New Beginnings

...and I am no longer afraid of the fall of my own footsteps.

A Letter to A Young Public Interest Lawyer

I wrote this letter at the request of an insanely creative law student friend of mine. Letters to a Young Public Interest Lawyer is an event inspired by a series published in a law review. I could not be in Boston but wrote this. Event organizers - thank you for your vision, which inspired me.

LETTER TO A YOUNG PUBLIC INTEREST LAWYER

From Richael Faithful – February 2, 2013

I never wanted to be a lawyer, and you shouldn’t assume that you want to be one either.

If your early years resembled mine, I long-struggled to define my own identity. I was a competitive athlete that didn’t want to grow up to become a basketball or soccer player; I was a political geek that didn’t want to eventually find myself on Capitol Hill; and I was an opinionated Black girl that most certainly didn’t want to become a lawyer.

I resisted the idea for a long time, even saying as much during my Administrative Law class introductions during my 2L year second semester...

Now, I’m a lawyer. And I am beginning to understand why. It is not my primary identity—rather it’s probably fourth, rivaling writer, healer, and organizer. Yet it’s there, and I’m happy that it is.

I attended law school after a disenchanting spell as a full-time organizer. I was trained through college by a great state-level organization but found professional organizing to be morally confusing, as my relationship changed with the work once my livelihood depended on it. I vaguely considered law school as a next step if I felt ambivalent at the end of my year-long contract. The idea of law school merely sounded less uncomfortable during my last year of college after I had thoroughly defined myself as an organizer. I wasn’t, after all, being relentlessly teased that I should become a lawyer because I was an opinionated Black girl.

Naturally, I took applying to law school very seriously. I prepared for the LSAT by reading every Agatha Christie Hercule Poirot novel ever published. (That’s over 40 books.) Poirot’s “little grey cells” got me paying attention to detail, and brushed up my “logical” thinking that apparently went somewhat unpolished when studying sociology.

Next, I applied to three law schools. Totally safe choice…I can’t remember the topic of my essay but it was probably as clever as my college admissions essay on my founding of my high school’s “Dead Philosopher’s Society.”

And I knew that my application packet was complete with my college President’s recommendation letter, only that he was my college’s former President due to his irreverence for authority. I was an ideal law school candidate—obviously.

The ways in which I shrugged off the rat race known as law school admissions, I did take seriously my preparation for attending law school.

I knew that I would enter an elite institution and profession that offered a narrow and rigid education of “the law.” I understood that my presence and abilities would be subtly questioned by other students, faculty, and myself at times, in light that there would be few queer students of color. I realized that I would fight every day to stay grounded in my core values, which honored community, ancestry, and love, within a culture that promoted individual ambition, future success, and profit-making. Playing the role, and even becoming, a law student was not a naïve choice.

I sought advice from friends, and friends’ friends; I read all the critical race theorist books about being a law student of color that I could get my hands on; I reached out to female faculty of color for mentorship; and importantly, I asked whether I should attend law school every day for months. By the time I entered into American University Washington College of Law, I was beginning to entertain the possibility that I could become a lawyer.

Law school, as it turned out, ended up being a formative experience that conjures up positive feelings. It wasn’t terrible, at all. I found powerful role models in experienced attorneys and peers, stretched my intellectual capacity through independent work, learned how to build community under restrained conditions, and met remarkable people with whom, despite appearances, I share a great deal in common and since call close friends.

I’ve been a lawyer for a year and a half now. The verdict is that it fits me in a lot of ways. I am fortunate in that I have had the freedom to shape my practice through a post-graduate fellowship, which allows me to provide direct services, co-organize a statewide campaign, and prepare impact litigation. On one hand, this freedom is likely temporary because to embody all these levels of work in a single job is unusual, which speaks to the law profession’s limitations and value it places on public interest work. On the other hand, I’m consistently amazed by some public interest lawyers’ creativity to arrange their lives to do sustainable, necessary work. I hope to always count myself among this group of lawyers, in one way or another.

