Stars in the Shadows of September

A part of me is always frozen in September. Time slows down and it hurts. My heart feels numb but it also aches; it beats strong and yet it is so fragile. It is both and neither, and so am I. For many years that is also often how I have felt about this life- and I stay and I sit with that sense of duality. And I think about the reasons and I make meaning in every way I know how because I stay.

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Many renowned academics have spent their lives agonizing over the solution to a profound problem: Living hurts. A lot. It is hard to contest that. Almost without exception, if you are a living being on this earth then you will come to know physical, emotional, and spiritual pain and suffering. This suffering is often a part of what connects all of us in our time together on earth- along with our moments of reprieve from it, however short or long. The meaning we make throughout all of it, the joy we find, the community we share, the novelty we seek- all of it held together can make experiencing life so tremendous. It is a tremendous thing to be a part of existence as we know it.

I see the good and the bad; I hear the joy and the despair; I feel the sting and sorrow. It’s constant and I’m still here. The “and” is important. Yet so are the buts, the dissonance of it all. Can you hear it? Can you see it? Do you feel the warmth and the cold when they come together? It’s all and nothing at once. If there are miracles, surely this must be one.

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The past may grow hazy, like the sunset turning to twilight. We can usually still remember all of its colors, though some might become harder to make over others as the sun sets into the night. Sometimes we never see the same colors strike the fading sky in the same way again. We miss them, even griever them. Some of us hold tighter to our memories so we might never lose them- but is this even truly possible? How do we know what we know? And how much does that matter?

I know I am here now. “Time” keeps me here. My memories hold me tight. Love endures here in spite of all the hurt or so I must allow myself to believe. And I will not apologize. I do not apologize I do not apologize I do not apologize; and I am here I am here I am here- and I am staying. And if I am to keep staying- to be so audacious in taking such space- I want to help make this world a safer, kinder place for everyone else to stay, too.

Because it has been so many years, now. And the pain still isn’t gone. So often it barely feels bearable- or even any better. I hate admitting that- I wish so badly I could say pain always gets better over time, but that is not my truth. I often wonder if perhaps a more accurate reality for others like me is that we might simply learn how to better carry the weight of it all- as our muscles and minds grow accustomed to it always being there. And we grow stronger the longer we carry it. Or rather, we simply grow. And that growing process is indeed ever-mysterious.

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I believe that for many of us, if we are so lucky, sometimes special souls come along and help carry the weight- they lighten the load for a bit and they travel lonely, winding paths with us as we make our way through time and space. They listen; they receive. They are present; they understand the healing power of simply being and bearing witness. Because yes, emotional states may very well be temporary- but for some of us, certain perceptual states and bodily sensations- deep embodied memories and somatizations- are infinitely more complex than mere feelings that fade into the background over time. We need one another’s support as we travel lonely paths drained of color and shrouded in shadow. Support helps us find our guiding lights.

There are things that may make pain and suffering easier to hold, to examine up close. Sometimes those fractals of faded colors are illuminated by guideposts in an inky sky, and all the light obscured from view shines again even as shadows seem to creep in at every corner. Once, I looked deep into the shadows; inside them I I saw stars- I came back here for the light they promised. This is still a reality I know; I understand it’s not always an easy one to contemplate for long. But please don’t look away; please just stay- and help to make this world a little brighter and a little kinder instead.

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There is joy and warmth that will demand to be felt if we allow ourselves to find it, that will demand for us put down our shields and be vulnerable in sparingly precious moments if we just listen. But truly listening requires a gentle strength- a true willingness to let go, authentically.  Being soft after trauma is a tremendous and lonely undertaking- but with all my heart, if I am to stay too, I cannot believe that any of us are truly alone or incapable of taking steps towards trust and reparation. The sunlight and the shadows and the blinking stars- the nothings and the somethings and everything in between- they can all hold meaning if we let them.

You are not alone, you are not alone, you are not alone. I don’t always know who I’m writing to or for-often I just write for all the fragments inside of me and that’s enough. But to anyone who may take meaning from the words I write, please- if nothing else- know that you are not alone, and even still, it’s okay to feel lonely. I hope you stay and fight longer, too. It is okay to be here.

