Facing Facts.

I’m writing with a sense of urgency. A sense of need. And I know what it’s like when I get like this — when the words spill out of me. It…

I’m writing with a sense of urgency. A need. And I know what it’s like when I get like this — when the words spill out of me. It feels raw. It feels real. I’m no longer curating myself, subconsciously or otherwise. I’m just being. And there are pitfalls of that, of course — or at least, there may be. But this is the price that I, we, pay for authenticity.

And breathe. A reckoning. I want to do more. I need to do more.

Pretty words are just not good enough. They are implicitly, intrinsically, performative. We use words to explain and justify what action alone, with all its myriad opportunities for (mis)interpretation, cannot.

I cannot sit and watch.

Photo by Donovan Valdivia on Unsplash

As someone who carries trauma with her every single day, as someone who has (had to learn) to sit with her own pain, and as someone who has had to do so her whole life… I care deeply about injustice. Inequality. Suffering. I care deeply about this, about what’s going on, about moving beyond inept but well-in…