I'm not sorry about making you uncomfortable.
At the beginning of the year, you likely saw many posts on social media about people’s Word of the Year.
Initially, I chose the word “nourish.” I was thinking about how I need to spend my time thoughtfully in activities and conversations that help me thrive, that make me feel good about having them. Because how many times do you find yourself doing things that wasted your thought currency and left you drained? A lot, I’ll bet.
I was commiserating with a friend about one of these draining situations when she hit me with a revelation:
I wasn’t speaking my “truth.”
I was constantly policing my tone and my message.
So what is my truth, my message?
The truth is, I am as angry as a honey badger on a rampage. I see so much violence, hate, and fear and hear so much deafening silence around it from people who are in positions to make noise about it. They seem to be distracted by other, more fun things, or continue to plow through life with blinders on because the violence, hate, and fear don’t directly affect them.
I get angry when I’m told I’m “too political.” I’m not a politician (nor do I want to be). I’m not a paid lobbyist. But if being “political” means drawing attention to how marginalized people are being treated, to how one group with more power is working to suppress or willfully ignoring a group with less power, then yes, I am.
I get angry when my child asks me if people treat me differently because my skin is a darker color than hers, because that isn't something a kid should have to navigate.
I get angry when I'm told to dress or speak a certain way so that I can be taken "more seriously."
I get angry when I think about all the things I did to make other people comfortable.
I get angry for you, for me, for all us humans.
Where's this anger coming from? I know I joke often about how I hate humans, how it’s easier to be introverted and never leave home than deal with people. And yet every day, I’m confronted with hope that we as humans are doing things to make the world a little bit better.
But to be clear, I’m angry. I’m very angry. My anger has grown from a slow, smoldering ember to a raging bonfire over time—so much so, that it’s manifested in my health. (You can read my recent post in which I assumed I was dying at H-E-B and was subsequently diagnosed with hypertension here.)
But this love is fierce. This love for humanity is not going to apologize.