I know there are so many other people who are caught in their own frozen September. Or perhaps instead it might be a January or a July, or maybe there are years stuck together in time filled with painful memories that might become warped, hazy and confusing. We might feel trapped in these constructed timelines that seem stuck at a stand-still while everyone else is passing us by at a different speeds; sometimes maybe it’s more like time is always running out and there is no way to hold on. We fight and fight to keep track of it, because where does it all go? And we can’t lose more, but it’s so hard to stay- and what would happen if we just floated away? Staying hurts. Leaving is all but impossible. The past hurts; the present seems impossible. Staying hurts but we keep fighting and finding reason. We search and find, search and find- that life is not but an empty dream.

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I am here, and I will no longer let apologies slip from my lips even in the times when I want to cry them out and curl into a ball on the floor and fade from this existence. I am a dissonance defined and I am here, and as I write this I promise to keep trying. It hurts all the time; I’m still staying. And I want everyone else to stay- and to grow and to heal. I want us all to heal because the pain in this world is too much- it’s an injustice and I believe there must be better. So I’m done being quiet; I will be loud and I will be fierce and I will learn to forgive and let go as I’m ready. I am searching and I am finding.

Sometimes it’s okay to hold on to whatever makes up the past. And sometimes we will let go of it. We can cherish the dissonance. I’m learning every day- and I can do so imperfectly, while holding space and leaving a footprint and a memory behind in time and for the world surrounding me.

To everyone who has been lost, I miss you every day. To everyone who finds me over and over again, you are my eternal reasons. Thank you.

Lots of Love,

Morgan

Living with the Unimaginable

This is about “the suffering that is too terrible to name…” and learning to live

with The Unimaginable.”

PART 1

For all of the elaborate treatments which western medicines have tried to co-opt and create to treat mental illness and suffering, I question whether there are any that truly address bereavement in all its spiritual, social, and emotional complexities.

How do you mediate the effects of bereavement? If you ruminate, then you are wrong; if you avoid your grief, you are wrong; if you turn to coping mechanisms unproven by empirical evidence, you are again likely wrong. So how many things might be deemed “right”? What can possibly fill the hollow void left behind in the wake of a lost body and soul? The pain and emptiness that- for some- simply never seem to go away?

Who can possibly decide the right way to live with those emotions, those sensations, those perceptual states? What is most ethical, purposeful, or correct, truly? Could there ever be a right answer beyond the individual level?

I’ve gotten into trouble for asking questions such as these since I was a twelve year-old child, following the death of my father. It was as though adults around me thought that by asking such things I would become a weapon, dangerous to myself and to others. I was told not to think too hard; that was surely the problem (Rumination). Focus on other things; get a hobby or two. The pain of losing loved ones- in whatever capacity- will go away with time. Emotions are temporary.

I froze my brain as best I could; I numbed myself quietly through the false persona of a shiny happy blonde teen who tried to please everyone. I picked up as many hobbies as I was able, while I grew increasingly ill. Finding purpose and meaning as an adolescent is hard for many young people, but still I was guided towards dreams and aspirations- which my reality crushed hard. Because doing anything while living with debilitating chronic pain and fatigue- no matter the origin- is not often all that dreamy.

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Today, I feel that my questions remains valid. What is the danger inherent in asking who decides what is right for my mind and my body after they were shattered in childhood? Who decides my narrative- or for that matter anyone else’s? Why do so many societies seek to hide and control those of us who grieve profoundly, those of us who feel this world with our whole being?

Does we hurt to look at? Is grief painful to look at? Is it so incomprehensible for those who don’t feel such indignation in their bones every day that there are some people living in this world who just might?

Or perhaps- does bereavement bring up a painful reminder of the human condition itself? Of life’s fragility, and of how we as humans simply cannot control everything? We are mortal- we are stories with beginnings and endings, some much longer and more acclaimed than others. How do we hold that knowledge?

While this world cries out in suffering and I am alive to witness, as I watch my friends suffer- some more loudly, some silently- as I watch more lives vanish from this world, I will not apologize for my grieving. I will not apologize for getting angry. I will not apologize for not always immediately ascribing some sort of reason to all the chaos. For not ACT-DBT-CBT-ing my way through life. That is not the therapy which I believe to be my solution to pain and suffering. And I know it’s not the answer for many others, either.

