Earlier today I posted two stories on my Instagram account, two incredibly dualistic, yet important facets of what it’s like to work in the climate justice sphere:
It has been a whirlwind of a summer, which has brought me to 5 different countries, and has allowed me to work with a wide array of individuals and groups on the matters of environmental and climate justice as well as human rights. I have nothing but gratitude for all the learnings and the experiences and the stories of hope and solidarity that I have both shared and received and the words and silences that have carried me in this journey.
However, I also am a chronically ill and disabled woman, side-by-side with my roles as student, teacher, activist, and lawyer. That means on days like today, where I woke up in cold sweat with my smart watch telling me I have an elevated heart rate, a definite precursor for a panic attack, and on weeks like the last where I was bedridden because of my endometriosis flare up, and on moments like right now where my fingers are flying across the keyboard, keeping pace with the speed of my hypomanic brain, I need to remind myself that all is okay.
I have as much right and responsibility to rest as much as I have right and responsibility to achieve.
Rest is resistance, and in a world where you are constantly sized up for the work that you do and the productivity you possess, choosing to step back and rest is a victory.
Maybe it’s turning 30, or maybe it’s the sleuth of physical and mental health issues that I’ve been conditioned to ignore when I was younger coming back to haunt me and remind me of what matters most. Maybe it’s the realisation that the work does not have to be loud or grand or newsworthy for it to be real and transformative and impactful.
Maybe it’s the fact that the world was not created in a day amidst the reality that all we have is, and simultaneously we will always have, right now, and the many rights nows tomorrow. We just need to get there alive. And rested. And together.
Of perpetual finds 