My town had an anti-racism march on Sunday, and I didn’t go.
Not because I don’t support the cause. Quite the contrary. In fact, I feel a
bit guilty that I didn’t march. I’m thankful for all those who did. But on that
date, at that time, it was not the way for me to express my protest against the
rising tide of white supremacism in this country. (To be totally fair, not a
single of my friends who went has in any way shamed me for not being there, so
this article is not a response to that.)
I absolutely believe we must stand against the hatred, the
racism, the xenophobia, the transphobia and homophobia and all the other evils
that this movement represents. I also believe that each of us must choose for
ourselves how we best do that within the scope of our lives, our energy, our
well-being, and our strengths. There’s no one single way in which to raise our
voices, to commit ourselves to working for a society that is inclusive, just,
and equitable for all.
When one reboots one’s life midstream, one gains the benefit
of choosing what to refill it with. As I’ve rebuilt mine, I’ve sought to choose
carefully and wisely how to invest my time and energy. I simply cannot fight every
battle that I’d like to fight. I cannot speak out every time this fucked up
administration does something shitty. I cannot march in every protest. To do so
would leave me burnt out and useless to myself or anyone else. Working in the
nonprofit world and interacting with many people actively engaged in social
justice, I have observed that many of them -- wonderful, excellent, passionate
people -- are also very busy and often exhausted. I admire all that they do,
but I don’t want to become like that. So I seek to balance my engagement level
with my capacity to engage fully and actively while maintaining space for
myself to recharge and refresh.
In the years I worked overseas, I didn’t allow this margin
for self-care. In fact, self-care seemed almost sinful. After all, when you’re
working for god, thinking of yourself is the last thing you’re supposed to do.
I think that contributed significantly to the burn out I experienced after
several years. I loved what I did, but the stresses and demands of that life
piled up and slowly drained me until I was running on fumes, an empty shell of
myself.
I don’t want to return to that place. Last fall, as I began
reengaging with life and finding my role in my community, I examined a number
of options, all of them good and worthwhile. None of my initial explorations
went anywhere. Now, almost a year later, I find my plate filled with a healthy
balance of activities that contribute to the well-being of my community, in
particular the LGBTQ community. These activities utilize my strengths and
resonate with my passions. There are still a hundred other good causes I could
join with, every one of them worthy and in need of people. But to take them on
as well would be to cross the line I have drawn for myself to keep a healthy
life balance. I allow myself to say no, and it’s okay.
I don’t write this to defend myself. I don’t have to defend
myself. I’m a flawed, imperfect social justice warrior. I wrestle to recognize
my privilege even while I struggle with the challenges of belonging to a
marginalized community. I want to continue to grow as a woman, a feminist, and
an activist. I want to do so while making a concerted effort to keep margin in
my life. If that makes me a bad social justice warrior, than so be it. I won’t
be silent. But my contribution may not always be visible.
How are you standing for social justice, inclusion and
equity?
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