Another Paragraph …or Two

Most of the shadows of this life are caused by our standing in our own sunshine.

Ralph Waldo Emerson

Above you will find the Hay House Radio Interview I did for Finding Heart Horse

I thought I would post another sneak peek for those that haven’t read it. Remember, the proceeds go to Covenant House, Vancouver, B.C.

There is always hope.

This is from the prolog About A Horse. You can find the first part in my previous post Finding Heart Horse…one year later.


When my parents took me to visit my aunt and uncle who lived on a farm, I quickly and quietly made my way into the world of the barn where the horse’s lived. I would nestle into the golden straw, inhaling the fragrant honey dust, as hours magically disappeared. Listening to an orchestra of barnyard sounds while enveloped in the dusty air brought me a perfect peace.

It was into that perfect peace that my Heart Horse first made his appearance.

Just as if he were a real horse, my Heart Horse danced and pranced and snorted with joy. Sometimes when he was afraid, I could feel him inside my own heart, racing around frantically, as if to warn me of pending danger. Other times he stood quietly in the grass, munching on crispy red apples and appearing deep in thought, as if to just let me know he was near. And sometimes he galloped wildly free of restraint, tickling me with his unrestrained joy. But those happy and free rides were rare. Mostly he stood guard.

Old Uncle Willy understood my love of horses. He understood my connection to them and my ache to be closer to such a strangely forbidden desire. Uncle Willy always seemed to know where to look for me whenever we went to the farm. And he always seemed to know to look for me, when others hadn’t thought to.

One morning when I was huddled under a mountain of straw in the corner of Ginger’s stall; Uncle Willy came looking for me. He found me hiding there, buried under a pile of golden grass and crying, as Ginger stood over me with her warm breath tickling my neck as if to say, everything will be okay.

I was hiding in there because my cousin had told me, yet again, that I wasn’t real family. It seemed that each time she said that, it hurt a little bit more. Sometimes she even said it front of my mother, but instead of telling her to stop telling such awful lies, my mother would just agree. That really stung. And it made me sad.

I wasn’t sure what they meant by not being “real” family, I was just as real as they were, but I was sad that they even thought such a thing. After all, I had the pictures. My parents holding me when I was a newborn, teaching me piano when I was a toddler, posing me in front of furniture or houses or relatives to take my picture when I was a child. What could they possibly mean that I wasn’t real family? I didn’t understand at all, but I knew that there was something about me that was different. I just had no idea what it was.

Uncle Willy seemed to understand why I was crying, but he didn’t ask me about it. Instead, he told me a story about the Rocky Mountains and the wild horses that lived there. With his soft and comforting words, my uncle told me all about how magnificent it was to see a thundering herd suddenly appear in a lush green valley in the mountains. What Uncle Willy told me that day in the barn gave me the strength and desire to survive the cruel and hurtful comments of my cousin.

“Claire, you wouldn’t believe how amazing these horses are!” he told me. “They sound just like a train going by at a hundred miles an hour when they come galloping out of the mountains. Their manes blow behind them in flashes of black, silver and gold, like flying flags!” I listened to Uncle Willy’s fantastic story, enthralled.

“Tell me more, Uncle Willy! Tell me more!” I pleaded.

“Oh, it’s amazing, Claire, just amazing. You can even hear the different types of snorts and whinnies—they sound just like they’re talking! Then all of a sudden in a gust of wind and dust they’ll be gone. But . . .” and he looked left and right, like he was about to tell me a secret, then lowered his voice to a near whisper, “When they’re gone, you’re left with a feeling of magic. You know what it’s like to be free and wild but still be a part of a family. A really big family!” The images Uncle Willy conjured completely enchanted me, and I’d practically forgotten my cousins’ spiteful words.

“I tell ya girl,” he added, “Someday you have to go there. It’ll change you forever.” I watched as he got a faraway look in his eyes and sighed as if he were there that very moment. I snuggled into the straw and closed my eyes, wishing I were there, too.

“Someday,” he promised me, “when you’re older, you can go there. You’ll see for yourself how beautiful those horses are. And here’s the best part!” He smiled, and then said, “If you can catch a wild horse, it’s yours! It will belong to you and only you for the rest of its life. That’s the rule.” Uncle Willy tousled my hair and pulled me upright with a grin. “Come on, now. Let’s go inside and get some ice cream!”

I couldn’t believe my ears. If what Uncle Willy said was true, and it had to be or he wouldn’t have said it, I could actually have my own horse some day! I brushed all the straw off of my clothes and went back to the house with Uncle Willy for two big bowls of chocolate ice cream. But I couldn’t pay attention to anything else he said. All I could think about were those wild horses.

