I get up from reading and I’m shaking, and trying to get the tears out or hold them in. Sometimes I can only read a few pages at a time. It’s too upsetting. I understand how you feel about injustice, and why it makes you cry. I feel the same. And I think on some level I always have. But like many other people, I’ve avoided admitting to or standing up against injustice. Even injustice done to myself.  Like the author, Debby Irving, I grew up with admonitions that kept me from speaking up, or out: ‘If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all,’ was a big one in our house, just like it was in hers. That message certainly didn’t encourage authentic communication.

…

We didn’t know how to voice outrage even when it should have been voiced. I’m still struggling with this very thing. I was very uncomfortable to voice my discomfort about J’s behavior when it first raised red flags early on. I was uncomfortable to confront my feelings toward your Dad when we were first matched. I felt guilty and selfish to feel so unsatisfied, or to want something different. Now, with our building board members, I’m very uncomfortable to speak up about unethical practices when I see them. There’s a deep rooted education at work here that tells me I will not be listened to or taken seriously, or worse – I’ll be ridiculed and ostracized for being a complainer. There’s a shame attached to having needs, or being seen as ‘needy.’

…

I’ve been one of those good people who do nothing. And it’s only recently that I’ve been seeing the shift in my life from passive and silent majority to being more of an activist. My CPE experience inadvertently opened my eyes to the similar stories that people of color share with women –  being invisible, unheard, and looked down on by white male authority. That reality was never addressed in our training, and I had no words for what I felt during the residency as the only woman alongside male peers, a male director and a male supervisor. It was only afterwards, in the safety of hindsight, that I began to connect my feelings and experiences with a greater systemic imbalance that gives less power and ‘voice’ to women and people of color.

…

Working as a tutor at the Mercy Learning Center put me in touch for the first time with refugees and asylum seeking women and I began to hear their stories and realize what a different world they come from, and continue to live in, even once here in the US. Living in the South End, the most crime-ridden part of Bridgeport, has put me face to face on a daily basis with the decrepit streets and run-down homes of people living just one block away from my little apartment on the edge of campus. My spirit sinks as I look across the street from where I live to realize that I live in an alternate reality, and always have.

…

The situation in my building is also an eye-opener. A few investors are trying to profit on housing that was and still is meant for people who don’t want to or can’t buy anything bigger or more expensive. They are bypassing the rules meant to protect and keep our housing affordable, and concerning themselves only with what will line their pockets, regardless of how it will affect the people who live here.  I’m grateful to have had the cash to buy one of these places, and I love it dearly. At the same time I realize that few people who need or would love a place like this have that opportunity, or the finances, to do the same.

…

Posting something about my struggle with my whiteness on FB a few months ago drew an unexpected response of unfriendly and surprisingly rude comments from white male church members who profess colorblindness and wondered what my problem is. I can’t respond to them yet. I have too much work to do inside myself. But I understood with a shock the extent of white blindness surrounding the issue of race in our country’s history, just as there is blindness about gender inequality, and that it often comes from the very same people.

…

I’m so glad to have found ACA, the Adult Children of Alcoholics 12-Step group, as it’s a safe place I go weekly to express my feelings and acknowledge the growing pains, knowing I will be received and embraced regardless of whether my opinion matches those of the other people in the room. I can cry, express weakness or confusion, and generally explore what I’m going through without having to necessarily know the answer, nor does anyone try to give it to me. We all acknowledge that we’re on a journey to rediscover and reclaim ourselves, and that no one can do that work for us. It’s my haven in the storm of life. It’s where I feel most whole, and most like myself.

…

I’m glad you’ve found someone you can share your joys and sorrows with. And I hope you keep developing friendships and support groups where you can speak your truth and work through your fears and disappointments, as they surely will keep on showing up. People and institutions can only carry us part of the way. “In the end, the only steps that matter are the ones we take all by ourselves.” (The Weepies)

…

Thanks for thinking of me with a book. A life-changing one is the best kind 🙂

…

Your Mom