Last year was a healing year for me. I also had a lot of fun and learned a lot about myself. It was a year where I stepped into both my power and my tenderness. It was a year of me firmly saying, “NO!” and it was a year of me enthusiastically saying, “OH, YESSSSS!!!!”. A year of playfulness and adventure. It was a year in which Sekile and Monique/my inner child were cared for. A year of simple joys and pleasures. It was a year of transition and transformation. Last night at my second Pour One Out StoryTelling event, I didn’t talk about the entirety of my 2023 but I did share a story about one of the most beautiful gifts I gave myself last year. Rest.
This is my story of how I became a rested woman.
On April 16, 2021, I became the state’s inaugural chief equity officer. I promised myself and my therapist that I would stay 2 years in the Gov’s office and then I would finally rest. I kept my promise to myself and despite the fact that I was actually enjoying working with the hard working people who were serving our state, exactly 2 years later on April 14, 2023, I began what I have affectionately called—my season of radical rest.
But while, I aspired and dreamed of resting, I didn’t quite know how to. I remember cowering in a stairwell at the gov’s office in tears and on the phone with my best friend minutes before handing in my letter of resignation. I had watched my fellow sr. colleagues leave with flashy press releases as they launched onto their next professional endeavor. I also found myself reflecting on the words of my supportive colleagues from NW who had cheered me on to take the position—telling me I could write my ticket after I worked for the governor. But when I left, I did not want to launch. I left because I was weary. Cumulatively weary. Weary of surviving. Wearing from striving. Weary from providing. Weary from healing. Weary from trying to fix broken and inhumane institutions. I left to lie on a soft pillow and in my hammock but of course, my departure press release didn’t include those life sustaining decisions.
In hindsight, quitting was the easiest part of my journey! How does one truly rest when they have never seen others who didn’t possess economic privilege or wealth—rest?! How does one rest when they have only seen the people in their lives work until they could not work any longer or until they die? How does one rest when they have been told there shouldn’t been any gaps in your resume-especially if you are a woman, a person of color, and/or mother? I’m all of those so I have never even entertained the thought of rest. I wasn’t even sure how to rest or if I had permission to take the road less traveled but I was determined.
And I’m here to tell you—-deciding to rest and resting are two totally different things!! Resting was soooo delicious but it was also a constant and hard fought struggle!
Well—- at first it was easy—-I left the country for a month and really enjoyed myself. I literally and figuratively unplugged. But when I returned, our world was still on fire. It was hard but I gave myself permission to rest from my abortion advocacy work. And my RJ comrades encouraged that rest for me and I pray for it for them. But family stressors were ever present and there were several financial crises that suddenly arose for my loved ones. I recall feeling resentful at first, thinking why couldn’t they give me this? How could these issues all bubble up right when I quit my job and was just trying to rest!? Then something shifted in me. My heart expanded and I eventually felt grateful that I had the time to give to my family. To show up for, and be present with them in ways I would not have been able to if I was working. But showing up for family is still not resting.
It hit me that the world will always keep spinning so I had to protect my commitment to myself—even in the midst of family crises and obligations. I began to pour into me first and then poured into my loved ones. I was determined to return to myself and I learned to request the space and time that I needed. I learned to activate DND and how to silence my notifications. The silence was glorious. I realized resting was an active process that needs to be crafted within and despite the chaos of daily life. I fought for rest and claimed it as my own.
And it wasn’t just family that pulled me away from rest when I returned to the states—My anxiety skyrocketed as I realized I did not have a job for the 1st time since I was 14. I began panicking and applying to jobs frantically and without intentionality. I was not resting. I was on LinkedIn and the chronicle of higher ed jobs daily. I was chatting with folks about potentially opening my own institute and starting a story telling series focusing on reproductive freedom. I said yes to panels and guest lectures in order to have some cash flowing in and to make sure I stayed “relevant” and “in the game”. And it wasn’t until I didn’t get a job in June, which I was over qualified for, that I finally began to sit with myself again. I was wayyyy off task—this not only was not resting—- this was desperation. So I exhaled and I decided to trust myself and my process. I returned to my hammock, traveled to see family and friends, practiced yoga at the beach, and enjoyed my summer.
Until the next wave of anxiety came over me in late August and September when I saw everyone in my FB timeline returning to campus for the fall semester and I was still at home in my pjs. No syllabi to create. No book to publish. No welcome back events plan. No initiatives to spearhead. No cute back to school outfits to buy at the thrift store. I began worrying if I would ever be able to find employment again. I also started feeling shame and suddenly began saying I was on a “sabbatical”
because that seemed more acceptable than simply saying that I wasn’t working. Yes, internalized capitalism is real! Somehow resting began to feel like failure and the specter of financial insecurity had me spooked. The little working class girl inside me was scared—- I had survived poverty as a child and was terrified about experiencing it again. Rest was competing with self doubt, uncertainty, and past trauma. My therapist and several of my friends had to care for little Monique—that’s my inner child— and remind her that we were both safe. At one point, I even began worrying that I was being punished for resting and that my family and I could suffer for my unplanned and potentially catastrophic choices.
Everybody needs rest—who was I to think that I deserved a sweet taste of it?! During this phase I became more emotionally dysregulated and found myself requiring more care, compassion, and support from my inner circle. I learned how to be more vulnerable and share when I was feeling lost and unsure of myself. My therapist and friends held me close and am so grateful. I took more baths, meditated, and practiced Qi Gong as I fought to stay in my body so I could feel and work through my complex emotions that bubbled up to the surface. I lived simply as my savings dwindled. I had to trust that I would be ok and I returned to rest in between my periodic anxiety spirals. I learned to cultivate and appreciate stillness, slowness and yes, aloneness— as most of my social connections were busy at work and living their equally full lives. I became my own good company.
As my season of radical rest began to come to an end in December, I savored every second that was left. I retreated even more into myself and sought silence as a sacred praxis.
It’s January, and I have returned to work but I now claim rest as my own. Though I had to occasionally fight back my survivor’s guilt for having the privilege of a season of rest, and at times I did not feel worthy of it—-it truly was a journey of joy.
I NOW know WHAT IT FEELS LIKE TO BE A RESTED BLACK WOMAN—-
and I now know that I am worthy.
We all are.
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