The power of being heard (newsletter)

 What an interesting week this was. It started out with last Friday's Roe v Wade news that brought my blood to a boil. Sunday was a pro choice march in a town close by, organized by a high school student!

Our sweaty selves at a brewery afterwards. It was 100 degrees that day! The first time I've been indoors without a mask in awhile.

Monday I wrote about that march and I've included that toward the end of this email. I posted it on Nextdoor and got enough back and forth (2/3 of it pro choice and 1/3 of it pro life) that Nextdoor deleted the post. Only one person used "MURDER" in all caps. Mostly it was people who were explaining or defending their positions, some typical propaganda from both sides, some real stories being told from both sides (that's the part that stuck for me.) Being someone that uses social media, I'm used to this day and age of "block" and "delete." Being someone who admins multiple Facebook groups and one that has a couple thousand members, I'm used to people running to me in horror over something that was said, asking that I delete it.

So, I shouldn't have been surprised over the deleted post really. I did find myself about ready to turn off commenting after the "MURDER" comment. And then someone with a clearer head and a different background piped up with, "Turn off notifications if you don't want to read it but please leave the post up. It's ok to disagree with each other." or some version of that. So I left it up and kept reading all day. I had an interesting reaction to all of it, my thinking brain said, "Keep reading, this is important." and my lizard brain who is more interested in fight, flight, and freeze was running in circles with her hands over her ears screaming. Goodness. I was a mess by the end of the day.

So, why? Why was I stressed about disagreement? Some of it goes back to my childhood (as things often do) but some of it has to do with social media and what it taught us in a short period of time: we can and easily do, block those we don't want to hear from.

I think this is where it all started to go downhill quickly. To the block and delete we can add anonymity, enabling people to spew whatever without fear of real reprisal. Of course there has always been an us vs them mentality, apparently it's human nature. But it's gotten scarily out of hand over the past decade. And I think block and delete are mostly at fault.

We no longer allow other's opinions in our life and it's so easy to do. I've been just as guilty of this. I've recently moved back to NC to be with my family. I was raised evangelical Christian, pretty fundamentalist (but no longer follow a religion.) My parents were staunch Republicans, my aunt who was and still is a part of my family of origin was a flower power hippie love child. I'm definitely a product of both. I moved to Colorado in 2003, just outside of Boulder. Left wing hippie central. I loved the hippie aspect of it. 18 years later, in my early 50s and much more entrenched in who I am, I moved back. I'm with my family at least once a week. We are all learning to navigate our differences. In the beginning there were some hurt feelings but a year later, it's getting easier. I'm surprised it's getting easier because I didn't grow up learning the art of debate. And it really is an art.

My parents, in their 70s now, are amazing people. My mom is bright and funny, the life of the party, the ultimate hostess. She has the best laugh. She owned her own business into her early 70s and is a mentor, smart as a whip and the first to convert to the Republican party in the Reagan years.

My dad is Christian and right wing Republican to the core. Religion saved and taught him. He's an engineer and is always inventing better ways to do things. He has a big, booming voice, and is funny, loyal, and passionate.

I learned about them as actual people when I started whitewater kayaking in 1997 and they joined me. I became friends with them and learned to love them even more. They were 50ish then and so brave and strong. I'm 52 now and I see what it really means that they were whitewater kayakers in their 50s.

They are powerhouses, both of them.

That's my parents as their best selves. Like anyone, they have a flip side. And so, the "background" I mentioned before: in my childhood I learned to placate ("fawn") to keep the peace. Back in NC for a year, I'm still doing it but I'm aware of it. That awareness is leading to slow, steady change in me.

What I didn't learn in my family was how to discuss/argue/debate. Every adult man in my childhood raised his pitch and voice to such a degree that it shut down all conversation, debate, argument. Recently I had an honest to God discussion with my mom and dad about gun rights after the Texas school shooting. It was an actual discussion. Like a, "I wonder if..." and "What would it take to..." and "Maybe if we..." I was SHOCKED. It left me warm and fuzzy. Kinda still basking in the glow as I write this. Apparently old dogs really can learn new tricks.

So, I brought it all up. How men in the family bellow and shut it all down. How we had a real conversation a few weeks ago. How I felt about it. How special it was.

Since then, more conversations that are real. Other's opinions heard.

It reminds me, again, about the power of being heard. It's one of the biggest gifts we can give each other.

