I did not go to the march last weekend. My name was written on a poster carried by a friend and printed on a button my mother wore on her chest. I was well represented in every way but one: the way that could have been counted.
The truth is, I was too scared to go. I was scared of going alone, of getting lost, of never finding my way to the metro or back to the bus. I have spatial relations dyslexia. I got lost driving to places I've been 1,000 times. I could not overcome my fear and spent three days recriminating myself for my cowardice.
I did, along with a few other beautiful women, open the writing space for others, who for a variety of reasons-- age, health, small children,-- could not go either. It was a quiet, peaceful, loving and productive time. Between welcoming writers, sending notes of encouragement to the marchers and watching updates and videos as they were live streamed, I wrote one thing in the entire 5 hour stretch:
Fuck never feeling good enough.
Which said everything I needed to say that day. In the last few months, those two thoughts had become inextricably intertwined. All of my insecurities, my powerlessness, my not-good-enough-itis, had been magnified by the rise to power of a narcissistic woman hating bigoted megalomaniac.
And so, fuck that! Once and for all. Fuck never feeling like I do enough, achieve enough, have enough, am enough. Fuck feeling like I have to do or prove or acquire my worth. Hating my body, my mind, my work or any part of my self is a contribution to the darkest, most malicious and sinister forces I have seen in my lifetime. Accepting myself where I am right now, wherever that happens to be, at home or on a bus or in a car or on a train or in a march or with other women and men around a table writing our lives and our truths, writing our power, that's where the revolution really begins for me.
Please join us after our Open House on Sunday, Jan 29 from 4-6 for a Write the Resistance Postcard Party! 2707 West Cary Street.