mad as hell

but also hopeful//work in process

This morning I woke up mad as hell. My daughters announced they were joining the national strike and skipping school to protest ICE. We were in favor of their decision, but the details were sketchy, and when I checked the NYT, the coverage of the “strike” (parentheses, NYT) was buried near the bottom of the homepage.

when even a run doesn’t help

This is what’s wrong with our country, I thought angrily. The real news is hidden, softened. No wonder we’re not awake. The other day I had to turn off NPR in the middle of an inane story about how social media influencers are now posting political, anti-ICE messages. Accounts that normally feature puppies are now acknowledging Alex Pretti! the reporter explained in a giddy tone. While this is true, and I applaud them, it’s also not the real or most important story. The real story is about masked federal agents murdering citizens in the street, and the Trump administration lying to our faces about it.

Just report it straight.

I’m mad as hell because it’s damn hard raising kids during the dismantling of democracy. At breakfast we had to explain that skipping school to strike is not an excuse to ski or go to Starbucks, but a responsibility to think closely about what they are doing, why they are doing it, why it matters, and then to be a thoughtful part of the action.

The girls agreed and left to make their posters. Kids are resilient, but there have been a lot of tears and heavy emotions in our house in the past two weeks, and it’s not just the usual teen drama. It’s watching the adults around them struggle to regulate.

I’m mad as hell because I ran out of estrogen cream last week and without it, I feel the full force of my female rage.

I’m mad as hell because like many of us, I watched the Alex Pretti videos last Saturday, and I cannot stop seeing five masked agents holding him down and shooting him in the back ten times while he tried to help a woman.

I’m mad as hell because it took an “investigation” (quotes mine) to determine that the Trump administration’s account of the murder “doesn’t appear to match” (NYT) the video evidence, when anyone could see it with their own eyes.

I’m mad as hell because I’ve been clenching my jaw for the past two weeks year— a symptom of the collective stress this culture of greed, hatred, and abuse has put on our nervous systems, for the better part of a decade. Enough is enough.

I’m mad as hell because I saw this comment on social media about students striking today: “Why can’t we leave the kids out of this?” The kids are in it, by no choice of their own. We’ve done this to them, and it’s our mess they’re inheriting, and they may be our best and only way out.

Generally I try not to complain. I prefer to put my energy into positive solutions than ragging on the myriad problems. But that’s part of the problem. When we consistently turn away from the ugly or difficult, even in an effort to preserve our mental health, we stop seeing clearly.

Facing the difficult truths, and our anger, isn’t toxic or self-defeating. It’s how we meet each moment, and the world, as it is—by acknowledging our fury and fear rather than burying them. We have to see the darkness in order to fight for the light. This is how we make positive effort for the good.

The other day at acupuncture, I told the DOM I hadn’t a menstrual cycle since November. “But isn’t it nice not to have a period?” she asked. “Yeah,” I said, “but without it, I don’t know where I am in time.”

I’ve thought about this a lot in the past few days, and months. How fortunate we are as women to have such waypoints, reminding us we’re part of the natural cycle, connected to the moon and tides and each other. I tell my daughters this all the time: If we are so powerfully aligned that our periods sync up when we spend time together, think what we’re capable of if we deliberately pool our energy and talents and strength.

This is what gives me hope.

Men don’t have this, I remind my girls. This is why women should be in charge.

After they left for the strike this morning, I did what mothers everywhere have been doing since the dawn of time. I called my friends. I told them about my rage. “Go for a walk the earth is grounding,” one texted me back. I went for a run. The wind was biting, and I was angry the whole time, fury pouring from my skin like sweat. Near the end, I saw a friend on his mountain bike, and I poured my anger onto him. “I’m sorry,” I said as we parted, feeling badly that I’d ruined his ride.

On my way home, I drove by the state capitol where the kids were striking. Dozens of students from my daughters’ school lined the sidewalks and medians, holding their signs. Cars and trucks honked as they went by, and the teens erupted in cheers. On and on this went, such a beautiful, hopeful cacophony! I stayed there for a long time, watching them march and shout and wave their signs, together, standing up for their future and their community. My rage dissolved, replaced by a strange elation.

For the first time in weeks, I felt hopeful. One sign said it all, “WE ARE SKIPPING OUR LESSONS TODAY TO TEACH YOU ONE! ABOLISH ICE!” The kids are OK. I thought about my friend on his bike, and how sorry I felt for dumping my anger on him, and then how sorry I felt for apologizing.

We must speak out. Together we can handle whatever comes, the worst of it, and on the days that we can’t, we can hold it for each other. We must.

in solidarity (and snow),

katie