So, knitting and social justice, it’s not a new idea.   There is an excellent article here.  Just type “social justice knitting” into Google and you will find tons of fascinating information about knitters, past and present, stepping up to the social justice plate.

You probably already know that there will be a Women’s March on Washington this Saturday (the day after trump’s inauguration).  However, did you know about the Pussy Hat Project?

I have been knitting these pink hats for weeks.   First, I made some as Christmas gifts for all of my friends who will be at the main Women’s March on Washington.   Then, I felt like knitting more hats, so I made a few to send to the main distribution location in VA (My local yarn shop owner donated yarn for hats once she found out why I wanted pink worsted & heavier when my usual habits run to blue/grey/black lace).  Then, Hubby asked for a hat (I love that guy).   Then, while knitting at a meeting for the sister march in the Orlando.  (There are over 300 sister marches worldwide!), people started asking about hats for our march, so I ordered a bag of pink yarn (cotton, it’s hot where we live), and will bring as many as I can finish by Saturday afternoon.

Please do visit the march website and read the group’s platform, then, if you are thus inclined, join us at a rally.   Every one of like mind is welcome.

A few months ago, a life thing happened that knocked me for a loop.   A thing that we desperately did not want to do, was forced on us (by “forced” I mean that there were absolutely no other moral options, and by us, I mean even in the toxic abyss that is my family of origin, Hubby sees us as a team.   That man is a god).

Migraines, insomnia, & stomach upset ensued.  For the first time in my life, I could not lose myself in books.  My hands would shake so much that I could not knit.   I found it very hard to leave the house, and when I did, I could not interact with other people.  It was ugly, and I have fought too hard for my emotional health to allow it to go on (It is ultimately easier (?) not to go to those dark places, than it is to climb out).

What really made a difference was finding a journal app that worked for me (Day One), and dumping everything I was feeling into it.   Good, bad, admirable, not so much, it all went in there.

So what did I do?   I set clear expectations and boundaries.   For me, that is the easy part.  Thanks to years of therapy (the duct tape of life), I know darn well how things should be.   Harder is enforcing those boundaries.   Mostly, I’ve done well with that one, but it is a daily battle, it does get old, and I do get tired.

It has been almost six months.   The situation has improved, but still pretty much sucks.   At least our home is back to being a safe space (That all by itself makes a world of difference).   I’m finally, and only recently, able to focus enough to hide in a good book.   Knitting continues to be a solace (I’ve been test-knitting, which I did not think I would like, but actually love).   I am looking for a volunteer opportunity that would be emotionally lightweight but still of use (literacy?).   I am intrigued by the mission of “WritersResist.org”, and with that in mind, am going to try to reanimate my blog.  Knitting and social justice, not an original idea, but I like it.

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A few days ago, in an aspirational moment, I made this my Facebook profile picture.  This is what I believe we should be striving for, but I am not there yet.   The truth is that I can not seem to stop being afraid.

I've said from the beginning that Trump would win, and that it is not Trump himself who scares me (I grew up in the NY metro.  He is just a shallow bully, who has less intelligence, money, &/or influence than be brags about).   It is the people who voted for him, the "Deplorables", who terrify me.  

I believe he won because the American electorate was both overestimated and underestimated.   I think there was a belief that despite his rally numbers, most people would not really be willing to put a bigoted, racist, xenophobic, avowed sexual assailant in the White House.    On the left side, I was hearing a lot about how important this election was going to be.   How it was a fight for the country's soul.   There seemed to be little acknowledgment that the other side also understood the importance of voting, of maintaining their world as they understood it,  that all those people who were willing to be seen shouting vile slogans and waving hateful signs, were not going to suddenly find themselves unable to vote for the guy who told them that their anger and hate were good things.   Who does not want to hear that they are right?    Trump won, not despite his hate & lies, but because of them.   This election did not determine the content of our country's character, it revealed it.

For me, it has been a slow, painful slide from believing that most people are good and kind, to most people are more than just willing, to shoot first, and ask questions later (figuratively, in this case, literally would be a whole other blog post.)

As a woman I am afraid.   As a Latina, I am afraid.   As domestic violence survivor, I am afraid.   As an assault survivor, I am afraid.   As the mother, of two young men who have embraced our message to stand up, and speak out for what is right, I am afraid.   As the wife of a man who still believes that we have to keep fighting for love, equality, & equity for all, I am afraid.