Unrest
My brain won’t shut off. My nervous system is in overdrive.
When Roe v. Wade fell on June 24, 2022, I wasn’t outraged or shocked. I was numb. Helpless, almost. It was similar to how I felt just a few weeks earlier after the school shooting in Uvalde, TX.
Both of these events were horrific. Both illogical. Both heartbreaking and soul crushing. And yet, neither one was all that surprising.
Uvalde took 19 children’s lives in an instant. The overturning of Roe v. Wade will take thousands of women’s lives slowly for years. The details of each of these incredibly dark moments are different, but their impact on our psyche is very much the same.
When things like these happen, they rob us of our sense of safety. Of our belief that we have any kind of control over what happens to our own bodies, or families, or loved ones. We mourn, we get angry, we vow never to let anything as unthinkable happen again. As a country, we’re very quick to assign blame, and very slow to take responsibility. You know what that pattern is?
Abuse.
—-
After Uvalde, I stayed off social media and away from the news for three days. It was too physically and emotionally painful to confront. I would imagine the horror of the kids in that class, imagine my own kids, begin to get nauseous, and become swallowed by my heart beating heavy in my chest. I couldn’t bring myself to face it. After Roe, though, for whatever reason, I had the opposite reaction. I couldn’t look away. even though every piece of media was making me just as nauseous. Just as angry.
It’s only been a week since the ruling, but what’s unfolded in that time period is the undoing of centuries of progress, and my heart and brain can’t keep up with it. Humans as a species were never meant to handle this much chaos and uncertainty and constant bombardment all at once. We’re not neurologically wired for it. It’s not our fault we’re crying all the time or can’t focus at work. But we still have to deal with the consequences of it, regardless.
For me, when my emotional circuits overload, I go into one of two modes: depression or desperation. I’m in the latter right now. I’m trying to use logic and busy-ness to find salvation somewhere.
How can my company protect our employees? I sparked internal discussions to make sure that we’re covering all healthcare and travel costs for anyone who needs them.
What can our industry do as a whole? I started a pledge for advertising agencies to codify pro-choice policies and practices into their operations. I’ve been reaching out to industry publications, and trying to organize more leaders to make this a priority.
What about my family? How do I protect my kids? Can we move to Canada? What US states will offer the most protection since Georgia is a shit show, only rivaled by Texas and Florida? I have to do the research and run the financial numbers.
Logic can lead to action, and it has. I’ve even done something I never in a million years would have imagined doing: contacting Emily’s List to learn more about running for local office.
These actions feel like something positive, and I hope something does come from them. But I also know that for me, action is avoidance reflex. I am so filled with fear and confusion and anger and disappointment that I can’t (or maybe don’t want) to process these emotions. So instead of being with them, I jump into doing.
I am deeply anxious. I’m scared. I’m angry. I’m grieving. I’m exhausted.
This collective unrest is more than just about politics. It’s about power and privilege. It is cultural and racial and gender and sexual and socioeconomic and religious abuse. (Yes, I went there.) It is mass trauma that is going to impact our safety, our psyches, and possibly our DNA, for generations to come.
How are we supposed to hold all of this without falling apart?
Maybe we’re not. Maybe we can’t. Maybe I need to be less hard on myself for not knowing how to process this. Maybe jumping into action is the best way I know how to cope. Maybe that has to be good enough for now.