Stumbling Toward Enlightenment

I happened upon this quote by Rachel Macy Stafford the other day (scroll down), and it literally took my breath away. I read it over a few times, digesting it, and felt a validation that I had never felt before. I wish so much that I could have read it 10, 15 years ago. (for more on the full back story, scroll back to my July 2020 posts...) It spoke to the years I spent trying to please others, trying to fit in, trying to tread lightly and create harmony and weakly explain myself. All the while navigating my own survival amid my own family turmoil. Barely holding myself up while navigating the fallout from my parent's abrupt divorce, my mom's painful illness, my sibling's prison sentence, taking food to my cousin while he battled addiction all while I had to turn around and attend a function so far removed from what I had just witnessed and so lacking in basic concern that it still blows my mind--but I continued to go, to attend events with gifts for all, to hold my tongue

I recently read  this article on being proactive vs reactive. It really captures how I've developed and how we have developed as a family in the age of Covid. Life in the 'before time' was reactive--we took life as it came, and were simply doing our best. The problem is, that wasn't enough. In fact, it wasn't good at all. We (hub and I) were tired, stressed, too busy, and just barely balancing it all. Post-quarantine has stripped all of that away, in some ways for the worse (probably common to many) but also for the better. Being stripped of all of the 'to-dos' and social planning left us with much to think about, with many raw emotions and ancient pains that rose to the surface in search of healing. And healing, while painful and messy, is also beautiful and brave and a worthwhile journey. So here we are, clinging to one another, grateful for one another, and regularly turning to eachother while doing dishes or some other mindless task, and saying "we

 Those of you who tend to be caregiver types, you know what I mean. Maybe you feel that if you don't keep the world spinning, it will stop. Or if you let go for too long, it will spin out of control. For those of us who have always been the "hold down the fort" type of people, I can tell you that none of that is true. You can still be a caregiver to a loved one and take care of yourself. You can (and you must) fill your own cup before you can fill someone else's. Sometimes this means leaning on your people, and if this doesn't come naturally to you, practice. Because as the saying goes, those who mind don't matter, and those who matter don't mind. As tough as this year has been, learning how to let go and ask my tribe for help has helped me learn how to let myself be loved. If I had allowed myself this same breadth of spirit and generosity with myself while I was caring all those years for my mom and my brother, I may not have harbored so much trauma. But

I've been reading a lot of Gloria Anzaldua lately. Her soul speaks to mine, and I wish I had found her writings when I was a young adult. As it was, I spent late high school and college clinging to writers like Michelle Serros, Richard Rodriguez, and Sandra Cisneros. Today, there are so many writers that are sharing our stories, it's such a beautiful, wondrous thing! They are sharing those stories of borderlands--las fronteras--not just geographical borderlands, although the stories of border towns need to be told--but the cultural border that is the Chicanx experience.  And things are changing! The writers hold that power. Our voices are finally being heard, being valued. This is such an exciting time in our history--we are the children, the grandchildren of that generation that sacrifiiced everything--we are the dream, fully realized. To be able to finally share those stories in book groups, in virtual learning communities, in our friendships, is allowing these stories to unf

I had a thought today that the act of opening--opening our hands and our hearts--allows us to simultaneously accept things as they are, and let go of things as they are.  This has been my experience during this strange 2020, an experience of opening up and becoming vulnerable and fierce at the same time, of standing for what is right and holding others accountable without being viscious. Such a year of dichotomies. In allowing ourselves to be vulnerable, we become strong, and in pushing back against provocations, we reclaim our space.  💥💕

I read recently that when you can't kindle your own inner light, look to others' light to gain the strength to rekindle your own. I've always envisioned this little flame inside my heart, a pilot light of sorts, and that during the times when my heart was full and life's flow was steady, that flame would roar into a fire like the ones we used to set at beach parties during college. Inversely, during those times in which fear ran high or grief was near, my flame would dim so low that it was hardly detectable at all. BUT--it was always there. My pilot light has never gone out, it's just become a matter of adjusting it to fit the circumstances. This is one of those times.  No matter how hard things have been--and 2020 has been a doozy--I've relied on what I've learned the last few years about digging deep and finding the fuel for that flame. Prayer, texts and calls with girlfriends, uplifting reading, finding my breath and practicing self-care--it's all for