I decided to attend law school for a purpose. I rationalized law school because I believed that it would give me powerful access and tools for my Beloved Community, which radical people and marginalized communities deserve to share—a Rawlsian kind of analysis I suppose. I finally appreciate, as I take risks, seek new skills, and have new experiences as a young public interest lawyer, that I should be here, at least for a time. I don’t envision myself being a full-time lawyer forever (and will be challenged to find innovative ways to manage my debt and pursue my heart’s work interests). But the value of being able to engage with law, as a person with a formal legal education, and in my case, an active law license, is enormous to those with whom I’m struggling every day. 

Ultimately, I may be like you or I may not. You may have always had wanted to be an attorney or meticulously planned for law school or chose the attractive detour of working for a large firm until you pay off your law school debt. Nonetheless, I recommend a daily examination – a gentle ask – “why am I doing this?” Should an answer become lost on you – or unpleasantly arrive in your gut – I wish you the courage and conviction to re-make your practice, however you define it, even if you have to leave it behind. This choice is your lifeline and that of the “cause.”

Let me share one last recommendation because it has served me well. Carry with you a robust imagination and rooted spirituality. A robust imagination offers a vision for the present and future that allows you to see the edges of reality as you work toward transformation, and a rooted spirituality (distinct from religiosity) offers the grounded-ness necessary to have your heart blown-open and broken-apart day-in and day-out by your work. I am easily inspired with a stake in the ground and a beautiful view of the sky.

Thank you for reading my letter. I look forward to reading yours in the not-so-distant future. 

Life's Return

Every day we greet a lurid world,
Surrounded by zig-zag noises,
Pointed, jagged, and sharp,
In rare moments, tiny little gifts,
Sift into, and readily,
Cut through, a breath's pause,
These ambients melt into,
Smooth escape.

Awaiting me is a precious place,
Glowing with a secret silence,
Sharp as before, but called to be,
A sacred still,
Tiny chill, I peek close,
Against the standing air,
At my nose's tip--drip,
A damp smoke shower appears,
Into my ears, I imagine,
Burning ahead.

With a swallow of abandon,
I squint to view the obscure,
Sight unseen, further I lean,
Yet right there! bestowed at my feet,
Lives the most stoic rays of light,
Brilliant beams fiercely fight, to shine,
From me to the sky,
While I wildly wonder,
All of those curious questions "why?"
Remember, remember,
It says, as we seek, and,
As we pine,
Our home is always,
The beauty of sunshine.

I may arrive too soon, or,
I may arrive too late,
But there is love eternal,
Within my own fate,
Busy or blind, you are there,
Easy as the light,
And here to share.

Breath of Fire

In the last month I've embraced fire is my kindred element. Earlier in the fall, when I felt my heart on fire, it kept re-appearing in my life--a burning release ritual with my spiritual friends, re-painting my studio a rich "Earth Henna," a late night bonfire, my creation of an enso-fire tattoo design, and most recently, this piece of autonomic artwork representing my heart-stomach.

My current relationship toward fire is more than a metaphor, it is fueling a deep healing process. It is a passionate, simmering energy that is affording me intensity and patience. Importantly, it is the force that is allowing me to easily burn away many long-held patterns, cravings, people and ways of being that don't serve, don't resonate, and don't support this process.

There's a certain violence that comes with holding fire, with which I'm not incredibly comfortable. I am doing my best to let it travel freely. I am, though, more comfortable with the sight which its light offers. I'm seeing and observing new dimensions of the old, and being introduced to the newly discovered (but not "new" by any means). This is my poetic description of a very exciting yet extremely frightening day-to-day unfolding.

Engulfed in a devastating break-up from my partner of three years, and an overall difficult emotional year, I went on a three-day self-retreat at a beautiful, local park in Northern Virginia. There, I meditated and journaled on a cliff each morning, and hiked trails each afternoon. I had amazing friends check-in with me by phone at designated times to rely where I was, and to hear their feedback, and encouragement. At the end, I left more peaceful, but less grounded. I confronted some of my repressed pain of the past year, and fed elaborate delusions about where I was and the future, at the same time.

