Today as I was writing, dreaming and imagining what I want for this year, I realized that I was me again. I was me! I am me!
But to understand why that’s such an important statement I gotta backtrack a little bit.
In the fall of 2019, I had just stepped down from working at a white evangelical church, but decided I still wanted to be a part of it. I knew then I didn’t agree with most of their theological stances, but I had a little bit of hope still.
Not even a month later I was in Denver for the progressive Christian conference Evolving Faith, and right after I came back, I knew that even if most people in my church would think I was not a real Jesus follower for my beliefs, I returned hopeful because of the folks I had met and the hugs I received. I am still friends with so many folks I met that weekend.
The following day was a Tuesday, and on Tuesday nights I’d usually go to a small group. This night was no different. Without going into all the details, it was this night what my counselor and I came to name “the night that my soul was assaulted”. From racism to spiritual abuse, to the dripping of white supremacy and anti-blackness.
The month after that I saw how white supremacy reigned supreme, I saw as my world was falling apart again (because I had already lost everything once when I left a racist church space years prior), and I saw how white evangelicalism was and is so steeped in white supremacy they just couldn’t see the horror of it.
My brain couldn’t process it, and on a cold autumn day it almost took my life. A tattoo on my wrist and a reminder of Lionel Messi saved my life that day (that is a story for another day). I called my counselor and quickly arranged a doctor visit so I could start taking anti-depressants after not having to take them for over 12 years.
The following months were hell on earth. I was afraid of being in groups of people, I couldn’t do anything but one on one’s, and all my energy was left to only survive. There was no living or thriving, it was simply survival. Even as I write this, I honor my tears because that time truly was stolen from me.
So now, fast forward to 2.5 years later. I’m practicing latte art every day, so I was drinking a latte, listening to Thirdstory or Leon Bridges on repeat, writing a note on my planner, and thinking of all the projects I’m working on and will be working on, when suddenly I had the realization that I was me again.
It was almost as if I could see my brain filling up with colors, movement, and landscapes full of life again. Immediately tears are falling as I realized that after all this time my brain was finally healed.
Now I know healing isn’t linear, and I am aware of how this moment really shaped my coping skills, and that I will still grieve that Tuesday night, and that when I remember or see people from my past I could get triggered still, but it does not negate that healing is finally here.
I cannot say that I’m back to normal, because I never will be able to go back to who I used to be before that Tuesday night. I am not back to normal, but I am back to myself, and this is so much more than normal, this is wholeness.
I’ve heard it said that we are wounded in community, yet we are also healed in community, and this is how I learned again of a God who provides. I somehow found myself surrounded by folks who were trauma informed, by folks who believed my story when I told them the abuse I’d encounter, by folks who didn’t have to pick up the pieces of what was left of me but still chose to pick them up and held the pieces when I couldn’t.
¿Que es nutrir y ser nutrido? (What is to nourish and be nourished?), Victoria Santa Cruz asks, and I can’t help but think of all the people who nourished my soul, my spirit, and my body during this time. In the middle of the pandemic people who have never met me in person showed up for me. My dear siblings now, but at one moment they were strangers.
I found the liberating love of the Cross again. I found our God is so much more gracious and kinder than I ever thought possible. And I heard somewhere Megan Thee Stallion literally wrote a song about me, it’s called “God’s favorite”.
There were so many days when I didn’t think this day would ever come. I knew I didn’t have to be my trauma, but I didn’t know how it could ever shift, until it did. I do gotta admit that I’m not naïve and understand the privilege I had to be able to go to counseling and therapy, and doctors, and save up to travel, and eat QQ Kitchen (iykyk) all the time to support this healing journey.
White supremacy is costly. I would say it’s even more dangerous in the church, so I remain committed to decentering whiteness in my life and having open hands ready to hold yours in our pursuit for liberation, embodiment, and wholeness.
I am thankful that Tuesday night wasn’t how my story ended, and I am so glad I am still here. I am still here and I am the most me I’ve ever been.
Won’t you celebrate with me? As Lucille Clifton would say, “come celebrate with me that everyday something has tried to kill me and has failed.”
Celebrating with you my sister! Celebrating for a redeeming of Tuesday nights! Celebrating that you are living embodied (w)holiness! Celebrating that you are you...that Imago Dei expressed in Karla Mendoza is alive, well, and THRIVING. The earth is more complete with you in your fullness and she is rejoicing with us!
This is so so so beautiful, friend. I love this for you so much.