A day of quiet fireworks

I had a loving and truth-speaking tea date with Bella’s mom this morning, and though her dad wasn’t with us, we are all one in our intentions for Bella. We want her to do her best without being overwhelmed. We want her to be empowered to make choices, but we also want to be the loving adults in her life who can step in—either to intervene with the school, or if that doesn’t work—to work around the school so that she has the support she needs.

Later in the day I had a loving and truth-speaking phone conversation with my daughter Angel, in Houston. She told me stories she had never told me about her time in the Army. Horrific stories. And some tender stories of camaraderie and solidarity. I'm honored that she no longer has to protect me from knowing what happened. We tell our stories when we can. 

It’s complicated to be a young woman defining herself in the context of systems that have been created to destroy or diminish. As Audre Lorde said so wisely, “we were never meant to survive.” And yet to our own amazement, some of us do.

The photograph is a spangled sparkly sequined shirt I washed between conversations and put near the window to dry in the sunshine. I may soon have occasion to wear it.