Weeks later I felt more grounded than before. I suffered the shattering of my mountain-top delusions almost immediately after I returned. I shed a lot of responsibilities that felt non-essential to create space for myself. I began to take my chronic stomach pain more seriously. I re-committed to regular acupuncture with wise, knowledgeable dear friend and counselor. I felt particularly fragile, tender-hearted, and self-assured.

Acupuncture opened the door to the truth that my gut pain was connected to earlier childhood fears, which manifested through my relationships with my mother and ex. I had never taken the "inner child" seriously before then. The first step was permitting this trauma to speak for itself through my body because my conscious mind had repressed feelings for so long that it no longer recognized pain as pain. More recently, acupuncture has brought to surface various aches and irritations that were my coping mechanisms -- comfort eating, intellectual escape, etc. Acupuncture, for some, is their main method for healing deep trauma; in my case, it is the practice that tells the truth for me so that I can continue the healing.

Around the same time my acupuncture practice was deepening, I read an important book that reinforced my acupuncture work, and spontaneous inner-child experience, called "When the Body Says No: Exploring the Stress-Disease Connection." I read a whole chapter about myself, in the class of Irritable Bowel Syndrome sufferers, who suppress anger and other feelings as addictive care-takers.

I understood this observation because whenever I had a hard relationship conversation with my former partner I had intense stomach pain, and frequented the bathroom. (Let me also add that much of our relationship was very healing in that I had been much, much more vulnerable and intimate with her than I ever thought possible in a relationship.)

Nonetheless, this book gifted me with a way to explain the connection between my emotional triggers and physiological response, of which my conventional medical doctors either didn't know or under-estimated.

I gained more insight into my emotional trigger through a book that I finished on Christmas Day, called "Shadows on the Path" by Abdi Assadi, a hella-grounded ex-junkie, body worker and therapist based in NYC. I was always moved by his recorded workshops, many of which I listened to while on my mini-retreat, including a very memorable "dying practice" exercise. His book culminates his warnings against gurus, and observations from studying a wide range of spiritual/emotional practices, from martial arts to shamanism. A helpful passage:

"Robert Bly wrote my favorite book on the topic [of human shadows] called A Little Book On The Human Shadow. In it he pictures the shadow as a big, invisible bag that we each drag behind us. As children, we unconsciously put the parts of ourselves our parents didn't like into that bag. Due to our desperaate want and need of our parents' love an disapproval we felt compelled to disown and bury the parts of ourselves that might threaten that love...

By the time we reach adulthood, our bag is overflowing with suppressed material such as anger, wildness, greed, rudeness, silliness, spontaneity, selfishness or sexuality. Any part that is not acknowledged or that we are shamed by gets dumped in. This unconscious act of hiding our socially unaccepted pieces can lead to a huge loss of vitality. Repressing an aspect of oursevles takes energy on two levels: it takes effort to keep the material repressed and the repression denies us access to the natural viality contained in that part of oursevles.

What's inside that bag is as much who we are as the 'nice' or socially accepted aspects. It's like somebody teaching us to be ashamed of our left arm, so we always keep it out of sight under our clothes. We act as if we have only one arm, which in itself takes energy, and at the same time we end up using only one half of our upper body strength." pp. 48 - 49.

The page goes on to discuss the shadow of anger. I'm beginning to uncover that although I am very loving parents, there was a long stretch of time where they were consumed by their own addictions and demons, so that I had to take on responsibility for my emotional well-being and that of my brother. I did this while living a  dissociative life where I was barely surviving at home, but thriving at school, on sports teams, etc. I developed a deep fear of abandonment, and the coping mechanism of care-taking.

The compulsive care-taking denies my own vulnerability with family, friends, and notably partners. If I'm taking care of someone else, I'm distanced from my own emotional and psychic needs. As Abdi shares, this pattern is the ultimate ego-trip. My long-time investment into the fiction that I'm needed is all about me in an undermining sense.

I've been able to stay on the care-taking wheel because I've told myself that true vulnerability, in which those around me can witness and be a part of all of the mess, and beauty that is "Richael" is really too much to ask any person to hold. (Only recently have I begun letting close friends in the same way that I've at least mimicked with partners.) The way to help myself isn't to just identifying and undoing the pattern--the cure is self-love. As I learn to love my shadow, I anticipate that the rest will undo with little effort.