As excited as I was about pursuing wild horses, in the weeks and months that followed I knew better than to talk to anyone about my dreams. I had learned how quickly people will snuff out your dreams if you say them out loud. So I buried those words inside my Heart Horse, assuring him he would have company some day. He whinnied softly inside my heart, swaying back and forth as if to say, we will wait, we will wait, we will wait.

FINDING HEART HORSE Memoir of Survival… year later

You must declare who you are in public. Public declaration is the highest form of visioning.

Neile Donald Walsh

(That’s the quote from chapter 15.

My Soul Is Not for Sale)

Yesterday Facebook sent me a “memory”.  It was pictures from the book signing at the Hay House I Can Do It Conference in Vancouver last year..exactly a year.

Arriving home from that conference I was ill. Very, very ill with my mast cells taking over pretty much every system in my body. It was also the year of Summer in the hospital. In honour of FINDING HEART HORSE, Memoir of Survival I will post a few lines of how it all began…..

About a Horse


            I always wanted a horse. I’ve wanted a wild horse, a Palomino horse, an Appaloosa horse, a racehorse, a pony horse and even a miniature horse. I would have settled for a rocking horse, a stuffed horse or even just a picture of a horse when I was a child, but even those small pleasures were prohibited. And so it was that when I was eight years old, I gave myself my own horse, my imaginary Heart Horse.

I’ve had this strong attraction to horses for as long as I can remember. Like a magnet, they have always pulled me in and held me close. They appear in my dreams and on blank pages in my sketchbook. They calm me when I’m disturbed and excite me when I’m bored. My nose longs to inhale their warmth and my fingers crave the feel of their soft wet nuzzle. My eyes are drawn into their own dark, all-knowing eyes and I immediately feel an inexplicable connection. This must be what it feels like to be loved, I think, whenever a horse looks into my eyes.

I never want to leave their safety even if they are not real. But when they are real and standing there before me, it is all the more astounding. How can such a powerful animal be so gentle, and such a gentle beast so beautiful, I wonder.

There is a magical essence I feel when I am with a horse. It’s as if they know me and love me just the same. They see right into a person’s soul and know immediately who they are and what they need.

A horse was the only thing I ever put on my Christmas list when I was a child. It was a huge request I realized, when even the smallest desire was always denied. Gifts were considered indulgences that would only spoil a child, and toys were just distractions from my chores. When I would receive a gift from someone, it almost always disappeared, relegated to a hidden box to remain out of sight, or given to another child who was considered more deserving.

But I never gave up my quest to find a horse of my own.

more to follow …..

An Interview with Adoptee Author Claire Hitchon #flipthescript

So honoured to have been interviewed by Author Lara Trace Hentz. Namaste

Lara Trace Hentz

Have you ever wanted something so badly it was all you could think of? All you could talk about, write about, dream about. Claire did.  She wanted a horse.  Finding Heart Horse is her journey and her search for her Heart Horse. It takes her from being “the girl most likely to succeed” to a life on the streets of Yorkville in the late sixties.  As an adopted child she had no identity, no history, and no place where she “fit.” Her years on the streets lead her into many dark places, where she began to add more secrets and traumas to her already large collection in the wall of secrets.  Life changed quickly in those days, from peace and love to war and violence. She went along for the ride not knowing where it would lead, just knowing that she had to find Heart Horse.  If you know anyone…

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Who Stole My Life?

Imagination is the first step toward action. You have to be able to hope before you move forward. Otherwise, you are always acting out of fear.

— Gloria Steinem


I’ve been missing.  Maybe you noticed. Maybe you didn’t. I did.  I really noticed. I missed my writing, my friends, my life. I’ve been in and out of the hospital. Yes, the Mast Cells have been dictating my life…again, still.


Not long ago I was in India walking the streets of Dharamsala. I remember the energy of chanting with the Monks at Sherab Ling Monastery questioning if perhaps I was finally home, and if I should stay.You could touch the energy it was so powerful. It felt so right. I remember the smells, the people, the traffic and chaos. I remember this last part of my life.


Way before that…I had a life. I remember running miles on concrete floors as an RN, handling life and death, split second decisions while multi tasking a hundred other things at the same time. I loved it.

Even before that…I had a life. I remember jumping out of bed in anticipation of what my day would bring. What wondrous and fun things my little girl and I would do that day.  I remember laughing and dancing in the kitchen while baking cookies with her. I remember her giggles when i acted silly.

Even before that…I had a life. I remember riding my bike from East Toronto to West Toronto and not being tired. I remember skinny dipping at “The Farm” in Northern Ontario at midnight, candles floating on logs and jugs of peach schnapps, fish nibbling at my toes.  I remember laughing until I cried, jamming in the farmhouse, playing Teddy Bear’s Picnic to the bears on the piano way out in the wilderness all alone and joyous in just being. I had a life back then. A big life.


Who Stole My Life? Where did it go and when exactly.

I had a life, a good life.

