For a while my friend Adam ended most of his photography videos on YouTube by saying, “I never know how to end these things.” Often when I sit down to write I feel that way about starting, particularly when I want to tackle a difficult or heavy subject.

Today is one of those days. Today you get the rawest of the raw form of me. Fair warning in advance; if you are offended by language, or triggered by discussion of abortion, gun violence, miscarriage, or sexual assault, then today’s newsletter may not be for you. So often I hold back, not wanting to be a downer, not wanting to offend, and so then not being fully and completely honest and open. Always trying to leave space for the difficult without being sucked into it. To at least end on an upbeat note. But I keep being reminded, over and over as if the universe is trying to beat it into my head, that it is through the sharing of our most vulnerable selves that we can offer someone else a small light in their own darkness. And so I share here in the hopes that perhaps at least one of you can be comforted by my words, even if only in the knowing that you aren’t alone.

The last month has been, quite frankly, fucking exhausting. I have spent most of it at the absolute end of my being. Not living, but rather just existing in the realm of I don’t have another ounce left to give. I find myself swinging back and forth between two extremes of fragility: one where it takes precious little to cause me to crack open, shattering into a million pieces, the feeling of grief overwhelming; And one where it takes precious little for me to tear another to a million pieces, where a white hot rage courses through my body, threatening to consume me. Because of that second one I find myself withdrawing a bit from certain relationships; from the people who don’t know me well enough to understand, the ones I cannot trust with my full and true self. I keep a safe and cautious distance, to protect us both.

Obviously starting the month off with a funeral wasn’t easy. But really it’s been all of the things that have piled on since that have been the hardest to bear. The coming face to face with the realization that as a woman I apparently can’t be trusted to make an intelligent decision about my own body and that, to put it frankly, my body doesn’t matter. The shooting at a church that killed one and injured five. The extermination of ten people and injury of three others, eleven of the thirteen black, in a racially motivated shooting at a grocery store. The slaughter of nineteen children and two teachers at an elementary school.

I’ve sat here staring at that last paragraph for the last hour thinking, What the fuck? How in the fuck is this reality? I want to go outside and scream it at every person I see, How did we get here?, shaking them by the collar as if they all know some secret that no one will tell me. I look at my children and I am shattered, utterly horrified by the world I’ve brought them into. I remember being their age and imagining the future. It was sure as hell never supposed to look like this. And as I sit here, that white hot rage begins to simmer. The rage that exists not only because these things are happening, but because we are letting them. We are letting them happen.

We are letting these incredibly complex issues get pared down to sound bites we can yell at each other. We are letting our politicians tell us that everyone on the “other” side takes the most extreme position. We are letting them tell us that the solutions are simple, and should require no concession whatsoever by “our” side. We don’t even question it.

Of course, this is all ridiculous. Regardless of which “side” you’re on I’m willing to bet that you get no joy from the idea of abortion, nor do you think that women should lose autonomy over their own bodies. I’m guessing, hoping, that you find racism unacceptable. You probably don’t think that all guns should be taken away, nor do you think that an AR-15 in the hands of an untrained and potentially unstable teenager (or adult for that matter) is a good idea. In other words, though we may not all agree on exactly how to get there I’m willing to bet that we agree on where we need to arrive.

And yet.

We let ourselves ignore the nuance and the complexity, and we avoid the hard conversations. We let ourselves forget that behind every opinion is a human being as complex as each of these issues, with personal stories that inform those opinions. We forget that over there are human beings as worthy and unique as we are, with opinions as valid as our own. We become cowards. And so we let, we choose to let, the madness continue.

This month has been exhausting and I am at my end. I certainly don’t have all the answers but I do know that the only hope we have of finding them is together. I always close this newsletter by saying to write me back, because I love to hear from you. Write me if you like, or write someone else. Write a senator, a friend, a letter to the editor. But please, for the love of whoever you love, just open yourself and move the conversation forward.

As always, thanks so much to each of you for following along here. I am greatly appreciative of the space you each allow me.

kg

RECENT POSTS

VISIONS OF MOTHERHOOD

I know you all saw this image last month, when I shared it on my blog. But the one bright spot of my month was finding out that it was selected to be included in the Luupe’s online exhibition in celebration of Mother’s Day, Visions of Motherhood. The collection of words and images explores the complexities of Motherhood, and I was thrilled to be included, especially alongside the unbelievably talented Jess T Dugan.

AT THE MOMENT

LISTENING TO

Nothing in particular really. I’ve just been playing whatever seems keeps me afloat at the time, which has been sort of all over the place. But I’ve at least had fun laughing with the boys as I shared a few Star Wars Bad Lip Reading videos with them. If you’re a Star Wars fan and in need of a laugh I highly recommend checking out Seagulls (Stop It Now) and Bushes of Love. Also you should be prepared to be humming them for at least the next two weeks.

READING IN

My biggest saving grace this month, by far, has been reading Chanel Miller’s Know My Name. If you aren’t familiar, Chanel is the woman who in 2015 was sexually assaulted while unconscious, on the campus of Stanford University by a student named Brock Turner. You may remember the victim impact statement she read to him in court, which went viral when it was published the day after his ludicrous sentencing: just six months, only three actually served, for three counts of felony sexual assault.

When I think about the hurt that I’ve experienced in my own life, I think about the way I’ve always diminished it. Made it smaller. Made it less. Take for example the way I still call it hurt rather than trauma, unwilling to claim that word, afraid my experiences don’t qualify. I always told myself it could’ve been worse, and so I believed my hurt didn't count. When I had a miscarriage between my two boys I convinced myself that because it happened relatively early in the pregnancy that I didn’t deserve to grieve the way I saw others experiencing loss grieving. When other women shared their #MeToo stories a few years ago I never shared any of mine feeling like because they weren’t as bad as what others had been through they didn’t matter, was afraid I’d be claiming too much pain. Even when I was a child and my parents divorced I often chided myself for feeling so sad because at least they didn't fight and I still got to see them both.

It wasn’t until reading Chanel’s book that I’ve begun to understand the way that I’ve carried the weight of these things. I made them small, told myself that they weren't so bad, weren’t too heavy, reminded myself that I was strong. But never realized how much they’d added up. Reading her words I felt, perhaps for the first time ever, entirely seen, understood even. It’s been incredibly cathartic, bringing me a peace that I didn’t even know I needed.

THINKING ABOUT

Yesterday I listened to this incredibly wonderful conversation with Jenny Lawson about mental health. I was completely unfamiliar with her work, but can’t wait to pick up one of her books. If you struggle with depression or other mental health issues, or if you know someone who does, I can’t possibly recommend this podcast enough.

CRUSHING ON

Anyone as hurt and angry as I am about the current state of this world, and doing something about it. If you’ve written a congressman, voted in a local election, joined a group, donated money, stood up to hate, or simply had a hard conversation with someone, then I think you are doing some of the most important work on this planet, and I am grateful.