Of course, this deepening is supported by a lot of smaller practices like daily meditation, regular yoga, an audio diary, poetry-writing/art-making, reiki, whole foods and naturopathy, and new adventures with friends. I have a few healing partners whom I playing critical roles in my practice in vulnerability & accountability. I am also seeking out other supports as they make sense to do.

For example, I am doing zero-balancing as a complement to acupuncture, to facilitate some of the deep-healing body work that I need, along with therapeutic massage to help with the pains that surface, as my old coping mechanisms go away. I am also planning to see a shaman later in January for a soul retrieval, to uncover sacral and solar plexus charka damage from past lives, which are contributing to my stomach pain, and which I uncovered through reiki, zero-balancing, and acupuncture.

I hope to be intentional about the practices and people that I'm inviting in, not seeing anyone that I could see because I need "healing." I'm also taking my time because this is literally a life-long process.

So I'm entering 2013 with a dramatic shift in how I am experiencing and moving through the world. Interestingly a lot of close friends and new friends are making similar choices, and thriving; others are struggling to find a way forward.

Integration is my theme for the New Year, the Age of Aquarius. I know that many of you are on the same healing path, which we are doing for our loved ones past and present, and really, all beings.

Many blessings, stay encouraged, and please let me know if I can support your journey.

Cheers,
R.

PS - Some of y'all know that the Breath of Fire is a kundalini yoga breathing technique. It's my favorite yoga practice and I find it extremely challenging to do properly.

(Re) Embodied

I didn't begin listening to myself until my body almost failed...

A year and a half ago I had sharp stomach pain that grew into a near-ulcer. I managed the condition for a while as I sought medical opinions about its cause. There were disappointingly little insight, and, in fact, for the most part, doctors didn't show much concern or urgency about an extremely healthy 27-year old developing a seemingly spontaneous chronic stomach disease.

I got particularly sick a week ago once I started an antibiotic course for a bacterial infection, related to, but not the source, of my stomach problems--including a mysterious allergic reaction that closed my throat, and required a short visit to the ER. Over the next few days I had "differential" symptoms that pointed toward another infection, or a serious ovary issue, or something else. Admittedly some things got really weird...I'll leave it at that.

I'm better, for now. I couldn't be more grateful for access to excellent healthcare, an attentive and affirming primary care doctor, a deeply knowledgeable acupuncturist/healer, an understanding boss, very reliable friends, concerned parents, among others.

I found myself in a transformative moment during this latest episode...

I've accepted that the source of my physical suffering is the manifestation of neglected parts of my emotional self. A friend on a similar health and healing journey turned me on to a beautifully insightful book, "When the Body Says No: Exploring the Stress-Disease Connection," by Gabor Mate, M.D. There, I learned that irritable bowel issues is a classic constellation of symptoms stemming from repressed anger and other deep, persistent healing needs. This Western medicine perspective is not too different from my Eastern acupuncturist's observations that if I released not only my present, but past feelings, more easily that my chronic stomach and lung conditions (I spontaneously developed asthma during the end of college) may dissipate. In other words my body is saying "NO" to continuing to hold layers of micro-stresses to which I've grown accustomed to overtime.

Stress so integrated into my life that I take its presence, and my responsibility for it, for granted. This is a fact that I had to own last week, when while relating a chaotic night during high school involving (step)parents' fighting, alcohol, wondering alone late at night, and almost being run over by a car that a parent was driving, to a close friend, she replied "[t]hat sounds traumatic." To which I said, "Oh. I guess it was." There were so many events in my early life like that I had just described it "another crazy thing that actually happened."

This link itself is not new information to me. The important part that I'm yet to fully understand is to soothe the stress that has taken residence in my body, and is integrated in my emotional life, I must reach into my past (again) to release old trauma and welcome new ways of being into my present.

