I have been struggling in a miasma of nothingness lately. The last few weeks supporting my nesting partner in his need to finding his footing as a queer, nuerodivergent, black man in this even more openly white supremacist America has taken precedent. I have been focused on supporting him, minimizing our children’s fear and worry, and doing my best to keep our family running as smoothly as possible. I’m not a saint or a martyr, this is just what parenting and partner life is like. My partner is here for me too, we help each other get through.
Now, though clouded by low energy, chronic illness, and a series of winter illnesses, there is a moment to breathe, some time to process my own feelings more directly. To mourn even my most thin illusion of safety as a chronically ill, disabled, transgender, queer, autistic person. To worry for a future for my multiracial, gender non-conforming, and autistic children in ever more pointed, pervasive, and scary ways.
I feel almost frozen. Nauseated. Unsure.
I don’t sleep at night, wondering how bad it can get in four years, in eight years? How much danger will my children be in? Could it get dangerous to be out in public as a queer interracial family? Could I die from poverty, a conservative government, a deep cultural apathy towards the lives and wellbeing of disabled people, and a severe potentially life threatening chronic illness? Will my husband be attacked? How long until someone tries to cuss at or spit on our children? Where in the world could we even go to be safer? Will we start experiencing more queer bashing as the girls get older and I pass more often? How much can our little neighborhood cushion my family from the rampant anti-blackness of this conservative white town? Could I ever perform any gender in a traditional enough manner to pass? I never have in my entire life, been able to do that.
Fears, worries, and concerns that have been here all along are magnified exponentially.
I flounder socially. I am numbed to friends, to socializing, to reaching out, my words shrivel in my throat. Lost in the wind.
There are so many friends I need to check in on.
I don’t have any more answers than I did last week or last month. No enlightenment kisses my eyelids.
Things are just grim right now, especially for the multiply marginalized, PoC, and BIPoC in particular. There is no prettying that up. Many people are facing more extreme and threatening circumstances than I or my family are. I don’t have magical answers. I won’t pretend to have advice or to know better than anyone.
But I do know I can’t give up and I can’t give in. I know I have to keep fighting for what’s right. That I need to get my shit together and keep broadcasting my love and support to folks near and far who are also struggling. That any time I have the strength, capability, and resources I need to keep taking physical, tangible, action, in whatever ways I can, to do my best, to contribute to dismantling this misogynistic, heteronormative, white supremacy.
So this is my stance, near the edge of the abyss, that today, I will not go over that edge. This is my statement of love, my declaration of support. If you are scared, angry, mourning, I am here for you in whatever way I can be. Comment, email me, I’m always happy to listen. I will hold your hand if you like. I’ll hear your words in the gloom. I will listen, as I should.
I hear you. I see you. Your feelings are valid
Keep breathing my loves