What does it mean to show up for yourself, for the children you care for, for the stranger whose name you’ve never taken the trouble to learn? Three amazing women, from three different corners of education, healing, and human connection, are bringing that question to the TEDxWinnipeg stage this May, all pointing to the same essential truth: how we see people matters, and seeing them more fully can change everything.
One will call us to introspection. One will make us listen differently. We will be asked to return to what was always already known. Together, their conversations hold the promise of weaving something precious—a portrait of what whole-person care can look like in classrooms, in communities, and in the quiet, courageous work of knowing ourselves. This is the kind of conversation you keep thinking about long after you leave the room. While we wait for it, we have the opportunity to catch up with Suzi Friesen, Marika Schalla, and Xiaoxiao Du for a very important Q&A with Her Network.
Suzi Friesen
Suzi is an educator, certified therapist, and Director of Educational Programs at the True North Youth Foundation. With over 25 years of experience working alongside young people, families, and schools, she brings a practical and deeply human approach to mental wellness. Her talk explores how reflection helps us understand ourselves, regulate emotions, and show up more intentionally in our relationships and daily lives.
You’ve spent 25 years working with young people and families. What does “reflection” actually look like in daily life? Is it a practice or more of a mindset?
Reflection is both a practice and a mindset. At its simplest, reflection is a pause-a moment of curiosity-a step back just far enough to notice.
It can look like asking:
-Why did that comment stay with me all day?
-What fills me up? What drains me?
-What is my body trying to tell me?
Reflection doesn’t need to be complicated. It might be journaling, a quiet walk, a meaningful conversation, or simply noticing your thoughts while washing dishes. What matters is building the habit of paying attention.
In my work with young people, athletes, families, and first responders, I’ve seen that reflection helps people move from reacting to choosing. It creates space between what happens to us and what we do next. That space is where our wisdom lives. And in a busy world, reflection helps us hear ourselves again.
A lot of our readers are balancing careers, relationships, and caregiving all at once. Where does someone even start when their life feels too full to pause?
Start small-smaller than you think. You do not need a weekend retreat, a perfect morning routine, or an hour of meditation. Start with five honest minutes. At the end of the day, make a note for yourself:
-What energized me today?
– What depleted me?
-How am I feeling at almost a granular level? Am I ignoring or pushing through any feelings that are surfacing?
-What do I need more or less of?
That’s reflection. Many people are living in survival mode, doing, scrolling, producing, caretaking, without asking themselves how they are actually doing. We have normalized overconsumption and overstimulation, but our minds and nervous systems need breathing room. Pausing is not falling behind. Pausing is how we come back to ourselves. And often, when one person becomes more grounded, the entire household feels it. That’s the ripple effect.
You talk about showing up more intentionally in relationships. Can reflection actually change how we respond to people—or does it just make us more aware of what we’re already doing wrong?
Reflection is not about self-criticism—it’s about self-understanding. There’s a big difference. When we reflect, we begin noticing patterns:
-how we communicate
-if we shut down or withdraw
-when stress spills onto people we love
-when old wounds are quietly shaping present reactions/responses
-whether a relationship is truly reciprocal, or whether we’re mistaking history for alignment in this chapter of your life
Awareness can feel uncomfortable at first, but awareness is where change begins. You can’t shift what you can’t see. Reflection helps us become less reactive and more responsive. Instead of someone asking themselves, “Why am I like this?” We begin asking:
“What happened to me that shaped this pattern, and what would a healthier response look like now?”
That question creates compassion. And compassion creates change. Healthier relationships often begin with greater self-awareness.
What’s something you’ve learned from young people about emotional regulation that adults tend to overlook?
Young people remind me that emotions move faster when they’re allowed to be named. Adults often suppress feelings, intellectualize them, or push through them. Kids are often more honest.
They’ll say:
“I’m nervous.”
“That hurt my feelings.”
“I feel left out.”
“I’m overwhelmed.”
That honesty is healthy. What I’ve learned is this: Feelings are meant to flow, not be stored. When we keep damming up grief, fear, anger, or sadness, our inner world becomes heavy and stagnant. But when emotions are named, supported, and understood, they begin to move. What moves can heal.
Adults often think strength means holding it together. I think strength is learning how to be honest enough to process what we carry.
What’s the biggest misconception people have about therapy that gets in the way of them trying it?
One misconception is that therapy is only for crisis. I see therapy as more like proactive care for your inner life. We care for our teeth, trying to prevent cavities. We maintain our homes. We exercise our bodies to keep them strong and healthy. Why wait until we are deeply overwhelmed to care for our minds and nervous systems?
