July

I’m hoping this month, this year, is kinder than the last two.

Earlier today I read a post from a therapist about affirming therapy. They wrote about how, when a client from a population you don’t belong to tells you how they feel, you can’t respond from defensiveness. Reading it brought something back to the surface that I thought had settled.

I felt angry.

My first instinct was to let that anger rewrite my own story, to make the post about what happened between my former therapist and me. But I had to reality-check myself.

They’re not the same situation.

I didn’t approach that conversation with the vulnerability or calmness I wish I had. I came in dysregulated, distrustful, and afraid. I know that now. I’ve spent a lot of time learning how to regulate myself better, how to speak in ways that invite understanding instead of pushing people away. I don’t want to lose sight of that growth.

And still…

It hurts.

I don’t think those two truths cancel each other out.

I can acknowledge that I didn’t communicate well while also grieving that I didn’t feel understood.

I wish there had been more curiosity about why I was feeling what I was feeling. I wish someone had been able to look past the anger and see the fear underneath it. The years of experiences that made safety feel fragile, the lack of trust I walked into that moment carrying, and how quickly everything inside me began to unravel.

When anger grows out of years of feeling unseen or unsafe, people often notice the anger before they ever wonder about the pain that produced it.

Part of me still wonders what it would have been like if someone had looked past my delivery long enough to ask what was hurting.

Today also brings up something larger for me.

I’ve realized that I struggle to understand expressions of patriotism toward a country whose history and present include racism, colonialism, patriarchy, discrimination against LGBTQ+ people, and unequal access to basic rights. Those realities make it difficult for me to emotionally connect with celebrations that emphasize national pride.

I usually keep those thoughts to myself now.

But they are still there.

One thing that continues to matter deeply to me is the difference between acceptance and allyship.

Acceptance is important.

Allyship asks more.

It asks us to recognize that none of us grow up outside of the beliefs and systems around us. We all absorb assumptions about race, gender, sexuality, disability, class, and power. Becoming an ally isn’t something we arrive at by deciding we’re one. It’s an ongoing practice of listening, learning, being willing to be wrong, and continuing to unlearn the things we’ve inherited.

Because when someone identifies themselves as an ally, they’re asking marginalized people to extend a measure of trust.

That trust matters.

And when that trust is broken, it often hurts more than open ignorance, because expectations of safety existed in the first place.

I made it through most of today without thinking much about any of this.

I’m not surprised it’s here tonight.