Kate Bowler:
It is tempting to be a serious person these days. And how could we not be? The world feels like it is on fire. The headlines are relentless, and it’s hard to remember the last time you felt light or laughed at something ridiculous. But sometimes, if we’re lucky, we meet someone who reminds us how to play. This is Everything Happens, and I’m Kate Bowler.
My guest today is someone who brings buoyancy into any room she enters. That is Sophie Grégoire Trudeau. Sophie has spent decades in the public eye as a celebrated mental health advocate, as an award-winning humanitarian, as a mother, writer, public speaker, and yes, for a long time, as the partner of Canada’s prime minister. And still, when you meet her, you get the sense that she’s trying to offer you something real, something tender, something whole.
Today, we’re talking about the ways we are wired from childhood, how we are all learning how to come home to ourselves, and practicing being known. But mostly, we talk about what it means to stay soft in a world that wants you to harden. So if you’re trying to make room for a little joy while carrying all the heartbreak in your body—or you’re not sure how to tune out of what’s difficult and into the deep work—well, this conversation is just for you.
Sophie Grégoire:
Thank you for the intro, but you know what? Let’s start writing this together now. I’m so happy to be here. Thank you.
Kate Bowler:
It’s one of my favorite things about you. You’re so unpretentious, you’re so playful, you’re down to earth. And I think it really challenges all of us to think about how we like to hide behind labels. And you really want us to move beyond formalities. Why do you think that’s so hard, especially for maybe women?
Sophie Grégoire:
That’s a big question. I have chills. It’s funny. So I think for me, you know from my experience—but also from all of the young women that I’ve been meeting along the path and older women as well—in society, we wear a lot of masks and we are asked to correspond to certain standards: behavioral, beauty, performance, mothering—whatever it is. It kind of comes with the formula of “this is what it should look like.” And I mean, this is not new, huh? This has been going on for hundreds of years. And I think that we have been, in part, ingrained with these concepts—brainwashed, really—and that anything that instigates fear, shame, or guilt has not served us in any way, shape, or form.
Kate Bowler:
And we do get caught up though in the stories about ourselves. It’s something you challenge us to do almost immediately: to figure out how to get out of the story and get grounded in the present. I wonder what practicing presence looks like for you.
Sophie Grégoire:
Playfulness, lightness. I’ve met, on my political path or just on my professional, personal, or mother path, a lot of serious individuals. And I’ve come to understand—without judging—that there’s a lot of suffering in very serious individuals who have not nourished and recognized the child within them. This is not to say we should be childish and immature—no, quite the opposite.
I think it’s David White who said, “Innocence is one’s ability to be found by the world.”
Kate Bowler:
Lovely.
Sophie Grégoire:
Notice the word ability. This is a quality you can develop, right? Kids have it naturally. They don’t care who’s watching. But we learn very quickly what we have to change in our behavior in order to feel loved and validated. And that’s the opposite of authenticity. Because when we’re authentic, we are playful.
So I would say the first thing is to let go of formalities. I’ve been to so many official dinners around the world, and yes, sometimes formality matters. But when there’s absolutely no element of play—well, just think about cultural practices everywhere. Usually, there’s dancing. Usually, there’s singing. Those movements and that freeing of the voice are what it means to be a free child.
As we dramatize our lives and suffer, we forget how to play. And there’s nothing more loving than being playful in the present moment. Playfulness doesn’t mean you’re always goofing around—it can be simply being present, looking at the sky or a plant—but there’s a sense of lightness.
Kate Bowler:
A while ago, I realized the people I’m most drawn to share one quality: they’re knowable. Like, thank you for being knowable!
Sophie Grégoire:
I’ve never heard that before. That really resonates. Because when you say that, it’s like saying, “Thank you for unveiling, for being vulnerable. Thank you for looking at me with the eyes of your child into the eyes of my child.” That’s paramount to intimacy.
Kate Bowler:
Yes. And you’ve put so much work into understanding how our wiring either sets us up as adults to be more knowable—or it, as you say, “overdramatizes” the story of who we are. When did you first begin trying to understand your own wiring, and how does it make you look back on young Sophie?
Sophie Grégoire:
My own suffering, for sure. I’m an only child. I grew up in nature, playing with animals and the wind and the sun. Then we moved to the city, and there was addiction on both sides of my family. As an only child, I tried to wear the cape—I wanted to save my mom from my dad, my mom from herself, my dad from himself.
It took me a long time to realize that was not my cape to wear. They were loving, but they could only deal with me the way they had learned from their own families. When there are too many threads falling apart, you can’t hold the whole.
When I realized I was suffering from eating disorders, I didn’t know I had to look beneath the addiction—to the pain underneath it. Little Sophie tried to be perfect to save the people around her because she loved them. And like every child, we adapt our behavior so we’re looked at with love. With boundaries, yes—but not limits on love.
Kate Bowler:
The language you used for that has really stuck with me. You said we need warmth and structure.
