Forever Sisters
This photo was taken in 2021, but the story behind it began many years earlier.
For a long time, my sister and I were estranged because she was in a relationship with a woman. I held beliefs that convinced me I was right to keep my distance.
Through the lens I had been taught to see the world, I viewed her relationship as something to be opposed rather than understood.
Looking back now, I can see how fear, judgment, and certainty can quietly build walls between people. I can also see how religion, when used without compassion, can become a tool that wounds rather than heals. I know this because I was one of the people who caused that hurt.
Then, over time, something began to change.
It wasn't one conversation or one event. It was years of questions, experiences, and uncomfortable realizations that slowly chipped away at what I thought I knew.
Eventually, I reached a point where I could no longer ignore what was right in front of me: I missed my sister, and I had allowed beliefs to create a distance that never should have existed.
So I went to find her.
Or at least, that's what I thought I was doing.
The truth is, I was also finding myself.
My husband and I travelled to Prince George to visit Savannah and her wife. She didn't know why I had come. We had spent months reconnecting, but there was something I needed to say face to face.
As we walked through the snow-covered forest trying to find the perfect spot for long overdue sister photos, I watched her ahead of me in a bright yellow coat.
And suddenly, all the years between us came rushing to the surface.
I stopped walking.
"Van, I didn't invite you to my wedding."
My voice broke.
"I didn't invite you to my grad."
The weight of those choices hit me all at once. The grief. The regret. The understanding of what had been lost.
She looked at me, stunned.
"Steph, it's okay," she said.
But it wasn't okay.
Not because she hadn't forgiven me, but because I was finally seeing the pain my actions had caused.
As I stood there crying in the snow, she walked toward me and reached for me.
And in that moment, one thought cut through everything else:
There she is.
Exactly where she's always been.
Waiting with more grace than I felt I deserved.
Today, during Pride Month, I think about that moment often.
I don't speak for anyone else's journey. I can only speak for my own.
What I know now is this: rejection leaves wounds that run deep. I know because I helped create many of those wounds. It's a truth I carry with me, and one that continues to shape the person I am becoming.
But I also know this:
People can change.
Hearts can soften.
Relationships can heal.
Love can rebuild what pride, fear, and judgment once tore apart.
The greatest gift my sister ever gave me was not her forgiveness.
It was the opportunity to come home to a relationship that I almost lost.
If there's one thing I hope people take away from my story, it's this:
Choose love while you still have the chance.
The people we love are worth more than the walls we build between us.
And sometimes the most beautiful acts of healing begin with the courage to say, "I was wrong."
This was incredibly hard for me to write. No one wants to be the villain in someone's story. But if my experience can help one person feel seen, heard, loved, or even convicted, then it has been worth every word.
Happy Pride, everyone.