 

I believe in listening, first. I believe in witnessing, first. I believe in radical compassion. I believe in contextualizing the entirety of an individual’s experience and asking someone what they make of their time here on this earth. I believe, I believe, I believe.

And as for joy and awe- sometimes even magic- and the possibility of the great beyond, yes, I believe in them, too. With all I have in me. But it’s my choice, and I believe in my way. And as others find their paths through ethical egoism and modified behavioral therapies, I respect their ways- so long as they don’t diminish the pain and lived experiences of others. Everyone deserves to find their way.

Perhaps the connectivity I imagine and yearn for won’t ever be truly captured in textbooks, journals, or research papers, even as I fervently search to better analyze it in my own research and studies surrounding the human psyche. I’ll use the DSM as I am required; I’ll work earnestly for my diplomas; but I won’t ever stop trying to plant seeds of change, of thought, wherever I go and grow.

I will continue to ask: What do we do when there are no words, when there is suffering too terrible to name?

“They are working through The Unimaginable.”

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Photographs from 2015-2019

 

Continuing Conversations Surrounding Sexual Assault Awareness

Every April, Sexual Assault Awareness and Prevention Month incites an all-too-necessary conversation about many topics surrounding sex, notably including the nature of sexual assault, abuse, and rape- and what obtaining and communicating consent might look like in a modern and more ethical society. This movement is not even yet two decades old.

Many of us who have survived sexual trauma are still pushing to create a more inclusive, expansive definition of consent that is enforced in both law and society- one which upholds the value and dignity of all human individuals and recognizes complex systems of oppression still at work today. I believe we have a long way to go before that definition is recognized in general society.

The conversation SAAPM  naturally instigates quickly becomes broader than that surrounding sexual assault alone; it’s a social justice issue through and through. Conversations about consent are about fair treatment and human rights: at its core, oppression and failure to obtain consent are forms of abuse by nature. Failing to obtain freely given, informed, enthusiastic, and sober consent before engaging in sexual intercourse is not only sexual assault, it is also sexual abuse- it is impossible to untangle the two. Intent does not affect impact.

I believe only when we begin to consider how “sexual assault” and consent exist in relation to oppression and, most specifically, abuse dynamics, can we start to facilitate truly meaningful conversations surrounding sexual assault and rape- among other forms of sexual abuse that are inexcusable in an ethical, just society. In such a society, everyone is treated with dignity, compassion, and fairness. 

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When we talk about equality or equity (terms not to be used interchangeably!) this is, I believe, what lies at the heart of the matter. The oppressor and the oppressed; the underlying abuse dynamics beneath action and inaction; the humanity or lack thereof. And so we must keep asking how such great abuse and oppression continue to pervade our “woke” modern society- because they do, if we are to believe survivors. We do not live in a world where everyone is given equal opportunity, equal say, equal safety. And not only is that unfair, it’s an inhuman injustice.  

Our society today is very scared of the words “oppression” and “abuse”. When we talk about them conceptually, each of us must almost inevitably hold a mirror up to our own individual behaviors- and we are likely to find some of them unappealing. No one is perfect, no one is an exemplary human all of the time. We are likely to wonder, at some point: “What I am the monster the “other” is screaming about?” That can’t be, can it? How could we live with ourselves? But I believe it’s so much more complicated than that. What if we just began these scary conversations starting with the most simple ways in which we hurt one another- and considered looking at “hurt” on a spectrum, first and foremost? What if we contextualized it all and put it into a sort of palatable human systems theory?  

Every year, I find myself ever more frustrated with the state of the world and wanting more from it. But in a world where we continue to grapple with basic concepts of boundaries, of consent before sex, of the humanity within every individual even as we all wrestle with “good” and “bad”, it’s awfully hard to have more productive conversations. I always find April and SAAM painful; I’m glad they are over. Incremental change is so important, but it’s hard to sit through. Here’s hoping that there are many sitting with me, hoping for a more compassionate process as time passes.

