Another Short Answer

(A free-write reflection in response to reading a sister’s answer.)

I’m in the SPEAK! project, and I almost didn’t want to be. I was scared, and it was going on during a time I felt scared of everything. Even my shadow was maligning. I panicked when I remembered I said I would contribute. At that point, most of the other contributors attended last year’s AMC and recorded theirs in a studio. I only had the built-in microphone on my laptop. I tried test recordings, just saying words, and the shakiness of my voice made me cry. The crying made my voice break and tremble even more before I abandoned it for the night.

The next day I tried again, and this time I took Deep Breaths. Will record this poem. Will send it away to CD Land. Gonna do it, gonna do it… I took one big giant breath, and I blazed through the poem I wrote shortly after erasing my previous blog. I sent it off after listening to it once and I sent it to my co-blogger. I’d promised. I wrote that poem when I felt tired of absorbing blows, tired of expectations to plow through painful ordeal after painful ordeal. My voice felt weary and broken speaking about every injustice that crossed my path, and when I started feeling physically ill, emotionally ill, mentally unstable I didn’t ask myself, “Why am I in so much pain?” I asked, “Does this make me a bad friend? A bad blogger? A bad writer? A bad activist? A bad feminist? A bad black woman? A bad person? Why am I becoming so weak?”

So weak. So down. So blinded to the sunshine and energy surrounding me.

I’ve never had a chance to try to understand pain or hurt in my life. Writing in journals, blogs, notebooks — my writing is my main exploratory avenue for understanding and learning from pain and failure. Throughout traumatic experiences in my personal world, I’ve always had to take one for the team. Be strong. Help fight. Stand up and move. Care for people. But I’d be lying if I said these actions — now instinctive — were what I truly desired to do. And sometimes I think I take it for granted that everyone faces tasks that she may not wish to do. Everyone faces situations that she would rather avoid. But what happens when you feel dragged through these tasks and situations unnecessarily? What happens when you wind up in certain situations because someone haphazardly carries you there and abandons you?

BA’s entry then led me to understand why I couldn’t get upset. It wasn’t that I was incapable of being upset or invulnerable. But often when the youngest of a group or gathering gets upset or expresses some inclination of hurt or pain, it sends a current of fear through the entire group. Never be young and sense that something is wrong. Never let on that you know something’s wrong. When the youngest of the gathering starts to feel pain, it adds to the collective pain of the group. It’s easier to tell someone to fight when you can’t explain why they were wronged. It’s easier to tell someone to move than it is to sit and let them sort things out. This fighting culture has no time for exploration, for healing, for understanding the true sources of pain and energy. This fighting culture only has time to make pain stop so you can stand up and keep fighting for… what? Crumbs? Coins? Ideas? You fight, you fall, you get up — on and on and on until what happens? Where exactly will our fights lead?

I struggle more with hurt and pain than I should. I admit that freely. I am an Over Thinker as well as an Over Sharer. I grew up for so long in such a cloistered-off space where I couldn’t talk about anything, lest I betray something or someone or some place or some idea. But what happens when the thoughts and questions in my head have nowhere else to go? Even the most banal activities keep me fascinated because they are so minute, yet so integral to daily life. I’d like to paint myself as a warrior princess, a drum major for justice, or something equally combative and noble. But honestly, I’m just a person. Can’t I enjoy that, explore that, stay in that without pursuing your dreams and your hopes? Does my desire to do that indicate there’s something wrong with me or with you?

Do you trust that I’ll come through after I take time to heal myself?