Silence Feeds Violence

There are so many thoughts in my brain, jumbled and tumbling over one another. I want this to be a space of healing, but there is no healing possible without giving voice to experiences of oppression. Silence feeds violence.

Lately I've been trying to step back to hear and read the voices of others, especially black voices. I've been too complacent in my own life up to this point, content to settle for using my own experiences of oppression as a proxy for empathizing with others rather than doing the hard work of examining the history of systemic injustices embedded within the institutions and culture of the country in which I live. While finding points of connection is important, understanding the history and framework in which various forms of oppression dwell is essential for creating effective change, as is elevating voices beyond just my own.

The past is a painful place to gaze upon, but that doesn't make it any less necessary to see it. To that end, I wanted to share some resources that have been pushing me to grow, even when they've been uncomfortable or painful to hear or read.

The first is a podcast series called "Behind the Police." It discusses the history of police and policing in America, and it's been eye-opening for me.

The second is a book by Angela Y. Davis. Titled "Freedom is a Constant Struggle: Ferguson, Palestine, and the Foundations of a Movement," it's helped me to conceptualize intersectionality as more than the intersection of individual identities, but also as the intersection of collective movements, often spanning the globe.

The last thing I want to mention today is a podcast episode of "Unlocking Us with Brené Brown" featuring Laverne Cox. A (rough) paraphrase of a line that keeps repeating in my head from it is "At the end of the day, I'm fighting to make sure no kid gets beat up on the playground." There's a lot more to the episode, but whenever I get overwhelmed by the number of battles there are to fight, I am both galvanized and centered by that succinct summation.

What are some resources you have been finding helpful lately?

Engaged

This past week has been a whirlwind. On April 11, I proposed to my partner. He said yes. Every ounce of my being has been radiating joy since that moment.

I feel so incredibly lucky to have him in my life. I didn't know it was possible to feel joy like this, or safety, or to have someone reciprocate all the sweet gestures that I make as a matter of course without treating it as a burden. I hadn't grown along with someone like I have with him before, in ways that made us both stronger and better and more confident people. We trust each other. We love each other. And we communicate.

I wrote all my feelings for him in a poem, and titled it Symbiosis. On Saturday, I shared it with him.

"I didn't understand symbiosis until I met you.
I had forgotten what a scale looked like when it was balanced,
how kindness returned can almost feel like floating.
I had never tasted safety until I kissed your lips,
never grew better for the growth I granted others.

Then there was you, and the way you looked at me.
The feel of your hand in mine, the thoughtful gifts:
Art for art, love for love. I grew stronger every smile,
started dreaming of your touch, started dreaming
of forever. I didn't know that I could love like that.

Love like a steady rock in a storm, like roots
growing intertwined, like fairy tales, only better,
because we talk through our fights and grow closer.
Love like holding each other up in rough seas of life,
because the world is sometimes stormy,

but our love is all sunlight. Love like vitality,
like a wash of warmth revitalizing my life,
like "I can do anything with you by my side."
Love like a ring glimpsed in a dream
of a future I am grabbing with all of my heart.

I didn't understand symbiosis until I met you.
Now I can't imagine life without you by my side.
All this a metaphor-heavy way to tell the story of
the four words pounding in my every heartbeat.
'Will you marry me?'"

As I read the last line, I dropped to one knee and pulled out a ring.

The moment he said yes ranks as one of the best moments of my life, but it wouldn't have been possible without the time and trust and love we'd built. I've been thinking a lot today about all the little moments we were there for each other, and how it feels to be confident in love. To be better for knowing and loving someone, just as they are for knowing and loving you. I've been thinking about how we could be confident in each other because we had the hard conversations, and we did our best to always do so in a way that made both of us feel safe while still being honest with each other.

I've been thinking about how love alone isn't enough, but love and effort and reciprocity, communication and trust and compatibility... all those things can build a home in someone else's heart. I'm glad I didn't settle for less than that joy.

Self Love as Practice

I've noticed in the last few months, even as I've undergone some very real trauma at times, that my confidence in my own self-worth has not wavered. For me, this was a revelation. I spent much of my life struggling with severe flashbacks, anxiety, and depression, and I couldn't summon a clear sense of who I was, let alone love that person. To be at a place where not only could I have a strong personal identity but also a powerful love for myself is something that I could barely imagine in the past.

I've spent a lot of time pondering how I went from there to here, and one thing in particular stood out to me: self love as practice.

