I’ve read plenty of historical fiction and seen movies about WWII and Nazi Germany, most highlight the trials, tribulations, and bravery of those who resisted. But how did those who didn’t look away manage daily life without losing their sanity?
I was on my way to work when I heard the news that Renee Good was executed by the state in broad daylight and left to bleed out in her SUV. But around the water cooler her name wasn’t mentioned. When ICE used our tax dollars to terrorize my neighbors by repelling from Black Hawk helicopters onto the roof of a Chicago apartment building, the world didn’t stop.
The cacophony of chaos brings my spirit to its knees. But to my soul, the silence is deafening.
To acquaintances I appear to be managing the weight of the horrors that are unfolding. But it’s a carefully crafted façade. Like the party game, Jenga, remove one piece and the whole thing might crumble. It’s by force of will that I keep the wall standing. But as I go through my daily routine, there’s always a tiny voice whispering, “how does everyone look so normal when the world is fucking on fire?”
Last week at my monthly crones circle, the dam broke. When asked how I was doing, that little voice began to scream, “I’m not okay!” Through my tears I wailed, this is fucking insane. Why isn’t everyone screaming. The dam had burst and my anger flowed like lava. For a moment it felt cathartic. The relief didn’t last.
The next day I couldn’t settle. I went from returning to the safety and comfort of my bed, to pacing the floor. My anxiety was palpable. I even sent a message of apology to the circle facilitator. She seemed confused by my need to apologize. I think I was apologizing to myself.
To empaths, these aren’t just trying times, they’re brutal. In order to navigate a world that is silent in the face of atrocities we need to build a façade that allows us to “fit in”. When good people choose to look away, we need to attempt to let go of our judgement, for fear of isolation. But we know silence is complicity.
I let the façade slip in the circle. My defenses were weakened. I felt all the pain and judgement. I’m envious of the Muslim women I’ve seen lamenting and wailing in public (Nayahah), how I yearn for a public display of mourning.
I’m now actively trying to rebuild the dam, and I realize it’s a betrayal. What choice do I have?
