Spill the Tea Tuesday with Debb: 🇵🇹 Portuguese Blood, Canadian Life, and Lots of Opinions

Dear Diary,

Welcome back to another Spill the Tea Tuesday with Debb. This is the space where I show up a little unfiltered, a little reflective, a little chaotic sometimes … and always real. This week, I struggled a bit with what I wanted to write about and share. Then I thought ... hmmm since the World Cup vibe is on, flags on cars, soccer talk in yoga studio change rooms AND Portugal won today 5 to zero, I figured ...

Portugal … let’s start there!

Portugal, the country my parents were born. To be specific, they were born in the Portuguese islands called the Açores … not Madeira. That's the island where Ronaldo was born.  People seem to hear of that island way more (for some reason).  There are 9 islands in the Açores.  Most people have heard of São Miguel.  My grandfather (my mom’s father), who I never met, was born there. He died in his 40s from heart disease, left behind a wife (my grandmother aka avó) and six kids in Santa Maria, where my grandmother was born. Are you following along? Honestly this already feels like a Netflix docuseries with no narrator.  And my dad’s family is also from Santa Maria.  Small island.  Population: about 5,500 to 6,000 people today.  So yeah… if you were late for school, everyone already knew before you got there. 

Family story… real life edition

My grandmother came to Canada when my mom and her siblings were young … like ages 5 to 16ish. My dad went to the war in Angola at the time. My mom came here and sponsored her siblings. They grew up "poor" in Portugal. Like, 6 siblings in a house with one room "poor". Getting water from the well "poor". We had to share everything, including silence, "poor". But the reality is, they didn’t think they were poor. They thought they were rich. They had food every night, games, walking to school, working, learning, living. Sounds like a wellness retreat now that I say it out loud. 

Then they came to Canada

They came here with the knowledge that working hard and being grateful for what you have … is in your blood. I always thought we were rich as a kid. We had a nice house, my parents even saved enough to have a cottage. That’s when I was introduced to Innisfil; where I live now. Yes, I know. Full circle moment. I basically became an Innsifil Portuguese woman without meaning to. Simple life. Trees. Nature. Small town kindness. Yes, of course there are always assholes… but that’s life (and sometimes they really commit to the role) so whatever. Let there be assholes. Let Them. See what I did there Mel Robbins?

Work ethic = Portuguese parents

My parents worked hard everywhere. My mom cleaned houses … very typical Portuguese lady job. My dad worked landscaping, trees, interlocking stones, driveways … all the outside stuff. Basically, if it involves dirt, concrete, or lifting something heavy, my dad has done it. He spent one weekend moving a shed in our backyard to the other side of the backyard by himself. Respect. Respecting nature. Respecting people. And yeah… that definitely rubbed off on me. Not sure what happened to my brother though. Just kidding Dan!! 😂

First car freedom era

When I was 17, I bought my first car with the money I saved at my first job as a cashier at a supermarket (at the age of 15).  After school I’d come home, change quickly, and go to work.  Because … did I expect my parents to buy me a car?  Definitely not.  Did they support me?  Definitely yes.  Big difference.  The car was $1,800. The grand and luxurious Dodge Colt, which I named Snowball. Tiny. Crappy. Definitely not a “Betty.” But white. Interesting. It was my freedom! Freedom to go where I want, not beg for rides and the opportunity to pretend my life was very adult. Until it broke down on numerous occasions and I cried. Like a child. Like the sensitive cancer that I am. 

School… or not school

York University at 18. Psychology then English major, then confusion then exit stage. Did I tell my mom? No. I was in my “I’m basically an adult but also emotionally 12” era.  Hung out with friends. Smoked pot. You know… academic excellence.  Eventually I told her. She said:“Well I guess you’re going to work then.” No TED talk. No discussion. No choice. No kidding.

Work life begins

Leon's Furniture, Customer Service. Then back to school for my SSW (Social Service Worker) Diploma at Seneca College. That’s when I entered the autism non-profit world. Then, full time work, condo purchase, independence unlocked. Achievement: ADULT MODE ACTIVATED, except ...

Portuguese mom energy

My mom calls me every day. Every. Single. Day. For as long as I can remember. While I was in Australia teaching yoga, she didn't have the power to call because I didn't have a "smart phone" (which I'm sure she loved). This was in 2012. No cell phone data service would be calling Canada for less than $50 for a 5 minute call. So I'd call her from the studio collect or from a payphone with my calling card. Not. Every. Single. Day. I remember one day, when I called, she said: “Finally you call.” It had been like 3 days. THREE.  I said: “If you’re gonna give me shit every time I call, I’m not going to call at all. She said: “Fine!” Click. True story.  She actually hung up on me, while I’m in a phone booth sweating down unda! Australia. To be clear. I called back immediately like: “Really?” … “WELL” she said … “I just want to talk to you! Is that so bad?” “No mãe (mom), but why didn’t you just say that before, instead of hanging up on me?” She laughed, I laughed. We’re fine. Mother daughter relationships. I probably didn't have to say "if you're gonna give me a shit, I won't call you at all." Dramatic Debb.