Love,

Morgan Michelle

 

HELPFUL LINKS:

https://www.nsvrc.org/saam/history

https://www.nsvrc.org/get-involved

https://www.nsvrc.org/find-help

https://www.rainn.org/about-national-sexual-assault-online-hotline

Recognizing Trauma and Oppressed Voices Outside Our Intersections

For many of us striving to educate ourselves in social justice theories and branches of traumatology- especially those addressing and healing intergenerational trauma- Black History Month can exist as nothing other than the utmost call to action.Something that grows increasingly apparent to me as a learner is this: we cannot continue to look at great injustices through our own narrow lenses; we must work widen the scopes of our lenses through doing our best to examine others’. I believe we may do this through practicing empathy and compassion, through active listening, and creating real conversation- discourse is often a core component of that.
When we acknowledge that something isn’t working, we can’t be complacent; and for those of us who wish to be agents of change in this world, we can’t allow ourselves to be complicit, either. I believe those of us who hold white privilege have a moral and social duty to insist better- of one another and of today’s society as a whole.

EDIT 1

Here’s one big way I believe those of us with white privilege must start doing better RIGHT NOW: we must not call Black and Indigenous People of Color (BIPOC) problematic when they raise their voices and call out injustices they alone experience. We have no right to challenge or diminish lived experiences which we cannot ever know or begin to understand; the most we can do is educate ourselves, learn from the lived experiences to which we are privileged to bear witness, and cultivate a greater compassion.  This is not to subscribe to a theory of moral isolationism, but rather something more akin to radical empathy.

I wish that as a society we can begin working collectively in moving towards a more trauma-aware language, one in which we may exercise care and thought before calling other human beings- especially those living under great oppression- demoralizing terms such as “problematic” or “toxic”. It is my most sincere hope that we will strive to instead honor and uphold the dignity of every human individual, especially those who may experience daily discrimination simply because of the color of their skin. I hope that we may instead work to address people’s behaviors, actions, and language without resorting to color-blindness, erasure, or hiding behind our own unaddressed white fragility, discomfort, and bias.

EDIT 2

I believe it’s important to recognize that many of us with white privilege won’t always be perfect allies, and we may falter greatly in our social responsibilities; that doesn’t mean we get to throw in the towel, give up, and walk away when we make mistakes (I know I have made plenty!). We were reared and continue to live among colonized communities that uphold and reinforce a white ideal, both explicitly and implicitly; we have all been deeply conditioned to reinforce this status quo. Let’s work on changing that.

If there’s one thing I can advocate most strongly for this Black History Month, it’s education. Truly, no matter where you are and where you come from, the color of your skin, your identity, or your ability, educate and re-educate yourself about how systemic oppression and trauma impact your life.

Learn about intergenerational trauma. Learn about social conditioning. Learn from people different from you in whatever capacity you can (the internet counts!). Check your privilege. Use your voice while still listening to those of others. And learn to apologize, and to apologize meaningfully.

Love,

Morgan

EDIT 3

It Is Okay to Be Here

 

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My husband found this lonely little plastic school chair all by itself underneath a tree while he was on a walk, recently. He had observed a certain strength about it, in its solitary state. It felt like it had a story, somehow. Most things that have been inside institutions do, after all; isn’t it funny how we can extend that logic even to the objects within them?

But I am not an object. I am a human being.

Far too often it has felt like I have had to clarify that fact for people around me. How I have great capacity to experience joy and sorrow, pain and pleasure- that I have an authority and a right to take up space in this world, too, as an equal to those who try and push me down- the people who have tried to make me feel less than. And who, at times, tricked me into believing that I was.

But I’m still here. I’m a survivor of this strange and miraculous world. And chances are, if you are reading this, so are you.

So perhaps that is why it felt so appropriate to sit upon that little chair, to be both distinct from it and in harmony with it; one object and one person, both still here, still existing- even if we’re both a little beaten up. This is me; I take up space and I refuse to apologize for it anymore. And it can be you, too.

I invite you, whomever you may be, to join me on the journey towards speaking freely and unapologetically in this world- recognizing our power and capacity as people to use our voices to help and not harm, to make a difference. What a miracle it is to be alive, one day at a time.

It is okay to be here.

Peace and Prosperity to All,

Morgan Michelle