Braving the Wilderness by Brene Brown

I cried, or choked up, many times throughout this book. To my surprise, it wasn’t simply about belonging and staying true to myself. It was also about re-navigating my way through this crazy, polarized world we live in.

_ _ _

I was exposed to the negative effects of thinking in dichotomies fairly young. Right v. Wrong leads to separation. Rich v. Poor leads to oppression. Male v. Female leads to exclusion. Black v. White leads to hate. That’s why I naturally leaned into this “grey space” — a seemingly unheard of place not many dare to enter. But, ironically, a place of understanding. The irony in this grey space is that you often feel alone. You think to yourself, parts of me fit in here, parts of me fit in there. I am nothing as a whole, yet I am everything. It made perfect sense to me, but not to society’s compartments.

This notion has followed me into my adult life. I often wonder if not feeling enough has something to do with being asked to choose between another dichotomy: politics. But it’s not just politics as a function, but also an identity, a belief system making me feel like there’s no space for me here. This is what Brown means when she says our world is going through “a spiritual crisis.” And this book was published in 2017. Imagine what she is thinking now.

But instead of reflecting on my critiques of our world, and my critiques of myself, I want to focus on an experience that aligns with the lessons in this book.

_ _ _

When the George Floyd — and many other black individuals killed by police — demonstrations began in May of this year, I was living with my godmother. At the time she had been serving in the police force for over forty years. This woman raised me and loved me more than any human being, aside from my parents. I can’t even put into words how much we mean to one another. It is an unconditional, grateful, actionable, trusting and understanding kind of love.

So I was shocked when she gave me an ultimatum to leave or to stay — the Me v. Them dichotomy that leads to pain.

To give context, I had been attending the demonstrations in my city since the day they began. My godmother had been working 12–15 hours a day at the protests, unarmed. She was in parking control. Her division had nothing to do with the violence that many officers inflicted on the demonstrators, protesters and rioters. I would kiss her before she left to work. I would text her repeatedly checking on her safety. I would stay awake into the early morning, after I finished demonstrating, waiting for her car to pull up. As a Mexican-American, lesbian woman of immigrants, she wanted me to be there.

But, after the fourth or fifth day in a row (I can’t quite remember), I woke up to a woman who was exhausted, scared, hurt and confused. The night before, she saw a picture of me holding a sign that read, “It starts when the police question the system that is supposed to protect our people but continues to kill our people. Listen.” She thought I was talking directly to her by talking generally to “her people.” After what began civil and escalated into a broken record of defensiveness, I was given an ultimatum to leave or to stay. Staying meant I was no longer allowed to say anything about the police department. Leaving meant standing up for my beliefs, but punching a hole in our relationship. Its Me v. Them.

I chose to leave. But this has, by far, been the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. I cried out of genuine pain. And I found myself confused in this grey space again. Why did I have to choose?

Before you solidify your opinions, I want to share an excerpt from this book that sums up completely how I feel about this experience:

“An important example is the debate around Black Lives Matter, Blue Lives Matter, and All Lives Matter. Can you believe that black lives matter and also care deeply about the well-being of police officers and at the same time be concerned about abuses of power and systemic racism in law enforcement and the criminal justice system? Yes.

[…]

But then, if it’s the case that we can care about citizens and the police, shouldn’t the rallying cry just be All Lives Matter? No. Because the humanity wasn’t stripped from all lives the way it was [is] stripped from the lives of black citizens. In order for slavery to work, in order for us to buy, sell, beat, and trade people like animals, Americans had to completely dehumanize slaves. […] Not all people were subjected to the psychological process of demonizing and being made less human so we could justify the inhumane practice of slavery. (And the current criminal justice system)

[…] most of the criticism comes from people who are intent on forcing these false either/or dichotomies and shaming us for not hating the right people.”

I care about my godmother as equally as I believe Black Lives Matter. After two more shitty, angry and hurtful conversations, we persevered our way to a fourth talk. I practiced countless days on how to be open-minded, how to listen intentionally (to understand the same way I wanted to be understood), and how to make us both feel seen. That conversation was the second hardest thing I have ever had to do. But I learned so many lessons about how to come to true understanding; and not resolution, but, as Brown quotes, “conflict transformation.” We built something new, far beyond the status quo. I am no longer living with her, but our relationship is stronger than ever.

Braving the wildness means, to me, I am not here to make you agree with me. I am here to find a truth that obliterates dichotomies as the litmus tests to belonging. I am here to find understanding that helps us transform the way we look at solutions going forward. My life-work speaks for itself.

As I’ve mentioned before, this is no kumbaya. A radical is one that’s focused on what works.

I stand firmly in this grey space. And for the first time, saying that makes me feel less alone.