“She Was Not Okay”
Fine art photographer, Michelle Gibson, launches her arresting photographic series of women who have faced emotional and physical obstacles, with unseen wounds deliberately hidden from the world under the mask of beauty and perfection. Gibson creatively juxtaposes the darkness of women’s internal trauma, loss, and grief, with their colourful and joyful attire. Gibson invites the viewer to look behind the façade of perfection so that we can start to normalize the reality of women’s experiences and have a deeper dialogue about women’s empowerment and their emotional and physical well-being. Michelle hopes we all come to understand that we heal best when grief is shared.
Opening Reception: Thursday May 14, 2026
Closing Reception: Thursday June 4, 2026
Space at Queen Street East location generously hosted by:
Unseen, Unheard. In 2022, I was diagnosed with a debilitating neurological disorder, Chiari Brain Malformation, an overly intense filum ligament at the base of the spinal cord that pulls on the brainstem. My prognosis was not good - being confined to a wheelchair, and a lifetime of pain and suffering, including disorientation, nausea, insomnia, and sensitivity to light to name just a few. Abandoned by North American doctors who were largely ignorant of the disease and its proper treatment, I found the Institute of Chiari in Barcelona and decided to take a chance on their surgical procedure. After four years, the road back to regaining my brain functionality has not been easy. But after many hours of post-surgical therapies, my neurological functionalities have been restored, and I have my life back. This image illustrates the most difficult days of my health journey when I was unseen and unheard by the medical system, and is the inspiration for “She Was Not Okay”.
A Mother’s Workload. Motherhood is an unexpected direction that my life took, changing everything from my sense of time, my sense of self, and my priorities in life. Caring for an autistic child who also has significant medical complexity – including a rare kind of brain tumour - has been at times overwhelming. Struggling with the stress of his medical uncertainty, his future, as well as the behavioural and social challenges that can come with autism, on top of normal parenting responsibilities, has been a lot for me. I don’t think most people who know me see the mental and emotional load that I carry around with me all the time, and how that affects who I am – who I have become.
Layers of Anxiety. When my mind becomes overwhelmed, I try to return to my body. Living with ADHD, OCD, and anxiety means constantly moving between clarity and overwhelm. Some days I feel creative, compassionate, and focused. Other days, negative thoughts loop, making even simple tasks feel heavy. Music, movement, breathing, and time outside with nature can help me in those moments, though not always. Resting in a field, comforted by the surrounding grass and breeze, helps me feel less trapped in my thoughts and more grounded in my body, and able to observe my mind rather than be consumed by it.
Toll of Perfection. I move through my days well-dressed and composed, appearing to have everything under control. But beneath my polished surface, I carry a weight that rarely lifts. I struggle to keep up with the fast pace of the world around me with no pause button. At home, the responsibility feels heavier. I am the emotional center for two teenage boys, absorbing their frustrations, fears, and growing pains. One son, on the autism spectrum, requires constant advocacy, patience, and vigilance. I love them deeply, yet I’m often tired in ways I cannot explain. As an Asian mother/ daughter, expectations press in from every direction. I support my parents financially and emotionally, carrying their worries, while quietly setting my own aside. I’ve been taught to be strong, selfless, and grateful, regardless of the cost, wearing beauty like armour, moving forward not because it’s easy, but because stopping is not an option.
The Veiled Hours. I lie on the couch in a beautiful, red silk dress. My hair falls across my face, obscuring my features until I become anonymous, a figure rather than a person, unknown perhaps even to myself. The concussion has erased more than my memory; it has temporarily dissolved the boundaries of my identity. After the injury, time no longer moves in a straight line. Thoughts arrive half-formed, slipping away before they can be grasped. The couch has become my island, the only stable place in a world that changes without warning. The red dress tells its own story. It was chosen for another version of this day, for a body that could move freely through the world. Instead, I find myself here, lying still, defeated. The paradox of an invisible injury. Outwardly, I appear whole, even beautiful in repose. But internally my body needs rest, light hurts my eyes, sounds feel too loud, concentration requires immense effort. The world moves too fast for a brain that’s trying to heal.
