I’m in a clinic. It’s dirty. There are lots of other women there, women who look like me. The room is rectangular and the chairs squeak when you get up. I’m there to have an abortion. I’m 14 weeks pregnant. I’m on an operating table. I see the doctor. I’m filing charts. I’m calling patient names. I’m on the operating table and the anesthesia isn’t working. I’m taking a woman into a room to counsel her about her abortion.
This is the dream I have when I’m on the verge of burn out. This is how my body tells me that it’s going into over drive and is getting ready to shut down. And when my exhaustion gets to that point, you better believe I listen to it.
A good friend of mine told me that she doesn’t have time for self-care. As progressives, we’re taught to sacrifice ourselves, our desire for a living wage, our desire to be treated like human beings for the movement, for the greater good. This is not a tenable model. We lose when we don’t take care of ourselves.
Instead of rambling on about this, I want to ask for your thoughts. How do you give your life to a movement that you love without losing yourself? How do you balance the need for self-care with the fierce urgency of activism?