I can offer a powerful example that occurred a few weeks ago. I was having an unusually depressed evening (largely onset by my hormones), finding myself restless in my sleep. I moved from my bed to my futon in the dark. I started to reflect on why my recent, abrupt breakup with my ex-partner of three years felt so traumatic. What did those events trigger? During this meditation, I curled up and transported to my 8-year old self. Suddenly I was experiencing the feelings--the edge of fear and exposed vulnerability--of myself, aware that my environment didn't feel stable, a degree of unsafety, and an enormous weight of responsibility to ignore these feelings, take care of my family, and meet outsiders' expectations of being an overachieving child. I spoke to her for the first time in twenty years. I assured her that her feelings were valid but she would leave the other end of this experience safe and well, that she was cared for in some ways even though she did not know this, and with so much instability around her, and that she ultimately met her and everyone's expectations, which was totally unnecessary for her to do as a child, yet an absolutely incredible feat. It was significant for me to visit her that evening. And most of all, if I want to truly root out my stomach pain I'll have to visit her, and many other versions of her younger and older selves, more regularly.

So, I'm re-claiming this time and space as "re-embodied." I want to live in my stomach and entire mid-section part of my body from which I had dissociated for almost a year. Core exercises will help. Cutting back on "comfort" eating is essential. Self-massages to give my ailing abdomen love (and stimulate digestion) is an imperative. But carefully re-visiting the emotional under-layers that have been under consistent, micro-stress for so long--constant and under-returned care-taking and all of the sacrifice that way of being entails--is where the healing lies. And fortunately I have enough support to identify which wholistic healing methods will help the most at this moment in my life. I need to push through nagging parts of my conscious mind that naively assumed that I had identified most of my childhood trauma during my 2 and a half years of therapy in college, and the week's routine that can lull me out of any sense of urgency to do this intentional work. Otherwise, the Universe will remind me every time--through my body and otherwise--that past says to the future, "there's no full life without a more whole self."

Blackbird

Blackbird, stalking in the sky,
In a world so open, you must encircle why?
Nature is, and humans be,
Is it time or is it me?

Father Rock's jagged edges cleave and cut,
Mother Sun's glowing light forces eyes to shut,
Sister Wind's gusts whip hard and sharp,
Brother River's stream runs faster than the heart.

I say, "I do not move, I am here,"
I feel "breath is fleeting, you are near."
Blackbird, with flight so easy and slow,
In a world so open, where must you go?

Today I untangle your ugly, your dark and your wrath,
This moment I see all, even the shadow of your path,
You do not come, and as I wait, the air grows clear,
I proudly say, it is because, "I am here."

Underlying Control

Last night I observed that recently I was not "living in my body." This morning I decided to walk in Rock Creek Park with a dharma podcast instead of sleeping-in, which as of late has become many of the subtle ways that I indulged in my mind's directions for my body rather than listening to my body directly. I chose to listen to Abdi Assadi's Open New York Center Workshop.

Abdi Assadi's Q&A's are always honest, challenging, and insightful. In the first half of this Q&A the discussion turned toward control. Here, Assadi observed that many of us condemn "control freaks" without extending compassion to its source--the feeling of unsafety. Similarly, ultra-responsible people tend to operate from the same sort of subconscious motivation. I put myself in the latter category, and have before made the connection between safety and ultra-responsibility but only as an explanation for my habit energy from my childhood, not as a "live" relationship between my conscious and subconscious.

This past weekend I had shared with those whom I practice I have had felt lighter these several months because I was shrugging responsibility. I often play that role so letting it go in aspects of my life has felt like a relief. Its given me the energy and space to be more attentive in the parts of my life where I would like to be more healthily present and sometimes responsible, just not anxiously, all of the time. I believe that I've arrived here because, more than ever, I do feel genuine safety: I've re-shaped previously harmful family relationships; I have a beautifully trusting romantic relationship with a kind person who treats me gently and honestly; I have deep friendships that have withstood joyful and difficult times; and I've learned to trust in my own inner-resourcefulness and resilience to deal with, and be present with, most things.

So this is where I am, for however long, with some awareness and lots of gratitude. May all beings feel safe.