Month: January 2020

We Shall Overcome

Every year my child’s Quaker school celebrates Martin Luther King Day with a peaceful march through the surrounding neighborhood. The kids make signs, talk about Dr. King in big meeting, and share poems, songs, and skits about his life and work. The march concludes with the whole school standing together and singing “We Shall Overcome.”

This march is one of my favorite parts of the school year. I’m not the only parent who makes time to come and walk with our kids, reading signs and singing together as we march. I was surprised to learn a few years ago (but really should not have been) that most white people my age have not seen Eyes On The Prize, did not study the Civil Rights Movement in high school or college, and therefore do not know so many of the Movement songs that I associate with marching, protest, and MLK Day. I love looking around the circle to see so many caring faces, from the littlest kindergarteners to the oldest teachers, and hearing such a variety of voices lifted together in celebration, defiance, and hope.

This year, I was struck very particularly by “we are not afraid.” I realized, as I sang that assertion, that I am afraid almost all of almost every day, to some degree or another. I am afraid of acting and not acting. Afraid of the consequences of my choices and the impacts of things outside of my control. Afraid for myself, for my family, for my neighbors, for the country and the world. Afraid that the past that dogs my heels will never stop impacting my present, driving my future.

What does it mean to stand in the face of illness, disability, white supremacist capitalist patriarchy, violence, imprisonment, and fascism and say, “We are not afraid today.” How can we reasonably be anything other than afraid?

It is a well-worn cliché that bravery is not the absence of fear, but action in the face of it. Our children are barely old enough to touch the edge of what they will have to bear in this world, and still it is so much for so many of them. All we can do is keep going, one step after another, while raising our voices together, choosing not to be controlled by fear.

Ordinary World

My therapist says it’s time to write the truth about myself and my life. Apparently, being seen is one of my last trauma triggers. Looking at the way I assiduously avoid sharing the things I care about most, I can see it. Avoiding, hiding in plain sight, that’s my talent. Speaking up so loudly about other people and social injustices makes it seem like I’m fully here all the time while I carefully (what’s the word we hate?) curate what’s seen about me.

This isn’t meant to be a true confessional verbal dumping, although who really knows what would come out. More of an honest accounting of how I got here, and where here is. Health, trauma, recovery from chronic stress and PTSD, living with chronic illness, and ultimately thriving. I’m not fixed or cured or reborn, but I am turning some kind of corner in my life. My acupuncturist tells me I have a second life coming: I’m different than I’ve been and there’s a whole new experience of the world for me to step into.

The thing is, I’m afraid to step into it. Irrationally (still) afraid of explosive rages, accusations of selfishness and misrepresentation, emotional manipulation and blackmail, and just generally being in trouble for speaking. For competing for space, air, attention (because of course it’s all already allocated to others, none free for me). For daring to believe that what I think or create or experience is worth sharing, is as valid as anything else by anyone else.

Writing this gave me the stress jitters. I wanted to scream, cry, and delete delete delete. Then I read it over and it’s really not that dramatic. So, in a new blog, I might write more thoroughly about stuff. (Vague much?) No gimmicks, that’s another part of my marching orders. No hiding behind songs or other people’s words.

I heard this on the radio this morning, and (after reminiscing about seeing them in concert at Purdue with my Purdue crew) I thought, “Sure. Why not. What’s the worst that could happen?”