue: collective existential dread.
Julie and I entered into a dance of mild-to-severe panic, frantic curriculum planning, and what I can only describe as spiritual freefall. But hey, we’re trauma therapists — we’ve got tools for this. Surrender. Grace. Trust. Crying in staff offices. All the good stuff.
—Stuffing 50 Years Into 5 Days
Trying to translate nearly 50 years of The Bridge’s curriculum — trauma healing, shame work, grief, self-compassion, boundaries, inner child, all of it — into a five-day intensive? In a foreign country? In a remote town of 1,400 people? At a former atomic research facility? While also avoiding Canadian customs detaining me over a poorly timed wood chipper joke?
Honestly, baffling. Comical. Entirely overwhelming.
But also — exactly what we’re here for.
What we understood was this:
We were being called to help. To show up in the name of hope. To bring healing where it was needed, not where it was convenient.
—The Long Journey North (With Poutine and Wiener Schnitzel)
Our route was less “direct flight to healing” and more “multi-leg, trust-fall-in-motion.”
Bowling Green → Nashville → Chicago → Winnipeg.
At customs, they politely interrogated me like only Canadians can. “You’re here for… trauma work? And what’s this about a… wood chipper?”After they graciously let me in (Canada, thank you), we drove east through a landscape so flat it looked like the Earth forgot to try. We detoured to The Forks Market for my personal pilgrimage: poutine. Fries, cheese curds, and brown gravy — my spiritual currency.
Eventually, we landed in Pinawa, Manitoba — population: not many. But it’s home to the charmingly named “Wedge” (aka the Wilderness Edge Retreat Resort), a converted Cold War-era atomic research facility turned trauma healing sanctuary with furniture straight out of a Wes Anderson film. We were greeted by staff members Kevin, Matesh, and a man we dubbed “Canadian Jason Momoa,” whose beard alone could have offered emotional support.
Oh, and there were wildfires. Real ones. Refugees from Northern First Nation communities were being sheltered in our retreat space — mothers, children, elders. It was real. Raw. And deeply humbling.
—When the Healers Need Healing
Without our creature comforts (or normal Wi-Fi), we had to use our own toolbox. Grounding, acceptance, breathing, swearing gently into our pillows. And then the participants arrived — grateful, open, cautiously curious about “the trauma therapists from Kentucky.”
But from the first moment, we recognized something painfully familiar.
These were stories we knew — shame, neglect, grief, generational trauma, addiction, heartbreak, survival. The cultural details were different. But the wounds? They echoed our own clients. Our own families. Our own selves.
Desperation doesn’t care about borders.
And through that shared language of suffering and healing, trust began to bloom. In only five days, we bore witness to stories that had never been spoken aloud. We held space for people who had every reason not to trust us — and they let us in anyway.—
–“Will You Come to God’s Lake?”
On the final day, after lifetimes had been processed in mere days, the question was asked through exhaustion:
“Will you come to God’s Lake?”
Julie and I looked at each other. We looked at the map. What’s north of Pinawa, Manitoba?
God’s Lake. What’s north of God’s Lake? The North Pole.
Our answer?
“Let frickin’ go.”
Because that’s what this work is. It’s not neat or comfortable. It’s not six months out with clean PowerPoints. It’s messy. Immediate. Sacred. And it’s happening whether you’re ready or not.
—Gratitude & Going Forward
We could never have pulled this off without Cassie and Shane, and the entire Bridge team who supported us with spreadsheets, emotional support, and probably caffeine infusions. The collective heartbeat of that place — hope, strength, courage — came with us, and helped us remember why we do this work.
So here’s to future trips, uncomfortable chairs from the 70s, spiritual awakenings over poutine, and saying yes even when your insides are screaming “nope.”
We went to Canada.
And we came back changed.
—PS:
If you’re reading this from God’s Lake…
We’re packed and ready.”