Self love is a skill. Like any skill, though, it requires practice to master and practice to retain. That is good news, though, because even if it's hard to get there, it can be learned. It is not beyond your reach.

When I was a child, I made sacred a belief that every day was a fresh start. I believe that any moment can be a fresh start now, but sunrises will always have a special significance to me.

On the darkest days, my brain heard all kindness as mockery, even from myself. Those were the days I would go to bed early, seeking the next sunrise. Clinging to that bit of light kept me alive.

I still kept trying. It was slow going at first. I overanalyzed every kind thought and kind word. I could leech all the joy from it within a matter of minutes. But I felt that joy for a few minutes.

Wake up, try again. Another kind word, or even just a neutral one. The joy lasted a little longer. Sleep, wake. A new day.

There were set-backs, of course. There were the bleak days, and the days the loathing returned. I'd spent so long being treated as less than human. It's hard for that not to take root, and even flourish. It definitely doesn't go away overnight. But gradually, sunrise by sunrise, they happened less often.

Gradually, sunrise by sunrise, minute by minute, hour by hour, day by day, confidence became a more frequent companion. Eventually the days where I loved myself even began to outnumber the days where I didn't. Then they became the norm.

If you remember only one thing from this, remember this: Every second of that struggle was worth it.

I shouldn't have had to face that struggle. No one should. But every second I fought for myself, every second I fought for self-worth, self-love, and self-acceptance was worth it. Every fall and setback, to sit here, knowing I do deserve to exist and find joy... That was worth the pain. I can't imagine what life would have been like if I hadn't faced decades of trauma, but the past is the past. I am not there any more. I am safe. And I know my own worth.

And you can learn yours.

From Wanting to Die to Coming Alive

About a year and and a half ago, I reached the highest weight of my life: 300 lbs. I was miserable. I'd been fighting with my insurance to get top surgery for 3 years at that point, and it still seemed impossible. I hated my body and could barely stomach walking near a mirror. I was depressed, self-destructive, and just wanted to die.

Life has come a long way since then.

On December 12, 2016, I had top surgery. While I still want revisions, the relief I felt was enough to keep me alive, and, slowly, to allow me to start transforming other parts of my life contributing to my depression.

I started losing weight. I dropped 28 lb in the first year, and another 19 in the past 6 months. I've tried to exercise a little each day, and be more mindful of what and how much I eat.

I dropped clothing sizes, too. 8 inches off my waist size, and 2 shirt sizes. Today, I weighed myself at 244 lb, and wore a medium shirt for the first time since my late teens.

Ten months ago, I also moved. Arizona contained a lot of ghosts: Streets where the exes who had raped me lived, constant reminders of other abusers, threats in bathrooms, alcohol drowning my friends, and too many people who called me by a name that had never been mine. A room I could afford had opened up in Pennsylvania, and I took the leap. I piled my possessions in my car and drove.

It was one of the best decisions of my life.

Slowly, I learned to trust. I learned what it felt like to be safe in my home. I made friends. I built a family from them, a family unlike the one I left behind.

And then I took another leap. I started to mend things with my blood family. We're learning to trust each other, and that is a precious gift.

As I got more comfortable in my new surroundings, I worked up the courage to reach out to larger and larger communities, and I came alive. I'd had a community I felt safe in when I lived in Arizona, but it was surrounded by misery, and for the first time, I feel like a person rather than a statistic.

For the first time, I feel safe and whole, alive and happy.

For the first time, I love my life.

A Personal Note

Been a long, stressful week. Friends dying, setting boundaries with people, knee injury, emotional highs and lows. I'm drained, stressed, but alive, and alive is worth something. I'm taking it day by day, and trying to be kind to myself.

Optimism is a choice I make every day, and some days it's harder than others. But as much as I hurt, both emotionally and physically; as much as I feel like a walking wound right now, I refuse to give up. I will not let my pain consume me. I will not lose hope.

I believe in good intentions, empathy, and understanding. It doesn't necessarily make actions okay, or keep people who have hurt me enough from being evicted from my life, but it allows me to keep walking without so much bitterness.

Most of all, though, I believe in hope. I once wrote, "Hope is the surest way to save a life," and that was true. I don't want to imagine a world without hope, even if I have to sew it together from small bits of nature or a single kind word.

I'm hurting, but alive, and I am grateful for that life. Today I choose optimism. Today, I hold onto hope. Today, I live.