When I was younger, I was angrier. There were a whole bunch of reasons for that. But I think one reason in general is just hormones, rebellion, teenage angst, etc. I went to protests and gatherings and yelled and danced and held signs. I did many things.
When I got older there was a Pagan Pride march, and there was a woman who was pressuring me to march. I told her, “I did that stuff already. That’s not where I’m at anymore,” and she got angry and started yelling at me. I don’t think she knew she was yelling. She said that everyone had to march, everyone had to be active, Pagan Rights were violated every day,” etc., etc. And I can’t argue with the latter, they still are.
But I’m thinking now that there are so many ways to be active. There are so many faces to activism…there’s microcosmic, like working with the people in your neighborhood, or even just on your block or street, and there’s macrocosmic, where you try to change governmental policy, or the world.
For me, the marching is best left to younger people. Youth has an idealism and a belief that things can change, while I become tired and frustrated that they never will. Youth has a strength and endurance, while I have a lack of faith. Youth has fire and anger and their lives depend on the future, while I’m in what must be the latter half of my life. (I’m not living to 100 I don’t think. Most people don’t.) When the future happens, I’m only going to have to live with it for a short while.
But there are other things, too. Letter writing, standing up for injustice whenever you see it, discussion with people who are able to listen to reason, even if it won’t change their minds it might open them a little, or expose them to an alternate point of view.
I’m trying a little bit to have internet discussion, but it’s so draining. It’s hurtful. It’s like constantly parrying attacks and coming back with open arms. It takes patience, and an ability to step back and not take things personally that I’m only just learning…I shouldn’t have tested it so early. I’m doing okay on the surface, but I’m waking up with anxiety, I’m crying, I can’t even finish (and this is pretty telling) ONE cup of coffee in the morning without starting to have my body react really quickly with my hands shaking and my heart beating quickly like a caffeine overdose. It’s not the caffeine, it’s me. It’s my PTSD.
I tell other people that not everyone can do everything. That there are many jobs. That we can’t all be good at everything. Last night I was crying on Rob saying that I want to be able to express myself better, I want to be clearer, I feel like I’m failing miserably, I want to make a difference in the world, and I feel like I can’t, like I’m powerless, like I can’t make a difference at all, no matter how hard I try.
Rob said, “You made a difference to me.”
“Look at all these people you helped,” and he listed a few from this month. “You made a difference to them. And you made a difference to me. You changed me and my life.”
I said, “And you love me anyway, even if I CAN’T change anything?”
“Yes. But you can. You do. You have.”
I have to take my own advice. I have to withdraw from these conversations and leave them to other people, they hurt me too much. And I have to stick to the smaller things. I have to do what I can, and stop judging myself for being unable to do what I can’t.
So to all you people that are doing those things, judging yourself for the things you can’t do, fighting things even though it hurts you more in the long run…I just want you to know that I do it, too.
And I’m going to stop. You can too.