Another misconception is that therapy is about being “fixed.” I don’t believe people are broken. Often, people are carrying stories, patterns, grief, trauma, or survival strategies that once protected them but no longer serve them.
Therapy helps people understand themselves with greater clarity and compassion. It helps people reconnect with who they are underneath what life has layered onto them. And that work changes not only individuals but families, classrooms, workplaces, and communities.
Because reflection is not just personal work. It is generational work. And if we’re lucky, it becomes a way of freeing two birds with one key…creating awareness and healing within ourselves while quietly inspiring others to grow and see what’s possible.
Marika Schalla
Marika is an award-winning Indigenous educator, author, and community leader connected to the Red River Métis community. Rooted in land-based education and trauma-responsive pedagogy, her talk offers a powerful conversation on healing, behaviour, and how we show up for children and communities with greater care.
What is the meaning of White Cloud Woman?
My spirit name is Waabishkaanakwadikwe (Waa-bish-kaa-nah-kw-ahd-ih-kway), which means White Cloud Woman. It was given to me during a pipe ceremony by an elder after I offered him tobacco. In my culture, and as with many Indigenous cultures, tobacco is a sacred medicine and a way of entering a relational contract. When someone accepts a tobacco offering, it functions as an agreement between the two people, and the elder or knowledge keeper accepts to support you as best as they can. When I offered my tobacco, I asked for my spirit name. My ancestors provided my spirit name to the elder through the pipe ceremony.
When the pipe is smoked during the ceremony, the smoke from the tobacco carries the prayers and thoughts to the Spirit World. In the teachings I’ve received, spirit names carry responsibility, identity, and relationship. For me, it is my life journey to fully understand what “White Cloud” completely means. So far, I’ve learned it represents gentleness, peace, beauty, love, and humility. It reminds me to stay on the red road and to live a good life in the way I carry myself, care for others, and move through the world. The name teaches me to remember who I am, a white cloud, and to be that presence for the people who come into my life. Someone who is gentle, peaceful, loving, and safe.
I carry those teachings into every part of my life. Whether that is in my classrooms, my relationships, my community, or in my home. I premise my learning spaces on gentleness, love, belonging, and emotional safety because I believe people grow best when they feel truly cared for and seen. I have also learned the teaching that white clouds symbolize the bridge between our physical world and the celestial world. White clouds remind me of our connection to the spiritual world, to the ancestors, and to something greater than ourselves. They carry a sense of guidance, reflection, and closeness to our spirit. I also notice more changes in our sky. Clouds bring shade, rain, renewal, and change. They remind me that healing is not always loud, immediate, or linear. Sometimes healing moves quietly, slowly, and with great care, just like the clouds. Receiving my spirit name deepened my understanding that my purpose here is to be there for other people. It reminds me that even small acts of gentleness, love, and care can have a profound impact on someone’s journey.
What does it mean to “read” the land — and is that a skill anyone can develop, or does it require a specific cultural relationship with place?
To “read” the Land means paying attention to the teachings that are already all around us. Through seasons, plants, animals, water, silence, movement, and relationships. The Land is constantly communicating, but many of us have been taught to move through the world without listening. For many Indigenous peoples and communities, our relationship to the Land is deeply cultural, ancestral, and spiritual. It comes from generations of knowledge carried through story, language, ceremony, and lived experience. That part cannot simply be replicated or extracted. I do believe however, that anyone can begin learning to listen more carefully and respectfully. Reading the Land’s teachings starts with humility. That means for us to slow down enough to notice what is going on around us, to build a reciprocal relationship with the place, and to understand that the Land is not just a resource to consume but a teacher we are accountable to.
One simple way to start reading the Land’s teachings is to return to the same place regularly and pay attention to what changes and what stays the same throughout one season, or multiple seasons. A person may sit quietly near a tree, a river, a path, or even a small patch of grass in their neighbourhood. During this time, they may notice the sounds, the wind, the movement of birds, the way the light changes, the plants that appear in different seasons, and how their own body and emotions feel in that space. Over time, you begin to realize the Land is not static. It is alive, relational, and constantly communicating. In doing this, some people may also find this helps them on their healing journeys. The Land teaches us how to slow down, regulate ourselves, and reconnect with who we are underneath stress, shame, fear, or disconnection. Watching the cycles of nature can remind us that healing is not linear, that rest is necessary, and that growth often happens quietly before we can see it. Reading the Land begins with observation, patience, and humility. Healing through the land begins with a relationship.
If you could rewrite one thing about how educators are trained to work with Indigenous children, what would it be?