Today I decided to prioritize myself and in doing so discovered an area where I've been stuck but can finally let go.  I decided to skip today's family lunch. I've done this before, but usually because I don't have the energy  and today it was with more of a clear intention--to mindfully disconnect from the noise. I just can't with that shit today. Normally, I would just go, but today I took a stand on the issue. But I felt terrible about it...terrible about how it effects my husband. He is totally fine with it, and according to him, if he could get away with it, he wouldn't go, either. But I still couldn't shake the feeling that I was letting him down, or not being fair. I felt like a selfish jerk who was only thinking of her own comfort. So he left to go meet for lunch, and I stayed home and fretted over what a horrible person I was being. But then I had a HUGE realization that I wasn't the one actually causing this situation. I wasn't the one who

In the midst of all the craziness that is my current career path, I feel that I have at last found my flow. That every step I've taken up to this point--every uphill battle, every almost-gave-up moment, every credential complication--has actually served several purposes. I wanted  this path, I chose this path against all the odds that were stacked against me. From the initial last minute application process to the overnight stays in a shady hotel in the armpit of LA County in order to finish my last classes, I did it. I did the hard things. Now I can say that I fought for my place here, and certainly not for fortune or fame. In fact, I didn't even end up at a "good" school or in a comfortable district--I am here after a hardscrabble journey, with my students who have also had hardscrabble journeys, who deserve teachers who fought to be with them.  So that's it. That's the post. 

I'm in a better space today, thanks to touching base with friends and with myself. I realize that I was holding onto anticipatory anxiety--that I was already bracing myself for the lift of the quarantine and the ensuing toxicity of forced interactions. I was preparing my energy to become defensive, protective, contained and suppressed (which is so against my nature). It is draining to come out of those interactions, and I was mentally girding myself to head back into battle. Sounds dramatic, I know, but that is what it feels like to deal with narcissism and another person's unresolved anger--it's exhausting! And in this particular situation, I am not the only one who has felt this over the years. The ripples of that locus of rage can be seen in my own distancing, sibling dysfunction, marital strife, fakeness of many kinds, kids, etc. But by all means, continue with the sarcasm, LAUGH, and have another drink. So I gave myself permission to not just go back to business as us

Thank goodness for writing therapy, amiright? I mean, I have a lot of patience for most people, so my fury is like a comet, only coming around every ten years or so. But when the emotional load gets to a certain point and tips the scale just so, look out. It's about to go down. This needs to be said--has needed to be said for years--and will be said the minute my switch is flipped in person. So the next time you decide to make fun of people’s "eccentricity," (you're using the word wrong in the wrong way, btw, and there ain't nothin wrong with being whomever the fuck you want to be so screw off with the judgmental bullshit), or weigh in on our choices of "weird" vacation spots or jobs that should be more "prestigious," (WTF?) or refer to me as "white" when you know damn well that I'm not; or "check in" on people who just lost a parent to Covid--not because you actually care about them, but because you want to get the scoo

Alrighty, folks, bear with me. Hell, no one reads this, so I'm gonna go ahead. If there's one thing I've grown to detest, it's smug-ass privilege. Now, I didn't know much about this concept until recent years. I had ignorantly assumed that most everyone grew up like me--working class, ungated communities, family members on the wrong side of the law, and a general sense of just getting by. I'm not complaining, I had a great childhood and had no sense that we were all squished into a tiny house and had never been on a plane-vacation. Our house had a familiar and worn in revolving door, and I actually loved it. My cousin lived with us, my uncle, my grandma for a while, then more cousins came after I moved out, then me again for a while, and so on. The furthest we went on vacation was Santa Cruz, and we stayed at a Motel 6 and ate breakfast cereal in styrofoam bowls in the Safeway parking lot to save money--actual restaurants were for special occasions. Yet there is