Neighbors, about a month ago, I was thinking about what a “wellness practice” looks like during a genocide. I was thinking about it because, quite frankly, if you have any level of awareness and a functioning heart, it’s pretty damn hard to be well while this continues. Many health and wellness gurus and influencers I saw on social media were/are still locked into tips exclusively focused on an individual’s comfort over the collective reality of genocide.
Comfortable is not the same thing as well, though. I wanted to counter that messaging, so at the time, I jotted down three practices I had adopted since October to help me cope effectively. I shared the practices and the science that backs them up on Instagram, but since then, I’ve been thinking about my other wellness practices during genocide, and I wanted to share and expand on them in a note here for all of you today. My intention is to help us all keep our community care journey sustainable.
My wellness practice (during a genocide):
1. Sing "Redemption Song" by Bob Marley daily.
Singing is good for vagus nerve stimulation, but the REAL wellness comes from repeating the words "Emancipate yourselves from mental slavery," which continually ground my mission. Other songs help me, too, like Down in The River To Pray. Singing sometimes also helps with emotional release through crying . . .
2. Cry.
Crying relieves stress and emotional pain by releasing oxytocin and endogenous opioids (endorphins), but the REAL wellness comes from embracing my humanity and expressing a full range of emotions, including distress (or anger). To help balance distress, it can be helpful to visualize something positive . . .
3. Visualize a future where Palestine is free.
Neuropsychological evidence shows that visualization helps us rehearse skills we need to achieve our goals, but the REAL wellness shows up when I use those skills I was mentally rehearsing: protest, resistance, and solidarity. Protest, resistance, and solidarity often require direct confrontation, which is an active coping mechanism . . .
4. Use active (or approach) coping to process and help increase tolerance for discomfort.
Avoidance as a coping mechanism is not a long-term wellness strategy, instead I use active coping, like learning about what is happening in Gaza and focusing on the aspects of the problem within my control. For example, I can’t control humanitarian aid being delivered, but I can control whether I publicly advocate for aid delivery. The REAL wellness is in the knowledge that after this painful moment passes, I will not be debilitated from reliance on a maladaptive coping mechanism. I’ll be stronger in the face of unpleasant emotions, which is a part of the resilience skill set . . .
5. Practice resilience skills.
Resilience is not a personality trait; it’s a set of skills we can learn and improve with practice. Of the many skills within the set identified on the Conner-Davidson Resilience Scale, I often work on one item now: not giving up when things look hopeless. I repeat a mantra I learned from Mariame Kaba, “Hope is a discipline,” to remind myself that I can improve my hopefulness through practice. The REAL wellness comes through linking my resilience to a community of veteran social justice leaders like Kaba. Speaking of community . . .
6. Train for endurance.
My purpose is to advance community care as a legitimate, powerful form of medicine. I want to inspire you to take community care action seriously because there is no such thing as private wellness. A genocide demonstrates quite clearly all the ways that health and well-being can only be sustained within community.
My wellness is tied to your wellness is tied to Gaza’s wellness is tied to OUR wellness and the REAL wellness flows from training ourselves for that solidarity endurance. Every practice on this list is about strengthening my capacity, so I can continually practice fierce, radical community care.
About endurance and community . . .
During the 2020 racial justice uprisings, I read a tweet about the Parable of the Choir. “A choir can sing a beautiful note impossibly long because singers can individually drop out to breathe as necessary, and the note goes on. Social justice activism should be like that.”
After 149 days of sustained activism of one kind or another, including many uncomfortable conversations online and in-person, I am taking a break to rest and be with the people closest to me. My endurance for Palestinian life is extremely important to me, and I can’t keep going without refueling and tending to connections with the people I love. There will not be a note next Monday (Mar 11th), but you can expect Notes from a Neighbor back in your inbox on Mon, Mar 18th.
I trust some of you will hold the note while others of us breathe. Hopefully, sharing my wellness practice during a genocide inspires you on ways to keep your community care journey sustainable.
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Yes to catching your breath!!