How does a protestor take care of her mental health and practice self-care?
A look at 24 hours with a BLM activist who has been on the frontlines every day.
HOW DO YOU DEFINE SELF-CARE?
:Being your own best friend.
Also, taking a bath while listening to aHarry Potteraudiobook or watchingGossip Girlafter a run.
DO YOU THINK YOUR SELF-CARE HAS BEEN LACKING BECAUSE OF CURRENT EVENTS?
…
Not just for myself.
I wont be able to be out marching and shouting if I get sick or mentally crash.
WHATS YOUR MOST OFTEN USED FORM OF SELF-CARE?
Im still figuring it all out.
Im still checking my ego every day, working every day, learning every daybut Im getting better.
5 A.M.:My day begins at 5 a.m. God knows why because I couldnt sleep till 2 a.m.
But really, if anything, I should be grateful.
Sleep is rare these days.
Or the more physical part.
…
Even after ice and various lotions its still sore and a bit bloody on the inside.
I cant seem to quiet the officers voices replaying in my head, remixed with new ones each night.
9 A.M.:I head to the kitchen to figure out breakfast.
I usually love to cook.
It makes me feel competent and grown up and frankly, good at something.
But lately, my appetite hasnt been great.
So I grab a piece of bread, and call it a meal.
I turn the camera on anyway.
Everyone is fed up, but changes are being made.
I pitch about Black beauty brands and the white-washed art industry.
Maybe a little too safe.
I get distracted by the police scanner again.
This one is about writing this piece.
Im grateful to be able to talk to anothernon-Black POC at the company.
There arent many, but her insight and understanding without having to say it all out loud helps.
I log off feeling heard and wanting to write.
12 P.M.:I map out my day, while uploading a video abouteating in quarantineto YouTube.
Multitasking while sleep deprived is a new skill to add to the resume.
What is The Missionary Sex Position?
Why I have this visceral, internal, painful feeling inside that I cant shake.
Why I feel guilty during the moments that Im not outside shouting and fighting and marching.
I make a second cup of coffee.
My Nespresso has been the true hero these past few days.
Im beyond grateful for that.
2 P.M.:Its hard to stay focused.
I return home, and sit down to work.
I get a bit done, but my brain is still with the vigil so I write some more.
I have my water bottle with lemon instead.
I power through and productivity turns into high gear.
I get the analytics reporting done quicker than I ever have.
5 P.M.:Im counting down the minutes till I can go back out.
My shoes are on.
The police scanner is open on my phone as I send my final emails for the day.
Im heading out to Barclays Center in Brooklyn.
I love being a photographer, but the backpacks are always comically heavy.
I stand and record for a few moments before getting on the train to Barclays.
I can hear the clamor from inside the station.
The chants that have been ingrained into my subconscious grow louder.
I pick up the pace.
I need to be there now.
I lead the chants and cries for action.
Im 55 and fairly small.
I had no idea my voice could go that loud.
One thing that I love about going to protests alone are the people you meet.
I walk with others in the front, with the help of the bikers.
Making barricades of their bikes to protect us.
Everyone tells stories about the previous days.
The things theyve seen and gone through.
Were all going through this together.
Everyone is exhausted and blistered, but no one is backing down.
This is a peaceful protest and we intend to keep it that way.
Somehow we become the leaders of the march.
9 P.M.:We keep marching through the streets of Brooklyn.
Car horns blare through small neighborhood streets.
I take a stab at move towards the sidewalk.
One officer shoves me to the ground, forcing me to land on my knee.
He doesnt help me up.
A passing bike then meets my sprawled limbs and he falls too.
After a few moments, a group of medics walk by.
It turns out that the fall had partially dislocated my kneecap so they had to lodge it back in.
Using humor and nimble fingers, they did and wrapped it up.
It hurt worse than before.
Still unable to walk, the next challenge was figuring out how to get home.
With trains barricaded by officers, bridges closed to any non-essential workers, I was stuck.
One of the people who helped me, a nursing student, has a brother who lives nearby.
After four attempts at crossing bridges and a few wrong turns, I get home.
I am so grateful to them.
12 A.M.:Home safe.
Exhausted, but empowered.
Sore as hell, but activated.
I get ready for bed to recharge for day nine.
I have another piece of bread, but this time with peanut butter and jelly.
We stay up till 4:30 a.m. planning, before my head finally hits my pillow.
Im still figuring it all out.
Im still checking my ego every day, working every day, learning every daybut Im getting better.
We know what we want and at least now we have that written down on paper.
Im breathing a little easier.
…
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