Last weekend, I babysat my 2-year-old friend River while his parents went out to dinner. My friend Gabi and her sweet poodle were present too. River was intrigued by the dog, and started petting her, but the dog wasn’t having it and barked at him. River stepped back; he was scared and angry. He looked like he might cry. He then stomped out of the room and felt his feelings. He returned, declared to the dog: THAT’S ENOUGH! and continued to live his best life, playing with his toys and with us at a safe distance from the offending party.Â
At a time where I am in the midst of doing a lot of inner work and reflection on what it means to live and love reciprocally, River helped cement a powerful lesson on boundaries. He showed up with love and curiosity, and it was not returned. He was hurt, but instead of trying to change reality, he accepted it, created distance with whom he was misaligned, and continued chasing his joy.Â
I am learning that to not be defeated by the devastation of Gaza requires finding hope in the everyday. I am learning that it includes finding hope for myself, and that caring for myself makes me stronger in my resistance to a world that enables genocide.Â
I am working on issues of self-worth, self-respect, and self-love. Life experiences, hurtful relationships, and cultural conditioning have wrongfully taught me that self-sacrifice is virtuous. That this is what it means to be good, that this is what it means to be a woman. To be ever patient, available, and understanding even if that comes at the expense of my peace and well-being.Â
I am lucky to have people and experiences in my life that have been vessels for healthy love. I look back on my time in Gaza, where I helped lead and build a tech hub and community center for five years. What made that job so rewarding was that I felt love for Gaza—both in its present form and for the potential of what Gaza could be—and I was co-creating alongside people who also shared that love, who also put in the effort to realize a shared dream. I got to express my love for Gaza by giving to Gaza. And I felt balanced and fulfilled because Gaza gave love right back to me—through our breakthroughs and achievements, through meaningful friendships, through the growth I experienced as a person and a leader. In the practice of loving Gaza, Gaza helped me learn to love myself. This is the standard of love I want to cultivate in my personal life. Love as an act of co-creation. Anything less is no longer enough for me.Â
In the past four months, I started a new job, I signed a lease for a new apartment, and I turned 35. So many fresh starts in such a short time. I’m still adjusting to the changes and to the remembrance that I’m getting older. The work I am doing in therapy feels fitting for this juncture; it’s a chance to review my patterns and beliefs, shed what holds me back, and integrate lessons that propel me forward. The work of healing is hard and challenging, emotionally exhausting and lonely at times. But the pain of staying the same, of living a life steered by harmful beliefs that fester in the subconscious, is much worse. The genuine hope and curiosity I have for building a fulfilling present and future motivates me to keep going and keep pushing through the low moments. I feel like I’m becoming braver, more comfortable in my skin, more aligned with my intuition—and those things are worth every painful and lonely moment along the way.
In a deeply depressive moment the other week, I said to my therapist: The genocide in Gaza makes it hard to feel deserving of joy. The devastation of these times is so overwhelming, so life-altering, and existential. Slowly, I am learning that joy—what it means to me, what it will look like in my life—is changing. Slowly, I am learning that I deserve to have joy. Alongside my anger, love, and sorrow, joy will also keep me fueled in the fight for what I believe to be true and just in this world. In a time where we are seeing the results of mass dehumanization, joy is an expansion of humanity, an affirmation of existence. Remaining complacent and cynical in our personal lives is tacit approval of the status quo.Â
Something I loved about witnessing River’s that’s enough! declaration is that there was no villain in his story. River wasn’t unduly upset with the dog, nor did he request any drastic measures to be taken. He felt his feelings and adjusted accordingly. I used to be fearful of setting boundaries because I’m allergic to creating conflict. But now I see there’s a way to do so peacefully, to simply call back your presence and availability and proceed with life. These little realizations make it easier to locate the trailhead into healing that feels authentic to me.Â
Cultivating hope for the collective includes—maybe starts with—cultivating hope for the self. I am giving myself permission to be optimistic for what lies ahead for my life, to notice what hope feels like in my body. I am learning that self love looks like saying that’s enough! to the patterns and limiting beliefs that hold me back. And that the process of letting go, though often disappointing, is a leap towards joy, a leap towards a life where hope, not pain, charts the course.
Gaza is a bridge that humanity must cross for atonement. It is an act of self love more than ever before. 🇵🇸💕