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I don’t want to write about my body in air. I don’t want to write about how the ruling made me burst into tears in the McDonalds drive-thru waiting for the iced coffee that would have the sweetener in it I didn’t want. I don’t want to write about how scary it is to walk through the world. I don’t want to write about my body.
I want to write about swimming next to June. I want to write about my body floating in water. I want to write about my body feeling safe. I want to close my eyes and remember what it is like to watch my dog bound through the tall grass and into the water with a freedom only a dog off her leash can know.
I don’t want to write about my body in the house. When I sit at the computer and my spine pain shoots up and down my back. I don’t want to write about my body.
I want to write about laying in the sand on the beach. About turning my head to feel the sparkle of my neighbors on their blankets. On the purple towel I gave him. With her denim bathing suit that fits just right. With the sparkling tooth gem and the matching nails only your closest brother could have. I want to write about running in and diving head first because you trust that your body knows the water now.
I don’t want to write about my grief body because it isn’t grieving today. I want to write about the new chiropractor that learned from my old chiropractor and knew the exact tiny bone in my neck that needed to shift and she got it on the first try. I don’t want to write about my body when it’s in the car I want to write about my body that knows how to relax when my neck is kissed.
I don’t want to write about my body that doesn’t trust. I want to write about my body that has the new hope. The new freedom. The shift of a million gusts of winds saying here look it’s the same body but it’s a new body.
I don’t want to write about my body in air. I want to write about my body in water. I want to write about bodies of water. I want to write about water.
Every day I take my body to the edge of the Earth for another swim. And for every swim my body does, the old body remembers what it knew before the big crash. What it knew before it learns again. Great faith in what it knows today.
If you read this newsletter I imagine you have access to every single infographic that is rapidly circulating in your tiny phone you can’t put down.
I won’t be sharing any specific resources but I will share the formula I work with in these moments.
I spend a lot of time checking in directly with people I love, specifically friends with bodies that could get pregnant. In the midst of hyperactive sharing of public resources it is really easy for me to forget what connections are right in front of me.
If you are living in a state where your access to abortion has been swiftly taken away, I love you. If you are scared, I love you. If you are numb, I love you. If you can’t stop crying, I love you.
I look to those who have been doing the work. For decades, forever, who have been leading the way far before this fall. Look to your neighbors, your local organizations, specifically Black and Brown led orgs that serve communities who are perhaps not accessing the same infographics you are - rural spaces, lower class neighborhoods, historically Black neighborhoods, etc
What are those orgs asking for (not - what do I think they need) Money? Volunteers? Sharing of resources?
Are you close to a neighboring state who doesn’t have access to abortions in this moment? What do our neighboring states need?
There are many questions we can ask ourselves - and in order to do that we must also be well resourced in our own bodies and breath. May you go for your little walks and do your morning pages and tend to the things you want to run from. These keep us steady. May we stay steady for the long haul.
It is easy and normal to freeze in these times, especially if you grew up in a home that required freezing to survive. Be gentle with yourself as you sift through what your role in the ecosystem is. You don’t have to save the world, but we do get to take care of each other. And this, what a wild gift.
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