|
An archive of all past Queerly Embodied emails is now available. Simply scroll down to “Archive” on my website.
I’ve written and re-written the beginning of this newsletter countless times. I write a sentence, and delete it. Then I take a deep breath, only to start again, and then delete the words immediately. This moment that we as queer, trans and gender expansive folx are all sitting in feels too big to put into words. Another therapist and founder of the Liberatory Wellness Network, Patricia, recently wrote on her Instagram page: “Therapy tells us to breathe through it. To find safety. To regulate. But how do you regulate when the world is collapsing? … Therapy wasn’t built for this moment. But resistance was. Community was. Love was. And we will not let them take that away from us.” This isn’t a newsletter issue talking about regulation strategies. Because the reality is: The inner distress, fear, grief, and rage you’re feeling is valid and deserves to be honored and witnessed. There’s a pervasive myth inside and outside therapy circles that regulation means we need to be calm all the time. But not only is this not true, it’s a function of the white supremacist culture we live in. When you are witnessing your communities, and your identities, being denied, erased, and placed under attack, it makes sense to not feel ok. One of the most important things we can do for ourselves and our communities is to hold and validate what our bodies are telling us, and to provide safe containers for us to release those feelings and feel witnessed. So then, what do we do when it feels like the collective grief and rage we are feeling is too much? We find moments of resistance, both internally and with community. Your existence is resistance I recently read a paper by Terah J Stewart on black women and everyday resistance in higher education. He titled it, “Where we are, resistance lives.” The meaning behind the phrase is that resistance isn’t just relegated to big, public acts. Resistance is also intersectional, present and potent in the small, everyday actions that people take to fight oppression, affirm their identities, practice community care, and connect to cultural and ancestral practices. Somatically, when we resist, we support our nervous system. We find our agency. We affirm who we are. We help bring energy to a nervous system that might be feeling shut down and disconnected from ourselves and community. We remind all parts of ourselves that our identities are not dependent on others’ definitions of us. And, because true safety and holding comes with connection to community, resistance connects us to something outside of ourselves. Practices of resistance that affirm your identity Many folx I work with, myself included, are feeling an understandable need to be more hypervigilant in the world right now. This can come in the form of an increased fight/flight response in public, a desire to hide parts of your identity or make yourself small in certain public settings, and feelings of erasure. Again, your nervous system is responding appropriately to the current political situation. Instead of fighting your nervous system, or trying to tell yourself you’re safe in situations where your safety feels understandably compromised, what if you created practices of resistance in your home and community? What if the “point” of these practices wasn’t to regulate yourself, but to feel connected, to create safe containers to hold yourself and your community, and to give your body sips of soothing in the days and years ahead? Some questions to consider when building your resistance practice: What can you place in your room or your home that reminds you of your identities and who you are? Are there clothes, makeup, dances, or body movements that you can put on or do in the privacy and safety of your home that affirm your gender, your sexuality, your culture? Are there photos of your ancestors, either biological or your queer and trans ancestors, that you can place in your home that remind you of the lineage of cultural and queer resistance? Are there phrases, pieces of art, works of poetry, or music that you can read, listen to, look at, or create that remind you of your queerness, and connect you to something greater? What can you create that represents you and your identities? Are there rituals you can build into your daily routine that give your body some sips of soothing? Again, this isn’t in order to “regulate” yourself or deny your emotions. These rituals are a practice to support and create a holding container for yourself. How can you do these practices in community? Remember, community doesn’t have to be a huge group of people. Community can be one or two people. Community can be a connection to your ancestors and the queer and trans folx who came before you. Community can be a connection to the natural world.
Some inquiries to do on your own, and in community, in the days ahead: What are sustainable, small acts of resistance that you can practice? What are ways you can internally resist and affirm your identity? How can you expand your resistance practice to support others in your communities? How can you use the bodily privileges you do have to protect others in your communities with less privilege?
Finally, here are a few resources, both local to the Bay Area and national, to find support and to make connection: Resources In solidarity,
Eula If you received this email as a forward and would like to sign up for Queerly Embodied, use this link.
|
