I have been spending the past few days somewhat unplugged and with my son and his family, who are visiting from Tennessee. Normally, when I plan to take downtime away from Black Girl in Maine work, I like to let folks know—not because I am filled with an inflated sense of self-importance but because the reality of self-funded media is that there is the constant expectation that one will always be putting out content.
The algorithms on Meta platforms reward quantity over quality and with Meta being the biggest driver of readers to my blog and Patreon who convert to paying readers, well, I really don’t ever have the luxury of disappearing. People who are new to supporting self-funded media expect content and there are plenty of writers and creators who are willing to keep the wheels turning even if they are on the brink of burnout.
However, the last several weeks I have been exhausted. Like many of you, the constant hijinks and shenanigans coming out of this administration are tiring. In six months, this administration has severely hobbled my consulting practice, given that many clients I traditionally work with are schools and universities or non-profit organizations. While my day job is secure until the end of the year, I have no idea how we will operate next year given that we now have increased competition from non-profits that have lost funding. Also, with increased prices of everything in life and more media choices than ever, people are less inclined to support writers like me. I didn’t even do my semi-annual support campaign for the blog because I am so aware of how tight things are for so many people.
Truthfully, I have been stressed out. Between ICE raids and fears that ignorant agents might grab me or family members even though I was born in this raggedy-ass country, it’s been a lot. Literally as I was writing this piece, there was an ICE sighting on the ferry to my island this morning. That made running to the café fun this morning. I never take my phone or wallet when I am running an errand on this island but today, I did. If you stay ready, you don’t have to get ready.
The United States is on fire and our best resistance seems to be comedians and satirists, as the masses become anesthetized with fear and are simply worn out. Going online now feels like a daily dose of the most rancid cod liver oil designed to stir fear and anger. Where is the hope, where are the adults, and why aren’t we moving and mobilizing?
As I was dragging through the days and starting to feel defeated on every level, it hit me that I needed to take a beat, pause, and get still and rest.
In recent years, “rest is resistance” has become a calling card—maybe even a bit of a cliché, with critics arguing that rest isn’t always resistance despite the popularity of Tricia Hershey’s book with the same title. However, as Hershey writes on page 92: “Resting is a connection and a path back to our true nature. We are stripped down to who we really were before the terror of capitalism and white supremacy. We say no to the systems that see us simply as machines. We resist the lie that we aren’t enough. We are enough! We are divine.”
For the past few days, as I have rested and reconnected with myself and loved ones, I am reawakened to the reality that in allowing myself to walk away from work with just an out-of-office message and simple post on Facebook, rest is what allows me to get grounded and settled and gain clarity on what is real.
Real is accepting that our current situation, while disturbing and frankly bleak, isn’t the conclusion. This part is a sprint and we have to remember we’re actually in a marathon. These people want us to be tired and while today’s media keeps us locked in 24/7, we have the will to choose when to plug in or unplug. It is in that sense partly that we see that self-care truly isn’t a luxurious indulgence; in this moment, it is an active part of resistance. Real is filling our cups with as much good stuff as possible that keeps us rooted to the core question: What is our why?
Why are we fighting back? Why are we not going to give up?
Each and every one of us generally has a “why” that keeps us from just walking off a pier and never returning or just going postal as they used to say.
Yeah, this administration is bad, and fascism is bad, and kidnapping people is real bad and while those things move us to some action, it often isn’t the why that keeps us going against all odd and despite the costs.
The why is often rooted in what we hold most dear to us. People know the bad things are bad but too many of us are living a hybrid life—a life filled with fear but in which we still go about our daily rounds and fit our activism into this macabre new version of normal. Where we still make small talk and cleave to politeness, thus inadvertently supporting what we purport to despise.
Bad things and fear alone don’t make people rise up, and that is what we are living and experiencing. We just become performative in our resistance instead of resistant on a molecular level. But when we gain clarity on the why, we refuse to accept defeat, we move mountains, we learn from failure, and we don’t give up. Against all odds, we refuse to accept defeat and will literally die trying before we surrender.
Last night, I was on the beach with both my adult children, my four grandchildren and my son’s partner, and it was while watching the younger grandbabies play at the water’s edge while my eldest grandchild combed the beach for rocks that I was viscerally reminded of my why. A few hours earlier before the beach visit, my son had been going through the family photo albums with his partner. who wanted to see my son as a child and learn more about our family. My son was looking at his childhood pictures when I heard him comment, “My mama was so young when she had me. She looked like a child in this picture, and she has always worked so hard to create a better life for us.”
As a mom, it was a great comment, but the truth is that for the bulk of my life, he was my why. I was an 18-year-old high school dropout when he was conceived, I gave birth to him just two weeks after turning 19. Fast forward to almost 14 years later, when I gave birth to my daughter, I had literally finished my master thesis while nine months pregnant. My why then was creating a better legacy for my son and later my daughter—to be more than a somber statistic and a bleak snapshot of Black women.
In looking at my grandchildren and thinking of our history as Black people in this country, my why is now making sure my grandchildren don’t grow up in a country that resembles the segregation of Jim Crow that their great grandfather (my father) grew up in, where options were sharply limited due to the color of one’s skin.
We are literally teetering on the brink of a full-scale return to Jim Crow and the annihilation of our history and progress since that time. I can write and make sure that as long as I have strength, truth will prevail. Knowledge is power and, in a world increasingly intent on moving us towards technologies that can alter truth, truth tellers will become more valuable.
My why is deeply personal. It is about six living beings who exist because I exist and wanting a better world for them. My why starts with these six people but extends outward. It is these six people for whom I would literally give up my life to ensure their safety and well-being.
Your why may not be as personal, but it needs to matter as deeply to you. It is something core to what you value and that you will do anything for.
We cannot be quiet and complacent but it isn’t helpful to be driven just by feelings of guilt that keep pushing you when you are worn out. Rather than continuing to run on empty, I encourage you to surrender to the tired and allow yourself to rest. It is by resting that we gain strength and clarity to figure out what we are doing and figure out our why, so we can return to the arena strengthened and energized for the long game that we are all playing.
The mayhem and destruction we are experiencing wasn’t built in six months; it won’t be reversed in a few months. Building a new version of whatever lies in the wreckage of what remains will also be a long game, so rest often and continue to hold to your why and let it keep you in resistance.
As for me, I am moving at a slower pace for the next month and while I will be writing and posting, I will be doing it at a pace that honors my capacity. And I will have to trust that those who choose to support my work will honor my need for rest and contemplation.
If this piece resonated with you, please consider a tip, or become a monthly patron, if you aren’t already. I offer my work freely, to ensure that it is accessible to all but if you have the means to support it, please do so. Remember, I do work with groups and organizations, if you want to work with me, please reach out for details.