Erich Fromm says:

A mothers love is bliss, is peace, it need not be acquired, it need not be deserved. If it is there, it is like a blessing, if it is not there, 

 it is as if all thebeauty had gone out of life. 

For adoptees that is just reality.

Not long ago I found my birth mother and siblings. After a lifetime of searching I found my family. I was so excited to begin a new life in a family, in my family. Sadly, my birth mother passed away before we had a chance to be mother and daughter. My siblings have history that will always be their’s. I understand that.  I thought we could build a history and make memories. Apparently not.


Every time I go to the hospital I lose a bit of myself. Health changes quickly, time is precious and treasured. As I write this, I realize I did have a very big life. If you’ve read my two memoirs:

Finding Heart Horse, Memoir of Survival

The Wall of Secrets, Memoir of The Almost Daughter

 you will see how much life I packed in to a relatively short time. Perhaps that’s why I feel lost. I’ve had to drastically change the way my life works.

I’m creating a new vision for my life.

It wasn’t stolen after all, it’s just changed.

I’ve come full circle.  My plan on retirement was to work with Street Kids and now with the books and working with Covenant House Vancouver, I’m doing just that, only in a different way.

My day was spent on the couch feeling quite ill and in pain but imagining scenarios for many things. Imagination nourishes us spiritually while creating dreams that feed our soul. Forget the fears and the voices from the past and live from your heart, even if it has to be from the couch. I used to live from ego and now I live from my soul. The pain of the past years has given me this gift.

With gratitude Im taking my life back.



No-one Will Ever Define Me!

Von speaks the truth. People need to hear the truth….Anyone listening?

The Life Of Von

An adoptee writes at the conclusion of her article on the birth of her sister’s baby – “One thing’s for certain: No one else’s reaction to “It’s a girl!” will ever define me again. That’s my job — to show the world who I am and what I can accomplish.” Inspiring words!

To which a mother-of- loss tweets – Only 15 but has a strong voice. Listen!

My query is –  What does ‘only 15’ mean? Isn’t that demeaning of a young person? The MOL somehow seemed to think it a compliment, as ‘so many take longer to come out of the fog’! Words are so powerful and need to be used so carefully. It would appear that the whole message of the article was lost, even though the intentions were surely good ones.We each take our own time, let’s not…

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Lost Daughters Reviews of Finding Heart Horse & The Wall of Secrets

Years ago, when I began my last search in 2003, I didn’t have a computer, books, support, not even a person to talk to about what I was about to do.  In no time at all, a family was found living on the other side of Canada.

A birth mother with three siblings.  I can’t explain the shock, the wonder, the fear that appeared in an instant just saying those words.

After initial reunion…

After getting a computer and embracing the cyber world, I found that adoptees were out there and in fact connecting with each other to support, to assist, to understand.  I was struggling with so many things …alone and not understanding.  I came across a website called LOST DAUGHTERS.  It was me.  I was a lost daughter.

Lost Daughters had a profound effect on me.  I felt for the first time in my life, a sense of belonging.  A place that understood.  A place where other lost daughters came together in compassion and solidarity.  I was home.

I feel honoured that they have been a part of my journey and now have reviewed both FINDING HEART HORSE & THE WALL OF SECRETS


On the nightmare of adoption reunion.

As it will always be…

Daniel Drennan ElAwar

An adoptive parent in the United Kingdom recently described the potential reunion of the children temporarily in his care with their parents as his “worst nightmare”.

This was like a kick in the gut.

Because I feel that my own reunion is quite imminent.

And I can imagine someone in his position of power withholding valuable information in an effort to prevent such an eventuality.

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Hay House Radio Interview for Finding Heart Horse

                                          THE WALL OF SECRETS




I’m working on the final edit of the cover and text.

Within a few days I will reveal the cover and it’s a good one!

To understand The Wall of Secrets which is the sequel to Finding Heart Horse you must start from the beginning…

The Almost Daughter & More

I’m sorry, it was pointed out the link wasn’t working.

 I think I’ve rectified that.  Have a listen…




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#Flipthescript has made an impact this year during National Adoption Month. Thanks to the adoptee bloggers and their words, advocates, and all that speak their truth…change will happen.

The Life Of Von

It has been very interesting and informative to observe the reactions and backlash to #flipthescript, adoptees having their say about adoption, telling their stories during the month of November which seems to have been dominated by those who wish to advertise adoption and who believe in ‘the beauty of adoption’.
The “single story adoption narrative”, as Laura Dennis describes it, is not a truthful look at adoption, nor does it serve adoptees or adopters well, because it is sometimes pie in the sky, but is one-sided and therefore a limited view of adoption. Those views are of course valid and need to be heard, but as in all things, a complete picture cannot be gained if we only hear from one group of people. A relatively small group of people when you consider it, as there are many more adoptees in the world than there are adopters! Tracy De Whitt…

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