What Had Happened Was
or why I've been absent.
Hey, you. Did I ever tell you about the time I took a pretty big hiatus from writing to you to get a grip on my anxiety? The last post I wrote to you was about me really stepping into myself in a way I had never allowed before. What it didn’t say was how the political climate of our then newly elected 47th president was getting to me. It wasn’t the racist, homophobic, transphobic, immigrant hating, narcissistic gruel that he spewed that frightened me, because that was typical of him. It was the racist, homophobic, transphobic, immigrant hating, narcissistic gruel that he spewed, being JUSTIFIED and EXCUSED by people I knew and loved. That scared the shit out of me. All those years of thinking we just had different opinions on fiscal responsibility and government programs, when apparently what we’d really been debating about was their thinly veiled support of Jim Crow Laws making a comeback. Holy, 1950’s struggles, Batman!
So fast forward to why I am writing to you now. I ran across an old diary entry drawing a line in the sand for me tamping down my feelings, opinions, and worth, which up until now I had not fully embodied. Rereading that entry reinforced how important it is for me to stop being mindful to people who are not mindful to me. If this changes the dynamic of my relationships, subscribers and the likes, then so be it. I am not here for everyone; I’m here for you. The journey this year might read a bit more raw and vulnerable than before but you can bet that I will still find the beauty in all the mess that is my life and the craziness out there in the world right now.
Here is the entry that drew me back to purpose:
July 2025
As we prepared to go, there came a point where I convinced myself that bracing ourselves for constricted thinking and ideals was just silly. If we went fully prepared to have a good time, a good visit, all would be well. That’s the rub though, right? Nothing right now is remotely the same, in fact I wake up every day wondering if I’m living the “Truman Show” version of “The Help.’
My husband and I knew the score. Discussing shit like politics, even with family, would be futile. Yet, he was the first to be held hostage by political ammo. “You couldn’t possibly have voted for Harris?,” they said. Let’s break that down. I had to give it to them for not making assumptions but the intent behind the question wasn’t really to know the answer. The intent was to get into a heated debate allowing them to use cult-like buzz words and their..ah hem…intelligent wisdom to try and get my husband to justify and approve their presidential decision. Now why would I say that? My husband is married to a black woman and has bi-racial children. Asking him if he voted for the racist pedophile candidate with racist ignorant constituents, pimping out a 2025 agenda that included regulating interracial marriage, was bullshit. They knew the deal. My husband told me he politely declined the bait and walked away. However, for me, the seed of anxiety had been sown.
I knew that much of our trip would be filled with similar conversations. I felt more visible and invisible than I ever had before. I had the pleasure of getting roped into a seemingly harmless conversation that took a Bug’s Bunny left at Alburquerque and ended in “What do you think about this immigrant thing?” town. Boy were they ready to pounce on my response. Strange how both sides of the political spectrum can pull upon the Founding Fathers to conveniently suit their needs, which proves that our forefathers didn’t know shit. They were flying by the seat of their little racist, misogynistic pantaloons. I mean yes with this part of my family we had always been on opposing sides none of which were blatantly centered around destroying people because of who they love, the color of their skin or their desire at a shot of a taste of freedom they’ve never known. The straw was hearing someone say, “I’d rather take care of a home-less person than an immigrant.” Ah, so it’s an either-or situation, huh? Me and my bleeding heart had had enough. I abandoned the noise, went to bed early and cried myself to awake.
I get that they can never truly understand my experience of things right now (or ever really) but the fact that they’ve never even tried to in all the years we’ve been in relationship, is deeply disappointing. It’s their world and I’m just a guest in it. I’m a good guest. A well-spoken guest. A guest they welcome back, but a guest none the less.
Before we headed home, I was asked, “Would you ever want to go into politics?” Ladies and Gents, in some ways I am a politician every day of my life, particularly when my children and I are the only “spots” in the room. The delicate dance of holding space for everyone else’s experience, fears, reservations and opinions while having mine diminished, dismissed or ignored all together. Suppressing constant anxiety. “Did what I say sound too angry black woman? Are my kids behaving? Are they using their manners?” How do I explain the difference between being able to speak on what it’s like being a minority in this country but not being able to explain the thoughts and motivations of ALL black people because we are fucking individuals? Let me tell you something, I am the queen of diplomacy. I am a queen who is exhausted from ruling in a world which chooses not to understand me and it’s designed that way. We are all a part of the same system created to keep us in fear so that one side can continue benefiting from oppression and the other side can continue fighting their way out of it.
What I know about myself is that I can’t turn off the part of me that loves people. I can’t turn off what it means to be me. I think Viola Davis’ Aibileen Clark said it best, “God says we need to love our enemies. It hard to do. But I can start by telling the truth. No one had ever asked me what it feel like to be me. Once I told the truth about that, I felt free.”
Yeah, Aibileen, whether it’s through my acting or writing, “…I guess that gonna be me” too.
**Everything I write comes from my personal insights and has all the drippings of my opinions, biases, and what-nots. Rather than come for me with facts or judgements to contradict my said opinions, biases and what-nots, I’d rather you find a different blog that makes you happy. If you find these posts therapeutic or helpful in any way that means we connected and it’s all I can ask for, however I’m not a therapist nor a coach. I’m just a writer floating words out there hoping they find the person they are intended for.
I hope you keep writing, Angel. You're really good at it -- and I'm here for it.