24 of 40

Smoked a bowl tonight after a long, emotionally difficult and raw day. Immediately had a dozen of pure thoughts (can they be pure if I'm stoned?) Couldn't write without leaving and disrupting bedtime so I stayed put as long as possible and now I've forgotten all of them. And a kid just called out, not asleep.

I  am a mess. In this new administration. Thinking about racism. Feeling sexism. Working too much but afraid to stop. Wanting to parent more but afraid of hating it. Of failing. Tired of hearing myself talk about the same old shit, especially vulnerable when I'm unexpectedly talking to a friend about it in the height of feeling like a freak, like an overthinking blind person who can't see myself at all and doesn't know how to stop talking about it. But it helps.

It came to me tonight, maybe again, maybe for the first time, that I need to work on being a safe space for women of color. Probably for other groups but that is where I'm starting. And it's hard to be a safe space for a lot of reasons. One is that I'm having a lot of feelings myself and I need a place for them to go, for them to be ok. Because they are real. And I don't need to worry about saying the right thing, about contributing my voice. I need to listen and pay attention. I am afraid to ask questions but I want them to know I am paying attention. Not so I get credit for it but so they get what they need. Even writing they sounds fucked. And it occurred to me during bedtime that what I need is for people to tell me they hear me, that I am doing a good job. So maybe I can find a way to do that for women of color. For all women? How much energy do I have? Is that even an ok question to ask? How bizarre is it to not know how to judge myself? To have a group of people telling me I'm too hard on myself. And another group of people not directly telling me but still telling me that I'm not doing enough? That in the Bloom world it feels revolutionary to take time for myself, to care for myself. But in the social justice world people are screaming "It's not about you!"

Both are true.

Just like the march reaction. Both are true except there's probably way more than both. It made me feel good that people who know me assumed I was going, wanted to march with me. Was that because I felt acknowledged for being involved? For paying attention? I do feel like I'm paying attention. But I also feel like it's not enough.