Sophie Grégoire:
Yes. We have to be careful as parents, mentors, or grandparents. Setting boundaries and telling our children what we think is good or bad are two different things. Boundaries are important, but when you’re pre-verbal—from zero to two—it’s total unison, a symbiotic relationship. Incredibly safe, constant, stable, predictable.
Now think about adult relationships and tell me that’s not what we all need.
Kate Bowler:
Unpredictable, not warm, or intermittently warm and cold, or unboundaried, or sometimes it’s one way and sometimes the other. And say, you’re wondering why he doesn’t call you back.
Sophie Gregoire:
We’re taught to go in the brain and the head, but not to the brain and the heart or the gut for that matter. And that just doesn’t make sense anymore, because the more we separate these three instances, the less we’ll be able to know ourselves — to know, why am I angry? Why am I triggered?
When my boyfriend says, “No, I can’t go out tonight because I have other plans,” and I suddenly feel abandoned — those are our wounds talking to us. I’m learning, even at fifty, to say: thank you, pain. Thank you, my love. Thank you for letting me realize that I’m learning something here that I couldn’t learn any other way. It sucks and it hurts — but thank you, because in the end I get to know more about my triggers, my wounds, and where I’m heading in this life.
Kate Bowler:
As someone who constantly feels like I should have fixed overthinking and overfeeling, I find that comforting — that there’s a beat between the feeling and the self-judgment. Maybe to say: You are not too much for yourself.
Sophie Gregoire:
I feel like that too. But you used a word that made me react — “fix.” Over the years, especially as a mental health advocate for more than 20 years, I’ve learned: we are not broken. We think we are, but we’re not. We don’t need to be fixed — we need to become more tender, softer. In softness, there is a revelation of complete love and surrender.
Kate Bowler:
I just live so much in my brain. Being constantly flooded by information — headlines, relationships, the joy and pressure of a “thinking job.” It’s easy to forget I’m attached to other systems that don’t love it when only one part of me is working.
Sophie Gregoire:
You actually forget, in those times, that you have a body. Your mind gets disconnected from your body — so how can you hear its signals, whispers, or screams?
You’ve been learning to be much more attuned to your body, Kate, through your journey. You’ve developed such connection to your physical self.
Kate Bowler:
That’s true, but sometimes I feel under-attuned. Dissociating from my body has been a useful way of surviving long periods of pain. When I started meditating, people would say, “You can always come home to your body,” and I thought, What are you talking about? My body is trying to murder me!
It took me a long time to feel comfortable breathing, to find peace in coming back. I still feel emotionally agitated much of the time. You have a lot of helpful language for why we feel so hyperplugged-in to everyone else.
Sophie Gregoire:
The nervous system! The first thing we notice when we meet someone is their face. Human expressions — we pick them up in a hundred milliseconds. We’re constantly seeking comfort and safety. When we meet people who feel comforting, our brain says: My tribe will survive.
That part of our brain hasn’t changed. But we live in abnormal circumstances — too much information, too much speed, too little rest. We’re not meant to sit all day, eat processed food, or be disconnected from one another. Our bodies are adapting to abnormal living.
And yet we pathologize it — calling ourselves sick — when, in fact, our bodies are incredibly wise and talkative.
Kate Bowler:
Reality feels brutal right now. Distraction feels easier. I’ve heard you talk about finding refuge from pain. What have you learned about facing pain head-on?
Sophie Gregoire:
In order to face pain, you first have to visit your refuge with curiosity. Mine was food. Numbing for a while. All addictions are simply a cry for love — something you’re not getting emotionally, that you desperately need.
You don’t face your pain because it hurts too much. The child inside protected you, so you could survive. As Dr. Gabor Maté says, it’s not the trauma that’s hardest to process — it’s living it alone.
Our refuges — food, busyness, alcohol, relationships, whatever — are protection mechanisms. They kept us safe for a while. But maturity means being willing to look at our patterns, understand where we come from emotionally, so we can have agency over ourselves and not feel threatened by others.
Kate Bowler:
I like the idea of being more curious about coping strategies, instead of judging them.
Sophie Gregoire:
Exactly. It demands tenderness, curiosity, compassion. Sometimes I’ll say, “Hey little Soph, why were you triggered by this? Do you feel abandoned? Are you scared you’ll be left alone?”
Because in the present moment, you’re not alone. You’re loved. You’re not being rejected. The present moment is fine — but we often relive our past or project into the future. The trick is noticing when we’re doing it.
Kate Bowler:
I find myself trying to take a beat before believing my old stories. Even in relationships — when someone compliments me, my instinct is to turn away. It’s hard to face love full-on, even when I want it.
Sophie Gregoire:
Can I ask you — why do you think you’re not worthy of the compliment?
Kate Bowler:
There’s a little list. One reason: I’m Canadian! We’re humble people. I’m sorry! We were always told, “Be humble.” But it wasn’t the real definition of humility — it became self-rejection.