I would want educators to be trained in trauma-informed education and taught to prioritize relationship-based understanding. Too often, Indigenous students are viewed through behaviour, attendance, or academic struggles without fully understanding the impacts of intergenerational trauma, systemic inequities, and disconnection from culture and community. Some Indigenous children may be carrying stories, responsibilities, grief, or experiences that schools may never fully see. I want to emphasize, however, that Indigenous peoples are not victims first.
Our children are beautiful, brilliant, strong, creative, deeply relational, and full of gifts. Even when we do not know a child’s full story yet, we can still choose to build relationships rooted in love, care, respect, and gentleness. Children learn best when they feel emotionally safe, valued, and genuinely known. I think education needs to move away from asking, “What’s wrong with this child?” and toward asking, “What has this child experienced, and how can we walk alongside them with care?” Relationships should not be an “extra” in education. It needs to be the foundation.
What do you wish non-Indigenous Canadians understood about what healing actually requires of them — not just of Indigenous communities?
Healing cannot only be the responsibility of Indigenous peoples while the systems that caused harm remain virtually unchanged. Reconciliation cannot be comfortable, symbolic, or quick. Real healing requires honesty, accountability, listening, and a willingness to stay present even when conversations become uncomfortable. It also requires action. Supporting Indigenous healing means supporting Indigenous sovereignty, languages, education, land-based learning, community leadership, and the right for Indigenous peoples to define healing for ourselves.
At the human level, it requires us to move towards a relationship. To be curious. For non-Indigenous Canadians to learn Indigenous people’s names, stories, and true histories. To understand healing and reconciliation is not a checklist. It is an ongoing practice of how we choose to relate to one another. I also think healing requires reconnection. Not only to one another, but to the Land itself. So many people today are living disconnected from community, culture, spirit, and the natural world. The Land teaches us patience, humility, reciprocity, and how to live in balance. Many Indigenous communities have always carried these teachings. I believe there are people out there who are searching for healing, and the Land and its teachings can point us all in the right direction.
For a reader who wants to support Indigenous healing but doesn’t know where to begin without overstepping — what’s the first honest step?
Begin by listening with humility. Learn about the Land you live on. The history of the original people of the Land, about the plants, the animals, and the seasons. Spend time outside without rushing. At the same time, read Indigenous authors, support Indigenous artists and educators, attend community events when invited, and remain open to learning. Indigenous healing is not something to consume or “fix”. It grows through reciprocity, respect, and relationship. Sometimes the first honest step is very simple: learning how to truly listen. To people, to yourself, and to the Land.
Xiaoxiao Du 杜肖潇
Xiaoxiao 肖潇 is an Assistant Professor in the Faculty of Education at the University of Manitoba whose work focuses on language, literacy, and culturally diverse learners. Her talk invites us to rethink whose comfort matters when names are shortened or changed and reminds us that a name carries identity, history, and dignity.
Has your name ever been changed, shortened, or mispronounced in a way that stayed with you?
Yes. My name has often been mispronounced, and over time, that made me feel marked as “foreign” as if I did not fully belong. Those moments brought back difficult feelings of being seen as an outsider rather than simply as a Canadian with Asian heritage. I choose not to change my name; instead, I often invite people to call me Dr. Du. Even that can feel complicated, as it may be interpreted as emphasizing my credentials rather than making my name easier to pronounce.
When someone repeatedly gets a name wrong, is there a point when it stops being a mistake and becomes a choice?
Yes. A mispronunciation may begin as a mistake, but when someone is repeatedly corrected and still makes no effort to improve, it begins to reflect a choice. For many people with unique names, the pressure then shifts to them to adapt to fit dominant norms. What is lost in that process is not just pronunciation but also linguistic, cultural, and sometimes religious and gender identity.
What’s the difference between mispronouncing a name and deciding it’s too hard to learn?
Mispronouncing a name can be an honest mistake, especially at first. Deciding a name is “too hard” to learn is different: it signals that the person’s comfort matters more than the other person’s identity. The key difference is effort. People do not need perfection immediately, but they do need respect, attention, and a willingness to learn.
What would you want workplaces — where so much name-shortening happens — to do differently starting tomorrow?
Workplaces can start by treating names as an important matter of respect rather than convenience. That means asking people how to pronounce their names, listening carefully, practicing when needed, and correcting records or informal shortcuts that change names without consent. Small changes in everyday practice can make workplaces more inclusive and affirming.
What are your thoughts on women reclaiming names they gave up or identities they minimized to fit in?
When women change or minimize their names to fit in, the decision is often shaped by difficult personal, social, and professional pressures. Reclaiming those names or choosing names that better reflect their identities can therefore be a powerful act of agency. It speaks to courage, resilience, and the hope of being recognized on one’s own terms.
