Hiatus: 2020 Is For The Birds

I’ve written at least thirty articles to post here and not one of them has made it. Not one of them has bubbled to the surface the important bits of turmoil 2020 has brought.

2020 is for the birds.

It’s been a reminder of how stifling America is for othered folks.

Not only that, but it’s been a year of burning. Pardon my recent silence. 2020 has been a year of emergencies. This year, I have been battling for life. Between a high-risk pregnancy, hospitalization, an extended NICU fight during COVID, and the loss of my first-born baby. But as I mourn my child, I also mourn my 22-month-old marriage.

But while I can’t quite talk about any of this quite yet, I wanted to take a moment to say that I haven’t forgotten about you. I note the irony in the breathlessness COVID brings, particularly upon othered people in a space that won’t let us breathe. I’d have to be blind to live untouched by our protests around the world. It’s been more than 519 years of screaming out that we matter—since the first brown man and woman were brought to Europe in chains. Still, know that the battle is not taken lightly.

 I see you, and you matter.

There are so many lessons baked into all of what’s happening right now, but among all of them, please know that there is always new growth after fire, and that even with scorched earth, the strong survive and willful return.

Fight on.

You are more than enough.

You matter.

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