Sophie Gregoire:
Yes! As if stepping into the light takes light away from others. Would you teach that to your son?
Kate Bowler:
No! His face is like a big sunflower. When I compliment him, he beams and says, “Thank you, Mom.” It doesn’t take away from anyone else.
Sophie Gregoire:
Exactly. That reminds me — when my daughter Ella was four, we read a Fancy Nancy book where the new word was humble. She asked, “Mama, what’s humble?” I said, “You’re good at piano, biking, drawing — but do you go around saying, ‘I’m good!’ all the time?” And she said, “Yeah, exactly like me.”
Kate Bowler:
It’s true! Although we’ve had to tell my kid, “No, you are not a baseball prodigy.”
Sophie Gregoire:
Ha! Yes, sometimes our compliments say more about us as parents than about the child.
Kate Bowler:
There’s no athletic superpower in our genetic pool.
Sophie Gregoire:
No Tour de France for you!
Kate Bowler:
The way you remind us that we are one trauma away from each other is profound. How has that shaped how you see strangers?
Sophie Gregoire:
My parents taught me to say, “Hi, my name is Sophie. Would you like to play?” I’m still like that at 50. My kids and I sometimes make a game of trying to get someone — like a serious waiter — to smile. Ninety-eight percent of the time, they do!
Kate Bowler:
That’s wonderful. When I was in the hospital, I was full of fear — but focusing on faces changed everything. Even faces in pain or covered in bandages — if I looked longer, I saw beauty. The way someone touched a shoulder, smoothed hair — it made it easier to love people. It felt like we were all part of the fellowship of the afflicted.
Sophie Gregoire:
Wow. So when you found connection in someone’s gaze, you felt safe — like it would be okay.
Kate Bowler:
Yes. Even fragility can be so beautiful.
Sophie Gregoire:
I agree. When you strip away the fluff, the roles, the identities — it’s just human connection. Think of a mother and baby staring at each other. When do we ever sustain a gaze like that anymore?
Diplomacy used to mean face-to-face. Now we text and scroll. But being face-to-face is visceral to our well-being.
Kate Bowler:
You can feel someone’s force field. You’re influenced by their presence. My favorite part of the day is that gaze — my son’s big moon face, those ridiculous eyelashes. It’s calming, like a force field of love.
Sophie Gregoire:
Yes! And yet, it’s easier to look away — from discomfort, from what’s different, from pain. Looking away protects us, but it also isolates us.
Abraham Maslow, the father of modern psychology, put safety and food at the base of his pyramid. But when he studied Indigenous communities, he saw that their foundation was community.
Because we’ve dismantled community, we’ve dismantled ourselves.
Kate Bowler:
That’s bedrock.
Sophie Gregoire:
Yes — and nature can help us remember connection.
Kate Bowler:
Right. You’re such an outdoors person. Why is nature so essential for mental health?
Sophie Gregoire:
So many reasons! It strengthens immunity, improves sleep, boosts vitamin D, connects us socially, improves mood.
I was raised by an adventurous dad who taught me to test my limits — to know what I was made of.
Kate Bowler:
You’re a very fast skier. And walker!
Sophie Gregoire:
I was called Tornado! Always moving. But one of my greatest lessons in the last twenty years: slow down. Slowing down is the language of love.
Presence is slow. Love is slow. Lust is fast. Happiness can be fast — but love, belonging, nature — they are slow.
My dad, who passed away a year ago, called nature his ultimate muse. Every time I find peace in nature, I think of him. She became my best friend — she still is.
Kate Bowler:
A place to return and feel whole.
Sophie Gregoire:
Yes. Nature teaches us everything — contraction and expansion, destruction and renewal, beauty and decay. It’s primordial, poetic. I paint nature — it’s all I ever want to paint.
Kate Bowler:
You paint?
Sophie Gregoire:
Yes! I’m not great, but I love it. When I paint, I slow my gaze. I see how things really are, before imagining how they could be.
Kate Bowler:
I like imagining you outside with your paints.
Sophie Gregoire:
Painting helps me sustain the gaze — to stay with what’s real. When we’re in pain, it’s hard to look. But truth lives in that sustained gaze.
Kate Bowler:
I believe you. I’m so grateful for how you help us come home to ourselves — to belong again.
Sophie Gregoire:
Thank you, Kate.
Kate Bowler:
The Ambassador of Belonging — that’s your title now.
Sophie Gregoire:
(laughing) I’ll wear the crown just for you.
Kate Bowler:
Sometimes mental health feels like another thing to manage — but Sophie invites us into something different. Not a fix, but an invitation: to pay attention, to become lifelong students of our own lives, to dive into our wounds without drowning.
Tenderness. Relentless tenderness toward ourselves.
Maybe we can put aside our roles and remember how to play — because the world is already heavy enough.
Blessed are you who stay soft in a world that rewards hardness.
Blessed are you who practice presence — not because it feels good, but because it’s the only way to come home to yourself.
May joy still find you — even here, even now.
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