Marriage and cultural surveillance system

I always said I’d never date a Portuguese guy. “It’s just too close to home! I need a different cultural perspective.” And now I’m married to the most Portuguese guy ever. He sees everything. He observes everything. Sometimes we’ll be walking down the street and he’ll say: “Wow… nice hair buddy.” Then: “What? I’m Portuguese … we gossip.” At least he’s self-aware. And cute. And kind. Jus sayin’ … 

Window monitoring system

Sometimes he just stands at the window looking outside; especially if there’s an unfamiliar car parked out front.  I’m like: “What are you doing?” He’s says: “What? I’m Portuguese. Like the old ladies. I’m observing.” That’s not observation my love. That’s neighbourhood surveillance. "So?"

Wedding in Portugal

Where did we get married? Portugal. Mainland Portugal, (Fatima) where Rui is from. His parents, my in-laws, aka my family live there. His sister, her husband, their two boys… all live there. They were our ring boys. Stayed up front during the vows holding the rings like little professionals. So sweet. So respectful. Initially, we thought we’d get married here because our life is here. Then a friend said: “Why don’t you just get married in Portugal? I’ll come!” So we did. And he did. So did others. No regrets. Food was amazing. Service was amazing. Families got along beautifully. Now my mom and Rui’s mom talk every week. Which is great… because now my mom has someone else to gossip with!

One regret

My dad wasn’t there. That’s my only regret. But my mom and brother walked me down the aisle, which was really nice. And I had a picture of my dad attached to my bouquet. So he truly was there.  When I think of my parents, it always comes back to the core of everything: respect, appreciation, family, love, food, joy. These are the big things really. Not the fancy things. The real things. Speaking of fancy …. 

CR7 

Cristiano Ronaldo. What a character. Have you watched his Netflix documentary? It’s about discipline, intensity, greatness, emotion, crying, abs. Very balanced human experience.  As a Portuguese representation though, we’ll take it. Except for the hair gel and crying like a baby sometimes.  Jus sayin’ ...

Food, life & softening

Lately I’ve stopped being so strict.  Less:  “I must track everything or life collapses.  I must lose a certain amount of weight by a certain amount of time or else.”  More:  “I’ll have pizza, thanks.”  Today I had a slice of pizza from good ole Pizza Pizza because asparagus and turkey slices I packed said:  “We are not enough.” And Rui is making burgers tonight.  I will eat one.  With bread.  Salad.  And a beer.  Because we’re celebrating Portugal’s 5-0 win today!  Because I’m Portuguese and I didn’t survive generations of island living just to fear carbs. 

Final thought

So I guess if I had to bring all of this together … I’m Canadian. I’m Portuguese. I know. Captain Obvious. But more than that … I’m a mix of islands, hard work, humour, chaos, resilience, and a whole lot of family stories that started long before I ever existed. I come from people who didn’t think they were poor … they thought they were rich. Rich in food, rich in laughter, rich in getting through life together. And somehow that got passed down to me; even if I didn’t always understand it growing up. I spent years chasing independence… working early, saving, figuring things out the hard way, dropping out, coming back, restarting, building again.

And now I’m here… still learning, still questioning, still evolving. Still laughing at my husband staring out the window like neighbourhood watch. Still getting called out by my mom after 3 days of silence. Still eating pizza and calling it balance. Still trying to figure out what’s next … without forgetting where I came from. And maybe that’s the real tea. We don’t have to reinvent ourselves completely. We just have to remember what’s already in us. The work ethic. The love of people. The humour. The food. The chaos. The pride. And the ability to sit at a table, eat bread, drink wine, laugh too loud, and feel like that is enough. Because it is.

So yeah… Força Portugal. If you made it this far, thanks for listening to my Portuguese TED Talk slash family documentary.

One last thing…

If there’s one thing I want to leave you with from all of this tea … It’s this: Accept your story. Your journey. Your culture. Your weird family dynamics. Your traditions. Your chaos. Your roots. All of it has made you YOU. Even the parts you used to question … even the parts you tried to change… even the parts you didn’t fully understand at the time. It’s all part of the recipe. And honestly… some of the best recipes are a little messy and have some weird ingredients. 

Maybe today’s little reflection is this: What’s one thing you’re grateful for about your culture? Be honest. Food counts. Pizza, bread, tacos, pasta … I don’t make the rules. But so does family stories, language, music, humour, resilience, the way you were raised, the way your people love. All of it counts. I’ll go first…

I’m grateful for the work ethic, the loud love, the food that brings everyone together, and the ability to turn any situation into a story worth laughing about later. Let's gonna look out the window! If you get that reference, thank you for paying attention and reading my last blog post. I love you. Jus sayin' ... ;)

Your turn. Spill the tea.

Until next Tuesday,

Building strength, mindset, and real-life consistency … one breath at a time :)

💗 Yoga Debb