And it gives me a big idea—about creating a way for all people in my community to be heard. It's kinda over the top. It could blow up but it might be really, really, REALLY good. I will let you know more if I decide to be brave and jump into it. I hope I do :-)

Here is the link to my pro choice march experience but I've also included it below:

We had started the pro-choice march but it was quiet where we were walking. Suddenly I heard her from way back in the crowd, a strong, sure voice—deep from her core called out, “MY BODY!” and the crowd behind us bellowed out, “MY CHOICE!” I needed to be near that power. I wondered who it was. I stepped to the side and pulled B-Rad and ManChild with me. They questioned me with their eyes and I said, “Just wait a minute.” 

A moment later the powerhouse walked into view: tall, strong shoulders, dark hair pulled back into a messy bun with wavy blue tips. She looked straight ahead, walking quickly, calling out her fast chant, “MY BODY!” and the crowd would respond, “MY CHOICE!” 

She was a child.  

I thought high school but maybe early college. So much bravery and independence in her. She didn’t appear to be with anyone as I watched her, chanting along with her. As I responded to her call I realized that it was surprisingly hard to keep up the chant’s pace. She didn’t seem to be struggling at all—her power just radiated out into the crowd—so unusual for one so young. I settled in and the chant became almost meditative.  

Occasionally her voice would crack—a tiny hitch, a bit of panic and despair in the tone, “MY BODY!” And tears would spring to my eyes and I’d think, “Yes baby. Yes it is.”  

We marched together but we we were marching for her. For all the younglings coming into their sexuality with no control over their bodies, no choice.   

Older people sometimes struggle with younger generations since each new generation is so very different. We need the elders for their wisdom and we need the young for their fierce bravery and power. We need each other. If we were living in villages we would still be connected, young to old and could see the strengths and weaknesses in each generation and shore each other up. But now we are separate and alone. And it’s showing.  

Watching this girl power her way through that march apparently on her own, I thought of how I, at 52 years old, needed to be near her to gather up the strength to speak up. I consider myself a strong woman but I needed her. And while she had the strength to start up the chant, she needed us to respond. We needed each other. When one falters or is unable to speak up, we need others to step in for us, shore us up, give us a helping hand until we are capable again. Hundreds of people in the back half of the march, needed this young woman to belt out, “MY BODY!” to be able to join in.  

As an Equine Gestalt Coach I often work with women who have been trained by family (sometimes) and society (always) to push all emotions down—it’s too much. As women we are taught that we are too much. When I was marching I could feel what a Gestaltist calls an “implosion” building in my body. We’ve all felt it, it’s the feeling of a pot of water coming to a boil and boiling over—internally. In a session, that feeling might lead to what is called “cube work.” When a boiling over of repressed anger happens, we need to get it up and out of our physical body. So we verbalize the anger while beating a 3’x3’x3’ foam-stuffed cube with a tennis racket. Sounds a little odd but is wildly cathartic. Women usually have the hardest time getting to that point because we are taught to be quiet, never speak up, stuff it down. Maybe we can cry but never show anger. Our patriarchal society would much rather us deep dive into depression, stuff the whole of ourselves down, and become apathetic, than show what’s really inside.   

As a matter of fact, they would prefer it.   

You can take pretty much anything away from depressed and apathetic women.  

Obviously.  

Angry women are terrifying to a patriarchal society. Angry women make things happen for the good of the whole. We need our younger generation because that inner warrior hasn’t been pushed down as long. She’s right at the surface, and when she lifts her head to bellow, “NO!" the rest of us can lift ours as well.  

So, to that young woman who was the powerhouse at the back of the Cary, NC pro-choice abortion march on Sunday thank you. I had the anger, you gave me the words.   

If there was ever a time to feel and work through our emotions (despite what society says), clean up our unfinished business, stand up and speak out, it’s now.

—

If you're in my area (the Triangle area of NC,) I've started a private Nextdoor group that is specific to finding ways to help the pro choice movement. You can join here.

ODDS AND ENDS: 

What a pretty, foggy morning!


ManChild and I were coming home from visiting my parental units and caught these two deer wandering near the pond:

When people see the HUGE fig tree/bush we have and all the green figs on it just waiting to ripen, they always get so excited. I was too originally. Then I realized the squirrels eat all the figs before they are ripe. We are never going to be able to have figs and I'm bummed. The tree is 15 by 15, pretty big for netting. Plus I know if I netted it we all know the squirrels would just chew through it. I guess I have to be happy with the idea that at least I'm feeding the animals well.

Little man continues the Great Shed Out of 2022:

Gasp! ManChild allowed me to share this pic of him being too cool for school:

MEMES OF THE WEEK:

Man I love this SO MUCH:

GIVEAWAY

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