My energy has been off.
I can list a million superficial reasons why: lack of sleep, not eating enough, negative online interactions, having to work on Sundays and miss church, raising an adolescent… Let’s not even get started on the political theater and the economy. The list goes on.
My wife has been asking me for a week, “What’s wrong?” And for a week, I’ve tried to verbalize this energy that feels like it isn’t necessarily negative, but isn’t necessarily mine.
I haven’t been posting the way I’ve become accustomed to. My schedule has been thrown way off to accommodate new family responsibilities.
This morning, sitting in the car across the street from the library and talking to the love of my life, we came back to this conversation. Once again, she reminded me why I am so in love with her.
“You’ve been created for this work,” she said. “It sucks and it’s hard. Sorry, but you’ve got to do it.”
She’d just admitted that the material is hard for her, too. She refuses to watch movies about slavery or set in that time period. She’s over it. But she knows that white America has never gotten under it. So, it is important to correct narratives that brush this brutal system under the rug, especially because so many of us are subject to the legacies of its policies in our daily lives.
Let me back up.
Yesterday, while reading the narrative of Sojourner Truth, I cried. I cried when the author described one of her siblings being taken away. I immediately thought of my youngest. I was that mother, that was my son, and I sobbed. I told my wife about it that night. And this morning, as we processed my ‘off-energy’ together, she reminded me of some very key things.
She reminded me that I cried because I am compassionate. I have empathy. It’s a good thing. It means that I will take care of the stories I collect. I have no agenda other than to hear the story. My emotions are my own, and they are beautiful.
She reminded me that I am doing this research—this very emotionally difficult research—so that these stories will not be dismissed. I knew at the start that I was making a very big claim. I didn’t know at the time that I was seeking to change a narrative, a very important narrative to our nationhood; I just wanted to present real women’s stories with the utmost care in the most real and respectful way. In a way, I feel research has failed them before. As I have dug my heels firmly into my claims and my work, I am very clear about what I am doing: I am demanding narrative correction. My evidence must be ironclad. That ironclad evidence, presented alongside real stories spanning over 250 years, is much harder to dispute than a one- or two-time performance. It provides something tangible to back up the arguments made in the art. This is how I define my work as a social justice artist.
She reminded me that someone has to do it. I love it. I hate it. But I absolutely CAN NOT drown in it. I am the Master of Ceremonies when it comes to unsolicited joy; being a joyful person is a part of who I am. I am doing really hard work, but I have also been equipped to do really hard work. That abundance of joy must be put to good use: on me. I have to remember to take care of myself while I do this work. I have to remember to do my joy. While I do genuinely derive joy from the work, sometimes the work makes me sob. I cannot go to bed with my heart still sobbing. I cannot leave the research space with my spirit in agony. So much brutality has happened, and I am tasked with bringing it back to life at this critical moment of our nationhood. That doesn’t mean it must be the only thing in my reality. I love life, my family, God, humanity, water, butterflies, and so many other things. I must ground myself in my joy each day, before and after I do this work, to remember that this content, this material, is not who I am. It is what I must do.
Finally, she reminded me that who you choose to surround yourself with is of the utmost importance. With a different partner, this conversation this past week could have gone very differently. But it didn’t. The woman I married understands, values, and respects me, and I her. I support every decision she makes, every dream she aspires to, with the same joy and energy I have for my own. She does the same for me.
We must take such special care of ourselves in these times. That doesn’t mean we need to spend money, but we do need to spend time—time with our loves, our joys, and the things that bring us peace.
Writing this brings me peace. Today, tomorrow, and for the days ahead, I truly hope you find yours.
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