Safe and Sacred Spaces

For most of my life, I’ve basically been a chameleon, adapting to almost any environment and situation. At one time, I probably considered that to be a good characteristic. But, I’m not so sure anymore. When I look back on my life and see myself in those situations, I feel a tightening in my chest and an overwhelming sense of sadness for wasted time being unauthentic.

I have always lived in middle America, where rural areas outnumber metropolitan ones. There are many positive aspects of living in areas where the pace of life is slower. My intent is not to be disparaging to those who love living in that space; but to be honest, I don’t think I’ve ever fit into that lifestyle. And, my political beliefs have never aligned with conservative politics, which has resulted in a lot of people shaming me and using my political leanings to “question my Christianity.”

There have been many times that I became the version of myself that others expected me to be so that I could fit in with the landscape. But the truth is that I didn’t “fit.” There’s a line in the book, The Help, where Skeeter, recently returned to her hometown of Jackson, Mississippi after graduating from Ole Miss, thinks, “I feel like I’ve been dropped into a place where I don’t fit; and maybe I never did.” Those words describe me better than any others.

Too fearful to challenge the status quo, I spent a chunk of time holding my breath in uncomfortable and stifling situations, just waiting until the situation ended until I could escape to a safe space. My daughter calls that foreign energy. Foreign energy puts your body in conflict spiritually and physically. That makes sense to me now because I’ve had enough mindfulness training to recognize the physical effects of not feeling emotionally safe. But I haven’t always understood that.

I’ve also been fortunate that during those times, I have always had safe spaces – mostly through my work relationships. During the time I lived in Oklahoma, my work friends provided the respite I needed to be the “real” me. They gave me permission to be curious, challenge assumptions, and breathe. When I moved to Dallas, my relationships with my friends across the country intensified. Plus, I met a new group of Texas friends and colleagues, who have become my “peeps.”

But even today, I still feel like I have to navigate two different worlds, and it can be dizzying. I’m horrified by the continued racial violence and double standards that permeate our society and allow people who look like me to walk away from their transgressions while people of color are incarcerated and killed at alarming rates. Each time another story of a Black person dying in police custody or in their own home because of “mistaken identity,” I pray that the long overdue racial reckoning of centuries long structural racism will finally be realized. One minute I’m watching a clip of an emotional Kirk Herbstreit, a white ESPN white sportscaster as he asks, “How do you listen to these stories and not feel pain and not want to help?” And, I think, “yes, we are getting better.” The next minute, I’m face to face with someone telling me that “Black Lives Matter is a Marxist organization.” For the record, I have reviewed the Black Lives Matter website, had multiple conversations with members, and donated to the cause. There is NOTHING that indicates it is a “Marxist” organization. I try to say this, but I’m cut off, as I am so often in similar circumstances. The message is clear. My opinion, regardless of how informed it is, is not worthy of consideration. And, I feel the familiar tightness in my chest and the bile in my stomach. Traversing the two worlds is exhausting.

Last weekend was the Labor Day holiday. As I have done for many years, I went to our cabin in northeastern Oklahoma. But it was the days after the holiday that provided me with the relief I desperately needed.

From September 9-11, the Safe States Alliance launched our first virtual conference. To say that we were all a little apprehensive about how it would work is an understatement. Shifting from an in-person annual conference to a virtual one in only a few months meant it was long days and evenings for the staff. I have wasted more hours than I like to think about the past 3 years doing meaningless overtime work that went nowhere. That wasn’t the case during the past 3 months. I have felt more energized than I have in a very long time. For the past 3 months, and particularly the past 3 weeks, I watched with pride as my colleagues worked tirelessly to build the virtual platform, plan for engaging plenary sessions, live Learning Labs, and virtual networking sessions, as well as record and edit videos of presentations.

When the virtual conference launched on September 9, we had 400 registered – the most attendees EVER. The accolades were almost immediate as I watched in real time the comments scrolling on my screen about the phenomenal plenary speakers and praise for our willingness to have conversations and name racial injustice. Throughout the 3 days of the conference, I watched a collective understanding among colleagues of color when they heard the words that “racism has been baked into the fibers of America” and were provided example after example of how this has been built through our educational, judicial, banking, medical, law enforcement, and social systems from local to the highest level of government. I watched the “humble reckoning instead of defiance” among white colleagues.

The conference started with a video that my team members had asked me to create, and that included quotes from the late Congressman John Lewis.

“We come to be renewed.”

“We come to be inspired.”

“We come to be reminded that we must do the work that justice and equality call us to do.”

“We will march with the spirit of love and with the spirit of dignity.”

“You have to have hope. You have to be optimistic in order to continue to move forward.”

“There’s still work left to be done.”

It ended with words from Reggie Moore, Director of the Office of Violence Prevention, City of Milwaukee Health Department.

“The world you were born in is not the world you have to die in.”

As I heard those words on the last day of the conference and watched the final comments scroll across my screen, I was overcome with emotion and gratitude that I, too, had landed in this safe and sacred space.