on uprising, the pandemic, and our own personal basements.

disclaimer: therapy can be extremely helpful, but can be super inaccessible :( here is one resource.

in the beginning of judith herman’s “trauma & recovery,” she warns readers that talking about trauma is a surefire way to get people to avoid you. it’s in our nature. we look away. we compartmentalize. we scurry. we flee. we ignore. looking at pain is painful and in the west we spend billions of dollars to avoid pain. we tell elaborate lies and do olympic feats of mental gymnastic to avoid looking at our fucked up history and present. we look truth in the face momentarily, repost, and move on. there is something in us that fears if we let the pain in, if we witness the god awful truths… will we make it? we all have a basement where we store these things. the red hot shame. the injustice. the feeling of being trapped. the violence of all kinds. the unspeakable. some of our basements are fuller than others, but no one goes there to sit. this is a place for packing things away. away, but not really.

it’s no wonder that so many of us find ourselves in shock at the obvious and well documented realities of being non white in america. at the cruelty and callousness of capitalism laid bare by a pandemic. it’s no wonder than so many of us behave badly at the risk of our health and the health of our elders, our community. we run from the truth when the truth hurts — and in america the truth always hurts.

i know so many of us are simply surviving right now. tossed by a sea of uncertainty, individualism, and justified fear. i think we are all underestimating how much work we are doing minute by minute to survive this. one more thing quietly boxed up and dutifully carried down the stairs.

i know each day asks so much of us. still, i’d like to ask us for more.

so much is being said and written about abolition and decolonizing and all the things black women have written about and advocated for for centuries. so many of us are choosing to open our eyes to what could be, to earnestly engage our imaginations and see that work as necessary and brilliant instead of “childish” and naive. i am proud of us, but i am worried for us.

i feel like we are remodeling our homes while our basements and foundations continue to mold, mildew, and fester, threatening the integrity of our structures. forgive the glimpse of my irish catholic upbringing, but haven’t so many of us heard about the house built on sand? how great will be our fall if we redecorate the house, and refurbish the furniture, and remodel the kitchen all while we ignore what it all was built on?

here comes the ask:

consider the basement. there is much being said about our collective ancestral trauma or guilt depending on which side of the melanin you’re on. this is imperative. but so is our individual work. let’s hold each other’s hands and prove to ourselves we will not get trapped down there in the dark spaces of our own homes if we begin to peek and unpack. i know it feels like now is a terrible time — but there is no good time for pain. there is only feeling it, and lending it your ear. we cannot collectively, societally tear down and rebuild this house if we will not first comfort our own fear of facing and sorting through what we have individually packed away and hidden.

i mean each of us. i mean all of us.

this is an action, but more importantly it is proof & it is a mindset shift. we can face our own personal hard things. we can do this. we can tell the truth about our abusers. we can be honest about our pain. we can cry, and wail, and ball our fists at all the times we deserved more and got less. we can refuse to avert our eyes any longer. we can fight the darkness by shedding tearful light.

this is slow, neverending work. there is nothing attractive or instantly gratifying about it. there is no quick dopamine hit or immediate relief. i tell you this as someone who has and continues to drag herself to the basement to unpack one more box each time i am able. it is never, ever easy, but it is always, always worth it.

we cannot do the work collectively if we will not work on ourselves. we cannot see the truth in the suffering of others if we expend all of our energy suppressing our own. cry, child. return to yourself. let yourself be all of you so you can bring your imperfect wholeness back to community. we will meet you as our own imperfect selves, seeing through clear, tear laden eyes. and once you have begun cleaning your basement, lend a broom to another. speak on what you have learned. many will tell you they don’t want to hear it — they are the ones who most need to.

sometimes i think the most painful and stubborn belief is that humans are inherently good. let’s begin to look our pain in the eyes, so we can show up as our most honest, broken, goodly selves. let’s be who we were meant to be. let’s be who we are.