Things you hear/see about here: Everton. Houston Dynamo. US Soccer. Footy in general. Science fiction. Doctor Who. Star Wars. Battlestar Galactica. Harry Potter. Books. TV. Politics. Rants. Gingers. Cute things. Shameless plugs.
I’m failing to see how you’re unable to understand PRECISELY because of how some officers treat POC, that I am an officer.
It has been known for decades that those with blatant white supremacist ideology, those who adhere to strict patriarchal values, openly detest GLBT persons, believe feminism to be an utter waste, male privilege to be made-up, and white skin privilege a fallacy, have become politicians and joined our military or police departments, in order to carry out their ideology of oppression.
My question is why have more of us who are often caught in the cross hairs of societally inflicted oppression haven’t joined these very institutions themselves.
What would you have me do? Abandon my career, say goodbye to the steadily growing coalition of officers who think and act as I do, and are slowly changing how policing is done? Elevating it to a level of consciousness never represented before? Is that what you would have me do? To stop educating officers on the inside of privileges and types of oppression they had either never heard of, or never thought worthy of deep and critical thought?
I’m angry about how these oppressed groups are treated too. I am doing something constructive with my anger. There is a reason being a traitor to one’s country is viewed as particularly detestable. It’s because change occurs from within. Empires crumble and are remade from within.
Would you have me remove myself from within this organization? If your answer is “yes”, you don’t want change. You just want to be fruitlessly enraged.
I have been reading Not Alone: Reflections of Faith and Depression by Monica Coleman, which is a 40-day series of devotionals for the person of faith struggling with depression. The book is split into four parts: Breaking the Silence; Feeling it Deeply; Letting Others In; Touching Love, Beauty, and Joy; Knowing Yourself as Complete and Whole; and Embracing Death as a New Beginning. The first four days of the journey was all about breaking the silence: finding words to describe myself, my struggle, and my spirit.
Over the past few days, I have come to understand that my spirituality is connected with the deepest and darkest parts of myself — the parts of myself I want to keep hidden from the world. These are things even I am afraid to acknowledge. My ugliest truths. The things that if I told you, you’d probably hate me (or so the voice in my head would have me believe). There are parts of me — and I don’t believe that I am alone — that I have buried so deep that even I was surprised to find them settled in the attic, covered in dust.
Rediscovering the darkness that I’ve hidden has made me question the very essence of my spiritual being. I don’t mean to sound like I’m having an existential crisis. I often, through my writing and journaling, question myself in hopes of figuring out my truest truth. That, in itself, is a nearly impossible task as I am constantly evolving. I am not the same person I was yesterday or last year.
What am I, though? And who am I? I am a Christian. I am a feminist woman. I am queer. I am a friend. I am a justice seeker. I am a daughter and a sister and an aunt. I am creative and disorganized. I struggle with social anxiety and experience bouts of depression every now and again. In me there is darkness and light, and this is how it will be.
Coming to terms with my struggles, traveling into the very core of those battles, I imagine myself in the midst of the hardest times. I search for light and find only darkness; I see only my flaws. Physical: I’m not skinny enough, too many freckles, my hair is disheveled, too pale… Character: I’m lazy, I’m anti-social, I’m awkward, I’m selfish… My emotions shut down and I think this is my way of protecting myself from feeling the pain that hating myself has wrought.
These past few days have been about two things: understanding my condition, and understanding myself. This includes pulling out the cobwebs that I’d rather avoid; it includes facing the scary truth and realizing that maybe it wasn’t as bad as I thought. Maybe I am not as bad as I thought. Putting a name to my darkness and releasing myself from the shame that comes from it is how I clean up the mess I’ve kept locked up inside.
I want to be vulnerable and honest and real, and I also want to be safe and to protect myself from outside harm the best that I can. My anxiety is a guardian, keeping me from others — because if I don’t cultivate relationship, I can’t be hurt. The only person my anxiety allows to cut me so deeply is me. And that’s just the thing: it isn’t working. The purpose is defeated if I end up like this, a shadow of myself, keeping the world from the light I have to offer in order to hide my darkness.
I am learning who I am, and I’m starting to believe that maybe there are others out there who might not think I’m so bad.
lesbian and bi women should have a secret code word that we slip into conversation with girls we’ve just met to see if they also like girls