I have had a few cries in the past several months of witnessing genocide, short bursts that I quickly recover from and carry on. This morning was different. This morning I released a steady stream of tears, uncontrollable and lasted for hours.
I look back on these past nine months and can see more clearly the phases I have been moving through. The initial shock where adrenaline coursed through my veins, then a move to DC where I got involved with activists, poured myself into posting, writing, and organizing for Gaza. There was no time for despair, only time for action. Friends and acquaintances would often tell me – you seem so okay, so on top of things, but I know you’re not okay. These words made me feel like everyone knew something that I didn’t know, that there’s more to my current reality that I’m glaringly missing. Like a tidal wave that I can’t see is coming for me.
Massacre after massacre has worn me down. Mass murder is one thing, the push of a button where a bomb falls on a home, reducing the humanity of a whole family to a body count. Then there are the accounts of torture of Palestinians abducted from Gaza, vile acts I can’t bring myself to repeat. These stories open a new wound in me, one where I try to wrap my head around how a human can directly inflict such violence on another human. My brain can’t decide what horrifies me more—the immense pain being endured by the torture victim, or the twisted minds that come up with and implement these methods of torture. Or the utter silence of the world as these injustices mount.
All of this is happening in broad daylight, right in front of our eyes, and no amount of protesting and disruption has brought an end to this genocide, let alone decelerated it. Not even a wrist slap for the perpetrators. I know that the world is bending towards liberation, but the pain of getting there has become unbearable for me. At least for now.
Then there are the personal losses — those I have pushed away and those who have pushed me away. Micro griefs compounded with macro griefs. It’s all too much.
Today feels like a day where I can’t outrun my grief anymore. All the outlets I poured myself into have dried up. I’ve lost the energy to post on social media, or to keep up with organizing, to stay on top of the news and developments, to strategize and implement. I can see now the ways I’ve been unhealthily coping—overworking, overindulging, undernourishing, and trauma bonding. I can see now the ways that the trauma I thought I was managing has been slowly creeping its way into my thoughts, behaviors, relationships, and self perception.
I posted this short piece on Instagram earlier this week:
this is the phase of genocide i most feared. the emotional and mental exhaustion. that eery feeling that the world is moving on.
is it just the algorithm & censorship? or have we just seen it all — every form of murder & torture — that our nervous systems can’t take it anymore. that we have to lower our gaze just to maintain sanity. but the very act of turning away is insanity. an irrevocable splitting of the brain.
a tired defeat settles in the throat. what is left to say? what string of words will wake this world up? where do we put the weight of our heavy hearts?
i sit in the summer sun and feel its vitality. but then — that eery feeling that the world is moving on.
a lowering of the volume on the screams, a dimming of the lights on an unleashed hell.
that eery feeling that the world is moving on.
My yoga teacher Lakshmi left a comment on the post:
It might look like the world is moving on….but it cannot, for this is in the body of the world. There are those who might be trying to “forget,” but that is like ignoring gangrene. But even for those who will never forget. I think it is like living with any kind of pain. We can’t think about it all the time or our bodies will shut down or our hearts and minds will become calloused. I think it is ultimately in service to our beloveds in Palestine and to our beloved world to keep our spirits whole in doing what must be done. Everything we do must be in service of healing. Everything not in service of healing is in service of death. And that even means allowing ourselves to burn out.
Lakshmi’s words give me a hopeful road map. I’ve felt shame about allowing myself to unravel, ashamed that I’ve done a disservice to myself and Gaza. I feel ashamed right now that I’m publishing a piece that centers my pain when the pain of Gaza is so much more immense, dire, and in need of urgent relief. But I need to meet myself where I am, where I know so many others are too. My work right now is to restore the wholeness of my spirit, as much as is possible in these times, and to trust in the power of the collective to carry on the fight while some of us rest. My work right now is to reach for the people and practices that fill my cup, one drop at a time, so that there is a near future I exist in from a place of power and purpose. My work right now is to give myself rest, and practice knowing that this stillness is intrinsically linked to my love and loyalty to Gaza.
I wonder why I feel compelled to write today when I feel so vulnerable, lost, and frightened. I feel like a child who is telling their mama where it hurts, asking for a kiss on their scrape. I feel cringe. Someone once told me that shame doesn’t survive in sunlight. So here I am, testing that theory by unloading my shame into the light.
Part of me hopes that there are others who might need to hear these words, who might feel seen and less alone in their grief. Part of me also puts these words out to the world as a prayer. I don’t know exactly how to restore myself, but I know it will take small, consistent choices rooted in love. That it will take a persistent discernment in knowing what kind of coping serves me or depletes me. And to give myself grace when I stumble and backtrack along the way.
I surrender this pain, my own and Gaza’s, as a hopeful request for relief and healing in whatever form it may come in. A prayer for some ease to soften the weight of our hearts and hardships and to guide us to better days.
Until liberation. ❤️🩹
This piece is for the beloved people in Gaza. The guilt of failing you weighs heavy on our shoulders. We will not relent in whatever little we can do for you, to become your voice, to stand up for you, to pray for you countless times every day. You will be free. A dawn of ease will dawn for you. Maybe, maybe, then we will have earned a small right to ask for your forgiveness. Until then, we bow our heads in collective shame of humanity to disgrace itself naked for all to see how vile it come be. It is hard to breathe. But breathe we must to heal the bleeding hearts and patch the hole in the soul. With love and dua for my Gaza and my Palestine. May Allah accept your immense sacrifice and reward you abundantly with His blessings. May the lost humanity find its way towards love and kindness, learning from you. For you are what humanity ought to be <3
Thank you for such a vulnerable share. The undoing of the world is violent and relentless and will convince you nothing else is possible, but it is. We know it. The clock is ticking on white supremacy and imperialism and global capitalism. They will get more cruel when they feel their time running up - attempts at control more vicious. And yet the tides turn. Take heart. Take rest. Take what you need. Tomorrow will come and we need you there too. <3