Anxiety and Activism

This blog post is one I've been mulling over for a while. I definitely had some of the thoughts that'll be included several years ago, but most of these thoughts come from the last almost 2 years since the 2016 election.

I, like many people I know, was upset by the results of the 2016 election. I felt like there was nothing I could do. Things felt hopeless.

Sometimes, they still do. But something I'm working on is finding ways to be the change. I've always admired those who participated in activism. I've longed to go be at protests, to march, to join a group of people in resisting systems of oppression.

I've watched friends go and do. I've felt incapable of action. I've felt overwhelmed by the darkness of this world.

This past year has been especially difficult, as I was a bisexual woman working for an organization where that identity could have (probably would have) cost me my job if I was "out". I stayed closeted for many reasons, but being closeted created an increased self-consciousness that was unhealthy. My anxiety was intense. I wasn't fully aware that anxiety was the biggest issue, but I knew I felt overwhelmed and incapable.

I was overcome with false worthlessness. I felt I could do nothing to improve my situation, so how could I do anything to improve the oppression in my town, my state, or my country? It became increasingly harder for me to care. I mean, I cared. I cared deeply about these things. I still do. But I tried to convince myself that it didn't matter to me, because it was "easier" to ignore the atrocities that are taking place all over the country (and let's be honest-the world).

Now, I'm sure if I had spent any time at all considering these difficult things with any sort of patience and presence of mind that I would have realized that pretending I didn't care wouldn't help anyone, but especially not me.

I've always felt convicted when people have said things about not fighting against the oppressors makes you an oppressor. I've felt like I've failed. I haven't been strong enough to go out and work to accomplish change and protect the marginalized.

The thing is, though, that while it's true that doing nothing can be a way of becoming an oppressor yourself, doing something (even if just a small, seemingly insignificant something) can be enough.

Sometimes, my anxiety tells me I'm incapable. Other times, I push through it and recognize how capable I really am.

Some days I feel more capable than others. Those are the days I need to use well. Those are the days I need to step up and speak out.

I'm learning that while I'm overwhelmed by the thought of participating in a march or a protest with a lot of other people, I can still share a post of Facebook or Twitter. I can research and help find resources for those who are able to attend marches and protests in person. I can use the skills, gifts, and talents I have to support in a variety of ways.

Sometimes, a little task is a huge support to someone who feels overwhelmed by it.

Each of us must do our part. That's it. Our PART. We're not expected to do it all. Did you hear that, self? YOU'RE NOT EXPECTED TO DO IT ALL!

Help people. Ask questions. Learn. Do the very best you can. When you learn how to do better, do better.

For me, doing better is recognizing the ways I'm able to participate in activism and the ways I'm not able to participate. It's ok that I participate differently, but I have to participate. I'm capable of many things, and when I use those things to reduce oppression, that's activism.

TAKE THAT, anxiety.

So, friends...how can I support you in your activism? What things can you send my way to learn more about specific topics/issues? How can I help you feel empowered to step up in ways you're able?

It's a long road, but I'm willing to keep walking it. Can we walk it together?

Trust

One of the things I struggle with in relationships is trust. I eventually develop enough trust to make friendship work, at least well enough.

There are times, however, that trust is broken and it is hard to build back. Or trust is broken in one relationship AND broken in a second relationship, which leads to lack of trust in all similar relationships.

Here's a couple examples of what I mean:

(If you read my blog at all, I'm sure you saw my post about coming out. If not, I'm bisexual. It's important to know this for both examples.)

1. My church made a statement just over a year ago regarding how LGBTQ+ people would be included in our church. The idea was that it was welcoming, affirming, inclusive, etc. I know most people perceived it to be exactly that, though I definitely felt it wasn't adequate. You see, the statement started with a sentence about how the people in the church didn't completely agree on "matters of human sexuality". The second sentence, when read in isolation, does seem welcoming, affirming, and inclusive. The problem is that they were never intended to be read separately from one another. They go together as a statement, not independently.

While this was challenging for me, especially since I wasn't out to my church, it wasn't totally devastating. I knew the change could happen, and I was willing to be a catalyst for that change if needed.

This summer, I was part of the team that put together a "refreshed" website for our church. One of the things I requested to add to the website was our statement regarding LGBTQ+. My thought process was that it was better to have A statement about how we'll include LGBTQ+ folks publicly on our website, even if it is flawed, rather than continuing to appear as though LGBTQ+ folks are not welcome. In my mind, having no indication that we're welcoming, affirming, or inclusive means we're NOT. Those of us working on the website agreed at the time, and I put the statement on the website. My intent was to bring the statement up in meetings this fall to hopefully bring about some change.

A little more than a month ago, though, I was asked to remove the statement. I was told that we were going to write a more inclusive statement, and that it would be written "soon". I contacted a friend from the committee that made that decision to see what "soon" meant. She didn't know.

Taking this statement off the website felt like a slap in the face. This was still before I was out, but I felt so invalidated. I felt that while they wanted to write a more inclusive statement, they were actually being less inclusive in the mean time. I don't think anyone that doesn't identify as LGBTQ+ would necessarily see it that way. I don't think they did. I don't think they understand the importance of being validated and specifically included. Their privilege allows them to go to church just about anywhere without needing to hide part of who they are.

I acknowledge that this isn't something they did intentionally. I know their hearts were in the right place. The intent was simply to update the statement so it was more inclusive before putting it on the website. All of this logically makes sense to me, but emotionally I felt like the rug was being pulled out from under me. I felt lied to (even though no one was being dishonest!).

2. About a month ago, I found out via twitter (@BraveCommons specifically) that my undergraduate university, Azusa Pacific, had removed their conduct policy banning same-sex relationships. This was HUGE news, as APU had always had anti-LGBTQ+ policies. The LGBTQ+ student group, Haven, had been working with administration to create change. It seemed to be working.

Several articles were written and shared, many LGBTQ+ students and alumni (as well as fellow LGBTQ+ folks from other institutions) celebrated and shared a collective sigh of relief. Change was coming. If APU moved toward LGBTQ+ inclusion, then other Christian institutions would likely follow.

But then it all came crashing down. APU put out a statement that removing the conduct policy banning same-sex relationships had not been approved by the board. They put the old policy back in place. The rug was pulled out from under them.

In this situation, I can't see any good intentions. Sure, they may have been individuals who had good intentions, as well as the ability to edit the conduct policy on the website. But without going through the proper channels, they caused more damage the the LGBTQ+ students that trusted the information they had been provided. I imagine it's harder for them to trust people now. I know it would be for me.

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Trust is such an important part of a relationship. I know that situations like this have happened to many LGBTQ+ folks in a variety of settings, including personal relationships. I struggle with being vulnerable and trusting people to begin with, but when things like this happen and threaten to invalidate my bisexuality, it's even harder to trust people. It's harder to know who I can open up to. It's harder to be strong and allow myself to be authentic with everyone I interact with.

I'm a work in progress. I know there are people I can trust. It's just learning to find them among the others I can't trust that I need to keep working on...