I've had a very full
day. A very long, very full, very
wonderful day, actually. And I'm
completely overwhelmed.
This morning, I
participated in a fundraising walk for a local rape crisis center. When I saw the fundraiser advertised, I knew
I had to do it. I found an awesome friend to do it with me, I
raised $170.00, and I went. I've done
walks before -- I participated in Relay for Life in both college and grad
school, and I've staffed tables and raised money for several autism walks. But this walk was different.
First of all, it's the
only walk I've ever done in heels. The
walk -- called "Walk A Mile In Her Shoes" -- asks everyone (men
included) to wear high-heels for the mile-long walk. With the focus on teaching men not to rape
and to be allies for women on this issue, they're asking men to (literally)
walk a mile in a woman's shoes. It's catchy,
right? And, I'll admit, it WAS pretty
awesome watching men of all ages totter down the streets in heels -- some with
socks, some without, and some with packing tape wrapped around the foot and shoe to keep
it on (points for creativity there).
There were signs, too,
of course: "Real men don't rape."
"Rape is a 4 letter word."
"Rape hurts ALL of us."
It was an easy walk on an incredibly gorgeous day. People came outside to watch us walk by, take
pictures of the men in heels, and clap (or, you know, just stare. That too).
People driving by honked their horns and gave us a thumbs up.
I had this moment, out
in the sunshine, with a big crowd of people all joining together to stand up
against this horrific thing that I frequently feel so alone in fighting, when I
realized: I'm not alone in this. This is not a battle we fight only from our
individual bedrooms. This is not a
battle we fight only through words on a page going nowhere. This is not a battle we fight only in moments
shrouded with stillness, and silence, and pain.
We can also fight this battle together.
People care about this
issue. People care enough to come, they
care enough to walk, they care enough to wear heels for a mileand, when this issue is on the street marching through town, people care enough to agree and to
acknowledge us.
I know this, of
course. I know that there are many, many
people who care about this issue. I know
that there are many, many people affected by this issue. I know that "rape is wrong" is a
statement most people can get behind.
But it doesn't feel that way very often.
When you're fighting in the war, it's hard to see that there are people battling
alongside you and behind you and in front of you because you're just so focused
on making it out of that battle alive.
And yet...there we
were. Together. Standing together in the April sun, complete
strangers, daring to stand on this issue that we all fight alone.
Tonight, this thought
fills me with an exquisite pain that's hard to explain. It's just so right, you know? It's
just...it's as it should be, and that's beautiful. For once, it feels like somebody got
something right. For once, it feels like
maybe...just maybe...there's hope. Maybe
all the sunshine went to my head, but there is this emotional pain that feels a
little bit like a closed heart breaking open -- painful, and beautiful all at
once.
****************************
I will be teaching a
course at a local university starting in the fall. Last week, I got an email from a
professor/mentor/friend there, who asked if I would be willing to talk with a
student about graduate school and answer her questions. I agreed, and we arranged to meet this
afternoon.
And what an incredible,
incredible young woman she is! She wants to be a therapist, and her passion
lies in working with victims of sexual violence. She currently volunteers 5 days a week as a
victim advocate on the overnight shift for a local hospital. She's going to be travelling abroad to work
with victims of sexual violence in a third world country. You can just feel her open heart and
enthusiasm for life exuding from her body, and she hung on every word I
said. I felt completely inadequate in
"helping" her (didn't I just graduate from college? How is it possible that she greeted me as
"doctor," and I had to remind her [twice] to call me by my first
name?).
It's overwhelming to
feel so looked up to and respected. How
incredible it is to see someone with such passion for working on this
issue! Someone who says it is her
"calling," and who is so ready to take on the world. How amazing it is to feel that I now have
some degree of influence over the students I come in contact with -- that I can
help them develop plans for their futures, or see where they want to go, or how
they can move towards becoming more of the incredible beings they see themselves becoming.
It's just so right, you know? It's hopeful, and beautiful, and powerful and
right to see this young, empowered
woman bursting at the seams with desire to change the world. To be able to tell her of one possible path,
or maybe two -- and then to leave her to make those decisions on her own.
****************************
It's not that I've been
depressed, but I've been tired. I've felt alone. I've felt overwhelmed. I feel a tremendous responsibility to give
back to the people and places that have helped me; a responsibility to give
back to people who know the struggles I have known; and a responsibility to
change the face of my profession, given the wrong I have seen done within
it. As the days go by and nothing
visible changes, you feel ineffective and you feel tired. As the days go by and you focus more on
getting yourself through them than on lifting others up, you feel tired. As you see the same problems, and the same
arguments, and the same conversations had over and over, you feel tired. It's crazy-making, and exhausting, and
lonely, this fight.
And then there's a
moment when you that you are not alone in these struggles or this fight, that it's not
your responsibility to change the whole world, or even your corner of it. It's your responsibility to get up in the
morning. To walk. To breathe.
To smile. To cry. It's your responsibility to find yourself in the loneliness and to make it through those moments alone. It's your responsibility to find the moments of connection and to make it through them together. Such is life.
There is pain in isolation, yes.
But there is pain in connection and community, too. An exquisite sort of pain. There is pain in the contrast. And that pain, in the ways it serves you --
it's right. It's beautiful, and painful, and right. It will crack you open, and open, and open, and those cracks are painful and hard...but also right. Also beautiful. Also exquisite. It is also part of being alive.
I guess that's the thing. I guess that, today, I felt alone, and I felt connected, and I felt whole and wholly cracked open. And isn't that what it is to feel alive? What more can one hope for, but to feel alive as we fight alone, together?
Omg Laura .AMAZING!
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