Healing From Cancer. For many years, I worked in cancer research developing new treatments for breast cancer. So, when I heard the C-word in the context of my own life and diagnosis, it felt surreal. How did I find myself on the other side of this equation? To be receiving the exact drug I once helped develop – how can this be? Breast cancer and treatment stripped me down to my core: my body, my belief systems, my spirit. It brought me to zero. It was humbling, scary, and deeply transformative. With time I began to see the experience differently. Not as the end of who I was, but as an invitation to rebuild myself. To consciously choose how I want to live, what I want to believe, and who I want to become. Every day we get to live, we are given the opportunity to start again. Big life events , such as a diagnosis, breakdown of a relationship, loss of a job, challenge us to our core. Through my coaching company Wellness With Barbara, I now dedicate my purpose to helping others get unstuck by upgrading their belief systems and their confidence to realize that they too can start again. We are not alone.
She Had No Tears. For many years I was unable to fully express my emotions in situations that were challenging. Starting with my parent’s destructive marriage and difficult divorce, the dissolution of my own first marriage, the medical trauma of an invisible neurological disease, the potential breast cancer diagnosis and surgery. While many people would cry in such situations, I typically found myself feeling neutral or numb and would continue my days without fully processing or releasing the tension. Because of this, my emotions were stored as memories and held stress in my body. I now realize that crying is a normal regulator that can help to shift one’s being from a fight or flight stress response to allowing the self to return to a more neutral state of calm. In this image, I am wearing a blue crinoline skirt that represents my tears wanting to be shed and the bathtub, a strong structure where they can gather and be held. I remain hopeful to be able to continue to release and shed tears when necessary to always help my body return to a state of calmness and serenity.
A Mother’s Grief. Ten years have passed since I lost my daughter to stillbirth. I still carry her profound loss daily. The loneliness, isolation & silence that surround my daughter’s stillbirth haunts me. And through my pain I am forever changed. Grief has rewritten my life, my before and after. It has made strangers of some people and places that used to feel like home. But I now control how I choose to be changed and the impact she will have on my life. She had given me the strength to live each day leading with kindness, compassion & empathy mothering my two boys. This image reflects my continued love & loss of my daughter. Inseparable forever.
I Can Bring Myself Flowers. The thought of leaving my life behind for the unknown was terrifying and felt impossible. Until the pain of staying became greater than the fear of being on my own again. Finding the courage to embark on my journey meant embracing my true power and resilience, and choosing peace, self-respect, and self-love. I can choose to love myself. I can bring myself flowers.
Food is Not the Enemy. Every time I ate, it only got worse. The food I kept swallowing felt like burning coals as it reached my stomach, each gulp firing a new pain. In my head, food was the enemy, not the stress I was experiencing, so I tried to fight it. Every meal became smaller and every snack slowly disappeared. My thought process was to make the enemy go away, and everything will be okay. As I stopped eating, I lost a lot more than my weight - I was losing myself. Once I had lost everything that made me who I am, I decided enough was enough. Food is not the enemy; my mindset was. I told myself that healing my relationship with food needs to come first. So, I fought and fought, bite after bite to not only get physically better but also mentally. This healthy brain became better equipped to deal with the real enemy - my anxiety. Once I learned to take control of my thoughts, the anxiety became controllable, the stressful things no longer seemed so daunting, and I had gained my life back in more ways than before.
Courage to Start Over. To the outside world, we were the “perfect” couple. On the inside, I was suffering silently in a recurring physical, emotional, and mental abuse cycle. I felt helpless and alone. One day, while crying on my bedroom floor, I asked God to give me the strength to leave. God heard me and gave me the courage to start over. I filled the time I used to spend worrying about his infidelity with going to the gym, doing yoga, reconnecting with friends that I had unknowingly shut out of my life, finding my love for basketball again through coaching young girls. I had found my way back to me - a lover of life, a lover of belly laughs, a lover of love. It took years, but I even found a way to let my wall down and let true love in. I’m so grateful God loved me enough to walk me through to the light. I am never alone with Him.